on the rocks

There’s always one ice-cube in the tray that doesn’t come out with the others. That’s God’s ice cube. Leave it for His scotch.

morning ritual

There’s nothing as satisfying as having a shower, cupping your hands together to catch the water and then dropping it against the tiled floor. Fuck it, of course there’s more satisfying things to do, but none of them you can do in the shower. Most of them you can do in the shower, actually. Never mind.

doors are hard

I tried to be nice and polite today so I held the door open for someone and allowed them to go through first but the door was one of those ones that opened away from me and I for some reason I used my left arm so I was reaching across the doorway trying to keep the door open as the person I was holding it for had to duck under my arm and try not to awkwardly rub up against my crotch but they still did anyway and it was the best day of my life.

makes sense to me

My mum has a collection of fine china. She doesn’t appreciate it when I call it “the Chinese in the cupboard.” I think she’s racist.

cowabunga

I've been trying to work on a joke about pizza, but it's really cheesey and the delivery is terrible.

how are these fucking things so fucking twisted?

I find it ironic that the inventor of Christmas lights hated Christmas so much that he wants everyone who purchases his product to hate it too.

snom snom something's wrong

Sometimes when I’m eating, I find that there's gravy or sauce or something halfway down my fork. How the fuck did that happen? Then all of a sudden, it’s on my hands, in my hair and on everything I’ve ever known.

jousting sticks

I bet when the medieval period finished, there was one guy who didn’t get told and still turned up to work in his suit of armour the next day.

My problem with clocks

Clocks are great, but I think more thought needed to go into the naming of its bits. Is the "second hand" the one that comes after the first hand, or is it the one that counts the seconds? Pisses me off, man. Fucking clocks.

I wish for world peace

I’m not going to say that the Miss Universe contest is rigged, but I will point out that the last 61 winners have been from Earth.

do u even lift?

I was going to go to the gym tonight, but my Facebook was down, so I just went home.

did you know...

Gary Oldman is in fact younger than Gary Numan.

Silly polar

The polar bear is by far the stupidest animal in the jungle.

Ooogie boogie boogie

Scientists believe that inside each person, there are enough bones to construct almost an entire human skeleton.

Lemon fresh

You know how when you're washing dishes in the kitchen sink, and then you lift a plate out of the water and it creates a little tsunami that gets the front of your shirt wet, and even though you know, "It's just a bit of water, no harm done," it really pisses you off and makes you feel a bit gross about the world? Yeah, I hate that.

Farm

I can't stand it when people have a cold and they try to say the word farm. "Farb. Farb." Just shut up and fuck off.

Nom nomowfuck

I think it's amazing how often I eat and don't end up biting down on my fork.

the water still beads

Whenever I'm washing my car and my neighbour pulls into his parking spot, there's a scientific certainty that I can predict the future, as soon as I see the big, dumb grin that spreads across his face and he tries to pretend it's not there. I know that he's excited. I know that he has been waiting for this moment. He takes the shopping out of his car and walks past me. I give him my best obligatory nod of greeting. He gets exactly three steps past me, and then he just cannot contain it any more. It comes out like a pent-up secret that he's been keeping for years. "You can do mine next!" "Go fuck yourself... Neighbour. Whatever the fuck your name is." And that, your Honour, is exactly how it happened.

Rubbish Man

I think a good super power would be that whenever you try to throw something in the bin, you always get it in so you don’t have to walk over to the bin and put it in there anyway. I could save seconds each day with this power.

Everybody. Yeah.

While I do appreciate the evolution of technology, sometimes I miss the old stuff and its nuances. Things like when you were on a bus with your discman listening to music, and the fucking thing just kept skipping and skipping and it took you a whole bus ride home to find out that Backstreet was actually back. Alright.

Hi, can I buy you a drink?

It's customary to pick up chicks in a nightclub by offering to buy her a drink. If they haven't finished their current drink, you should wait until it's completely finished before dumping the one you just bought into their glass. If you do not receive the attention you want from the drink recipient, be sure to request that they give the drink back so you can pass the unconsumed portion on to the next most attractive person at the bar.

I own a man bag. I am not ashamed

My man bag contains (at all times): - Steak - John McClane - Toolbox - Dinosaurs Now you can stop asking.

Be like the Fonz

When you're in a bar, it's really cool to wait until a song on the jukebox comes on about buying someone a drink before walking up to a person, giving them a drink and singing along with the words. Don't wait too long for that to happen though; there aren't really many songs like that.

I think he needed a bigger boat

Last year, I was walking along the beach and I heard a man in the water yelling, “Help, shark!” I looked out and sure enough, there was a shark swimming towards him. I couldn’t help but laugh – I had no idea how a shark was going to help him.

Just like every Friday night

Whenever I go out with my three sculpted, multi-racial best friends, I tell them that tonight's going to be a great night and then we clink our drinks together before the scene cuts to a slow-motion shot of us entering a nightclub full of attractive, well-dressed people who can dance and want to have sex with us.

Moist chocolate mudcake

I think if you're going to murder someone, you should bake them a cake beforehand. That way, when the police question you, you can say, "Why would I murder this person? I just made them a cake!" and they wouldn't suspect you of anything except deliciousness.

So many clothes, but nothing to wear

I think clothes were invented when a caveman saw a bear and thought, "I want to be in that."

I went shopping for a candleholder and came home with a cake

I can’t quite remember when it happened, but there’s a certain age in life when you have absolutely no idea where to look when you’re either singing, or being sung “Happy Birthday” to.

Mildly inconvenienced

I think a good super villain power to have would be to shoot someone with a ray that makes them get stuck in traffic, but only when they don’t actually have anywhere to be.

Dry lips

The next time I buy a chap stick, I’m just going to use it twice, then put it straight into the washing machine.  I figure that will save me from having to leave it in my pocket when I wash my jeans.

The race that stops a nation from thinking, "No, we're not all drunken bogans."

I think it's great that they put the Melbourne Cup and Stupid Hat Day on at the same time.

A need for pie

The other day I thought, "I am hungry and would like to eat a meat pie" because I was hungry and had a hankering to eat a meat pie so I put a meat pie in the microwave and cooked it and then I went to put tomato sauce on it because I like tomato sauce and pies together but when I squeezed the tomato sauce bottle all that came out was that disgusting watery quasi-sauce liquid that sits on top of the sauce in the bottle and went all over my pie and pretty much ruined it and it was the WORST DAY OF MY LIFE.

I have this mate...

I have this mate who always has me in stitches.  Good thing he's a doctor.

Business acumen

I am really superstitious, so if I owned a business, I would never employ people who were unlucky.  I’d throw away half of the job applications without reading them.

Geddit?

I told my girlfriend she'd drawn her eyebrows on too high.

She looked surprised.

That "not-so-fresh" feeling.

Whenever I see someone throwing up, I can’t help but blame them – from the look of it, they’ve just eaten a whole lot of vomit.

LivingOnTheEdgeMan

I just put a USB into my computer and took it out without following the “eject USB safely” instructions.  I am pretty sure that makes me a super villain, or a renegade vigilante super hero at the very least.

The Driver's Wave

Whenever I'm driving and other people on the road yell at me for making a turn without indicating, it makes me wonder why they would try to focus on a small, blinking orange light, rather than the two-tonne machine travelling at 60 km per hour that it is attached to.

Impervious to some terrains

I think a good super power would be to know when you’re about to get a rock stuck in your shoe.  That way I could avoid walking through quarries.  Not that I walk through a lot of them to start with, but it would be a good incentive not to take up quarry-walking.

When you get a rock stuck in your shoe, you go through a few phases.  The first is, "OW FUCK!" and the second is, "I can ignore the pain using meditation and breathing practices that I've never done but have seen on TV," and the third is, "Fuck it, this is really annoying; I'm just going to sit down and get it out."

Tip for Halloween #1

Don’t throw away that ghost costume from Halloween!  Try using it as a bed sheet.

Magilla

I always wondered why coconuts were called coconuts, as they aren't nuts and contain no cocoa. Then I realised that if they were called "Hairy Gorilla Balls," no one would drink cocktails out of them.

Classic Greg

I think a fairly good super power would be instantly knowing how much sleep someone had the night before just by looking at them. That way, I could be all “oh really?” to people at work who say they “literally only got about 2 hours sleep” when I know for sure that they had a good 7 hours. I mean, I’m not going to need a cape and a secret identity, but it would make me feel good to call them out on it.

Job Interview Man

I think a good super power to have would be that when are talking to someone and you notice that they have a single random hair growing out of their cheek, you are able to ignore it and concentrate on what they are saying.

Obligatory "you don't make friends with salad" reference here

I really like eating salad, but I’ve found that the biggest problem with it is that it always tastes like salad.

NRL 2013: The Grand Final (that no one cares about)

And here it is, ladies and gents - this is what the whole season boils down to: The Motherfucking Grand Final, bitches. I'm writing this on my phone, so I apologise for formatting and stupid fucking auto-correct that keeps changing whatever I type to the word "shirt." It''s really passing me off.

Unfortunately, it has boiled down to a contest between the Sydney Roosters and the Manly-Warringah Sea Eagles. Now, I'm not saying that these teams aren't worthy of being in the granny , all I'm inferring is that these teams maybe aren't the most popular teams in all the land, and interest in the biggest game of the season is possibly the lowest it has been since... well, since the last time they played each other. I mean,fuck, the only way people could give less of a shirt about it is if the Gold Coast Titans were playing Penrith.

It is, however, an apt end to the week, which began with the presentation of the Dally M medal to the player voted the best throughout the season. In the end, Cooper Cronk got his hairy, sweaty palms on the award, which once again brought the game into disrepute, especially considering that Todd Carney and Jonathan Thurston were tied for second place. Who the fuck is voting for this nonsense? Obviously Cronk, Carney and Thurston 's mum's have their fingers in some pies, because none of those idiots should have even been invited to the Dally M, let alone consider winning it.

Who should have won, I hear you ask? No one. They should have written this year off and pretended that it never happened. Or given the award to me.

THE GRAND FINAL WOO

To really show the game off, and reward the spectators and supporters for continuing to follow the game through thick and thin, drug allegations, assault charges, sexual misdemeanors, public drunkenness , DUIs, players quitting clubs, coaches being fired, Twitter abuse and interviews with Geoff Toovey, the NRL have their finger right on the pulse, and have organised Tricky Martin to perform at the Grand Final. Because nothing says "rugby league" like a gay, Spanish pop star singing his latest dance track that sounds like his previous eighty dance tracks that weren't successful.

I think it's time for the NRL and Channel 9 to stop giving each other reach-arounds in terms of providing "entertainment" for the toothless masses, and look a bit further than the plethora of shithouse talent shows on the network and maybe do a bit of market research to find someone a bit better suited to sing at the games and Footy Show extravaganzas. I'm just not sure that Mr R. Martin would poll too highly on the typical NRL fan's list of "dickheads I'd like to see at the Grand Final." Just get Barnesy and Farnsey every fucking year. Can't go wrong.

Roosters vs Fucking Manly

Well, you have to go for someone, right?

Look for Mitch Pearce to provide his usual display of awesomeness, and do absolutely nothing for the full 80 minutes.And that, dear readers, will be the highlight of the match. That, and seeing Brent Stewart cry.

No warranty offered

I hate ironing, so here’s a handy tip – simply take something small and heavy (I like bricks, personally), and threaten to beat someone’s head in with them unless they do your ironing for you. 

NRL 2013 Finals Week Three: Get Down the Local

It’s handy that there has been another drug allegation pointed at the NRL this week, so we can once again ignore that we’re a week away from the Grand Final and we can put 2013 to bed and nurse the sport back to full health following a Trainspotting cold-turkey rehab session.  But with peptides. 

What the fuck are peptides anyway?  Ah fuck it, don’t tell me; I don’t really care.   

Let’s just concentrate on the important things in the game, like how the fuck are Newcastle still playing?  Seriously, Jarrod Mullen missed his Year 10 formal because he thought that he’d be finished with football in September.  Turns out his best mate hooked up with his date at the after party.  Some best mate, amirite, Jarrod? 

Roosters vs Knights

Seriously though, congrats to Newcastle for their season this year.  It’s not often that a team so bereft of talent can go so far.  I guess this is what can happen when you have a team with very few dickheads in it.  I’m also going to open up a bottle of schnapps (because it’s been sitting in my cupboard forever and I don’t really drink it and this is as good a reason as any to get rid of it) and play the “Newcastle Knights vs Sydney City Roosters Finals Drinking Game”, which probably needs a better name.

• Every time the phrase “Hollywood ending” or “Disney script” or some such bullshit is uttered by the commentators, have a drink.
• Whenever the commentators mention the word “underdog”, have a drink.
• If Sonny Bill Williams is granted a God-like status by the commentators, have a drink.
• When Sonny Bill Williams uses a shoulder-charge but no one does anything about it because he’s SBW and can do anything he fucking well wants to, have a drink. No, have two.
• When Akuila Uate’s amazing strength is acknowledged, have a drink.
• If the commentators talk about the spirit that Wayne Bennett has brought to the Newcastle side, have a drink.  If they mention this towards the end of the game when the Knights are about 20 points down and still “trying their rings off”, have two drinks. 
• When the Willie Mason vs Sonny Bill Williams “showdown” is mentioned, have a drink.
• When Willie and Sonny don’t really do anything, have another drink. 
• When players you’ve never heard of at Newcastle handle the ball, have a drink.
• When the commentators mention how dominant the players you've never heard of have been this year, have a drink.
• When James Maloney kicks it out on the full by a long way, have a drink.
• When Mitchell Pearce misses a tackle or drops the ball, have a drink (have a medical professional standing by).
• When Shaun Kenny-Dowell ignores his unmarked winger to try and get through three defenders, have a drink.  If he does get through three defenders, change the channel. 
• If Daniel Mortimer gets on the field, you have successfully travelled back in time to 2009.  Have a drink.
• If you see Kurt Gidley at any stage, drink whatever you can until he goes away.

Regardless of how drunk anyone is, this one should be a paint-by-numbers game for the Roosters, and they can paint however they fucking want, cos they’re the Roosters and they have Sonny Bill, yeah? 

Nice season, Newcastle.  See you next year.

Rabbitohs vs Manly

 A special mention should go to Manly’s Steve Matai, who will be celebrating his second consecutive game without being suspended or pretending that he’s injured.  And congrats to Sea Eagles coach Geoff Toovey, who hasn’t done poos in his pants for a week.  Here’s a lolly-pop.

Taking my/everyone’s hatred for Manly out of the equation, I just can’t see them winning, except in a horrible nightmare.  Speaking of nightmares and shit, the other night, I had a dream that my friend got me a job at a casino, and all I had to do was pretend that I was playing blackjack at one table, but making sure that the dealer at another table wasn’t cheating.  It was very hard to do.

Crack out another bottle – Galliano, perchance?  Let’s rack up some shots (and a lighter, because what’s the point of drinking Galliano if you’re not going to light it on fire first?) and play the “Manly-Warringah Northern Sea Eagles vs South Sydney Rabbitohs Finals Drinking Game.” 

• Whenever the cameraman finds Mrs Burgess in the crowd, have a drink.
• If Russell Crowe appears on screen, have a drink.
• When Inglis is standing around doing fucking nothing at all, but the commentators mention how he’s “attracting two and three defenders”, have a drink.
• When Inglis’ knee is mentioned, have a drink.
• When Sam Burgess does something a bit underhanded (elbow, knee, eye-gouge, ball-grab, kneeing a tackled player in the spine), have two drinks. 
• When the commentators just start referring to the Burgess brothers as “Tom” and “George”, have a drink.
• Have another drink when Mrs Burgess gets another look in.
• When the commentators wax lyrically about the history of the South Sydney club, have a drink.
• When a toothless feral wearing Manly colours gets on TV, have a drink.  Have two drinks if they’re supporters.
• When the words “Jamie Lyon” and “State of Origin” are mentioned in the same breath, have a drink.
• If you think Jamie Lyon looks sweaty and out of breath from walking down the tunnel before the game, have a drink.
• When Steve Matai gets cited for a cheap shot, have a drink. 
• When Steve Matai gives away a stupid penalty on the fifth tackle, have a drink.
• When Steve Matai goes down injured, have a drink.  Actually, you’ll have time to have two or three by the time he gets back up.
• When Brett Stewart appeals for a penalty instead of going for the ball, have a drink.
• If you can remember Ian Roberts as a player instead of a gay icon, have a drink.  Ha.  Gay.
• If Manly win, have a few drinks – you’re going to need it to get through the next week.  

Thanks for coming, Manly.  Don't mind me if I do some twerking when you lose.  Or fuck it, I'll probably be so full of licorice-flavoured alcohol goo by the end of the game, all I'll be able to do is twerk.  And then hate you the next day.  Fuck you, Manly, you fucking fucks.

  

I'm sorry, but when this comes on the Footy Show, I lose my shit.  Every time.

"I'm flying, Jack!" "I'm drowning, Rose..."

The movie Titanic features the worst woman in the history of the world, ever.

Rose sees a news story about a multi-million dollar project that is looking to find a diamond, so she visits the team and bores them all shitless with the story about how she got fucked in a car, and manages to leave out the entire bit where she steals the diamond that they're all looking for.

Then she throws it back into the ocean and dies.  What a bitch.

You're a wonderful audience

I just flew in from Seattle, and boy, are my arms tired.  That packet of nuts was really hard to open.  Also, I was masturbating a lot.

This literally didn't happen to me

Can’t find a can opener?  Here's a simple solution:  just put your can and a large crab together and in just a few days, the crab might have opened that can for you.

Hydration is important

I’m always losing my phone, so I have started putting it into a glass of water.  That way, when I go to have a drink, hey presto!  There’s my phone.

NRL Finals Week Two: Amazingly accurate psychic predictions

WOW WHAT AN INCREDIBLE ROUND OF FINALS LAST WEEK, TH – stupid caps lock button keeps sticking – the only real upset being that North Queensland lost to Cronulla, but no one was really that upset about it.  Except North Queensland.  And no one cares what they think anyway.  So basically, it’s a win/win situation for everyone.  Except North Queensland.  So more of a win for us then.

The entire NRL week has been dominated by talk over the referee’s kerfuffle in the Nth QLD game in which they did not correctly count the number of tackles in a set by Cronulla, giving them an extra play in which they scored.  Johnny Thurston claimed that it was a conspiracy by the NRL to keep the game within New South Wales due to the Queensland Origin side winning the last eight years straight.  I think someone may have swapped Thursty’s XXXX-mid-strength with a full-alcohol beer. 

I had a grand plan to review every game of the NRL this year and make sure that no other team had been dudded or awarded an extra tackle, but then I realised that that was going to be a whole shit-tin of watching games I didn’t want to watch the first time around, and paying attention to them, so I didn’t.  I will say, however, that it probably happens more than anyone realises, and the NRL teams need to stop bitching and moaning about everything.   

FINALS WEEK TWO

Manly vs Sharks

Melbourne vs Knights

With only two games to tip this week, it gives me heaps more space to give my own personal political agenda a bit of air time.

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I don’t really have much to say, to be perfectly Francis.

This round of finals should go according to plan – I don’t think that the Sharks or the Knights have the firepower to do a whole lot of damage to the finals series this year; I can see Cronulla putting a scare through Brookvale in front of the 19 angry Manly fans who bother turning up instead of just sitting around whinging at their TV, but they won’t win.  Manly to win in a shitty game 14-6.

Newcastle will get out to a 10-0 lead before Melbourne change gear and run out convincing 26-16 winners.

So.  There you go.

The Abbott Government is trying to keep me down.  

Also, I should stop swearing so maliciously.

But I won't.

Fucking fucks.

Can eat popcorn without fear

I think a good super power would be never getting things caught in between your teeth.  

NRL 2013 Finals: Week One – Let’s Begin Again

Well thank fuck the normal season is over and we can forget about most of 2013.  I know I have.

Let’s not faff about (because I’m busy) and get right into the hijinx.

FINALS WEEK ONE

Rabbitohs vs Storm

Way back in Round One, I tipped the Grand Final to be the Bunnies vs Storm.  I’m not entirely sure that’s still going to happen, but they’re playing each other this week, so I’m giving myself partial credit for getting it right.  I’m also giving myself a week off work and a massive pay rise, but that’s beside the point. 

The Rabbits were disappointing in their loss to the Roosters last week, and not disappointing like being fired from working at McDonalds because you’re too much of a dipshit, but disappointed that they’ve also banned you from entering another McDonalds for the rest of your life, and thanks to your actions, have also removed the Big Mac from their menu.  That’s how disappointing it was. 

That said, the Storm have been the epitome of disappointing over the last few weeks, losing to a whole bunch of spastics, and winning by the smallest piece of Billy Slater’s nutsack against other, less spasticated teams.  I think the wheels have come off the Storm-mobile (but that’s okay because they can just catch a tram instead), and in my expert opinion, they’ve got two more games to play before they can set fire to a midget (Billy Slater) for Mad Monday, and only one more day to wait until they can dress in drag and put on fashion shows for each other (Saturday).       

Sharks vs Cowboys

Seriously, both of these teams made it into the finals?  Are we sure?  Can we please get someone to double check this?  It just doesn’t seem possible. 

Fuck it, someone’s gotta win, and it probably won’t be the Sharks.  Sorry Sharkies.  But um, congrats on making it this far and stuff, and well done on getting a sponsor and having Beau Ryan on your team and that.  Oh, and for not having your entire team arrested for being on drugs, that’s pretty good too.

Well done to the Cowboys on making it another week into the finals.  I think you guys should be about as surprised as anyone that you’re still playing.  Yeah.  So… anyway.  Um… have a good one. 

Roosters vs Sea Eagles

OH MY GOD THIS GAME IS HARD TO PICK.  It’s not that they’re both playing great footy at all, with strong discipline and pure talent, it’s just that I really fucking hate them both.  The best-and-worst thing will be the Channel 9 lead-up to the game, which will forget that the Manly team exist (I do it every day, which is why I walk around with a boner all the time) and focus entirely on Sonny Bill Williams, the one-man wrecking machine, worth eight Burgesses and sixteen Inglises.  That would make him a thousand Slaters, and nearly seventy-eight million Barbas.  The amount of SBW cock that Channel 9 drooled over last week was fucking pathetic.  To have Joey Johns mention that it was “an honour to have been here to see him play” is just a bit hyperbolic for me, and I think it’s fair to say that I’m the greatest hyperbolist in the fucking history of everything.  It’s an honour to be mentioned by myself in this regard. 

The Footy Show story that aired last night on SBW’s home life was also the greatest wank I’ve witnessed since their story on Todd Carney a few years ago.  Shots of Sonny Bill holding a baby.  Shots of him holding two babies.  Shot of Gus Gould dry-humping his leg while he cooks a barbie with his entire family.  Shirtless SBW.  SBW at a charity day for kids with meningococcal – a charity that he has been involved with for over ten years, yet the first time that he thought about visiting the kids was when there was a Channel 9 camera man in the passenger seat.  Slo-mo shot of SBW with babies.  Black and white slo-mo shot of SBW without babies.  SBW running.  SBW not running.   

Fuck me, just make him the next Australian Bachelor and get it over with.  SPOILER:  he ends up with Phil Gould.

As for the footy, fuck it.  If it’s anyone vs Manly, I’m picking anyone.  Go you Chickens.

 Bulldogs vs Knights

Congratulations to both of these teams; it couldn’t have been easy to have two teams so bereft of talent win so many games to make it to the finals; it just brings a tear to my eye. 

To be perfectly Francis, I really haven’t been that interested in either of these teams, except that the Dogs’ best player, Ben Barba, has been trying to get out of playing for the Dogs since the beginning of the year, when he was revealed to have gambling issues, problems with alcohol, connections with an outlaw motorcycle club and a pending assault charge hanging over him. 

The Knights, meanwhile, have also been struggling as they look for their best player, and no one is putting their hand up for it (Gidley, you raise your arm one more time and I’m going to fucking cut it off).

The Knights have beaten Canterbury twice already this year.  Let’s make it an even 3.  What do you mean 3 isn’t even?  Don’t try and sell me your lies, charlatan!

GAME OF THE ROUND

Raiders vs No one

The biggest NRL news this week was the switcheroo back to Canberra for Parramatta coach Ricky Stuart.  Stuart was one year into a three-year deal with the Eels, and in that year, he forced a reshuffle of the management board, sacked around 15 first-grade players and cancelled “Funny Hat Day” at the office.  So Parramatta Eels fans were obviously pretty interested to see how we was going to rebuild the club over the next few years.  I mean, obviously he had an idea of what he was doing, right?  It’s not like he’d just, you know, destroy an entire club and then walk out, right?  If Parramatta had any fans left, they’d be furious right about now.

As a Canberra fan, I don’t like Sticky Tricky Dicky Flicky Stuart is the answer to us firing our coach.  We should probably look beyond our former playing roster to find a coaching staff as well – I’m not saying that I’d be super good at it, but I’d definitely enjoy being paid to watch a game and speak into a walkie-talkie from the coach’s box.  It looks warm in there too. 

Parra are now without a board, without a coach and without a major sponsor, and are probably in a bit of trouble to stay afloat for too much longer.  Parramatta need to stay in the NRL.  Without them, Canberra would probably come last.

It's not just me, is it?  Anthony Minichello is getting weirder looking as he gets older.

NRL 2013 Round 26: Dead Rubbers and Broken Dreams, and THANK FUCK IT'S OVER

Why does this round start on a Thursday?  It confuses me.  Is it because of the cricket going on in England?  Is it the election on Saturday?  Is it just to piss me off so I watch football on Thursday night so it feels like Friday night and then then next day is really uncomfortable because it feels like it should be Saturday, but it’s actually Friday and then there’s more Friday night football on and then I feel like I’ve had a quasi-Groundhog Day?

In any case…  WHAT A WEEK OF RUGBY LEAGUE.  Most of it was due to the fact that the AFL ballsed up a lot, by taking drugs and setting fire to dwarves as part of an end-of-year celebration, painting Australian athletes in a very pretty light. 

And then there’s Blake Ferguson, doing his best to ensure that league players are taken seriously.

James Maloney from the Roosters seems to be a bit of a dick too.  Ripping a player’s shoe off and piffing itinto the crowd is just fucking stupid.  I don’t give a shit about crowd safety, or even player safety – it’s just fucking stupid.  But then, NRL players should probably learn how to tie their shoelaces a bit better.  With double knots.

Round 26

Six teams have secured their spot in the top eight with four others left to battle it out for the two remaining spots.

Exciting, no?  Well, kind of, if you discount the fact that a lot of the games this weekend are basically dead rubbers, and going to be played for pride, to finish the season on a positive note, to try and impress a new sponsor, team or coach.  And the rest… well they’re just fucking around until they get a chance to lock a clown in a car and drive it off a cliff on Mad Monday.

The Dogs should win against the Broncos, but the result means dick all for both teams.  Canterbury will be in the finals, Brisbane won’t.  TEARS FOR BRISBANE (but not really). 

I’m tipping the Bunnies to beat the Roosters and take out the minor premiership.  I don’t rate the Chooks this year – they have been able to destroy bottom eight teams, but when they’re up against good opposition, they are revealed for what they really are:  a bit shit.  In true Sonny Bill Williams form, he’s still deciding whether to play or not, or if he’s just a bit scared of playing someone good. 

Warriors need to beat the Dragons, which they should, but then they also need a couple of results to go their way to avoid being knocked out of the finals.  There’s not a whole lot else to say about this game, other than both teams were a bit shit.  Especially St George.

If the Storm don’t beat the Titans, I’m going to kick someone in the dick, and without giving it away, it will be Billy Slater.  Those fucking fucks keep losing, and it’s kind of annoying me because I want them to play in the grand final.  And then lose. 

Cowbs to knock over the Tigers, who must be pretty happy that their season is finally fucking over.  Although the way they’ve been playing this year, they looked like they were over it by round 4.

Manly should win in a useless match against Penrith, which won’t stop Geoff Toovey from having a good complain about the game, the refs, the opposition, the crowd, the advertising signage, Tom Waterhouse, how shit Underbelly is, black jelly beans, Ashton Kutcher and battered savs.  Penrith should take the field after drinking a lot of beer and just go to town on the Eagles.  Fuck it, it hasn’t been a great year for the Panthers, and next year’s recruits probably aren’t going to bring a lot more to the table.

The Knights will beat the Eels.  Congratulations, Knights.  You’ve done what everyone can do.  The difference is that you will do it with a Gidley.      

Broncos vs Bulldogs

Rabbitohs vs Roosters

Dragons vs Warriors

Storm vs Titans

Cowboys vs Tigers

Sea Eagles vs Panthers

Knights vs Eels

Game of the Round

Raiders vs Sharks

I would probably forfeit this game if I was a Raiders player.  Maybe that’s why I’m not a Raiders player?  Probably.  Cronulla have basically had the same thought, and are resting their entire playing roster.  Todd Carney’s not even going to play.  There is absolutely no reason to attend this match.

Canberra can’t find half of their team, the Sharks aren’t even going to bother taking most of theirs, so this game should just be abandoned and Bruce Stadium should be filled with kittens instead.  At least it’ll be more entertaining for the Raiders faithful.  

MEBCAM 2013 - A True Canberran Legend

In days of yore during Canberra’s youth

A hero was born who fought for truth

The outlaw man from the Charny Wood,

He went by the name of Robbo Hood.

Robbo would take from the rich to give to the poor

To buy himself a new Commodore.

He'd laugh and smoke and have a drink

All on his ten weekly cheques from Centrelink.

He worked himself hard to stay on the dole

Keep unemployed, that was his goal.

His front yard had three cars all up on blocks

And if he had’ve went to school, it’d be the one of Hard Knocks.

One afternoon (and eighty bucks) down at Charny Labes,

Robbo made an adversary; people still talk of him today.

A member of the constabulary, one Sherif Nottingham

Hit our hero where it hurt, right in the SS sedan.

Robbo loved that car more than his life

More than he loved his first, third and current/pending ex-wife.

He bought it from a bloke from the Griffith flats

And he takes it every year to the Summernats.

It had a bumper sticker saying “My other car’s a Commodore”

And his other car was; that’s what he bought the sticker for.

The engine was noisy and the muffler so fucked

You couldn't tell if the tape deck was playing ‘Dirty Deeds’ or ‘Thunderstruck’.

Robbo’s feud with the law began on the day

That he decided to put on a burnout display

When his interest in the cricket match on telly had waned

As soon as the fielding restrictions took place.

So onto the streets Robbo did go

With his band of merry men following in tow;

There was Little Johnno, Billy S, and Mr Brian Tuck

Not to mention the Maiden Mazza, who Robbo wanted to fuck.

With his old Jim Beam singlet, faded tatts, mullet and rat’s tail

He looked like a Greek god, an Adonis, or a guy escaped from jail.

And who would have thought just a month after this

They’d be married, pregnant, and living with her mum and his kids?

But back to the story of Robbo Hood that’s at hand

That spread through Canberran folklore, from Amaroo to Banks

The tale of one man’s stand against law

You want Robbo to win, but you’re not sure why for.

Robbo’s hooned-up Commodore started circling in smoke

Covering the streets of Charny in a hazy, blue-grey cloak

And soon the siren sound of Constable Nottingham’s car

Could be heard above the squeal of Robbo’s burning rubber.

Nottingham stepped out and approached the tinted window,

“Sir, would you kindly turn down your radio crescendo?”

Robbo seethed as his shaking hands turned down the volume knob

Before turning his attention back to this fun-policing cop.

“Sir, you are drunk & driving with miscreant intention.

I also don’t think this is a legally modified engine.

Your doughnut burnout marks are plain for all to see,

And I know for a fact that you lost your license last week.”

And with that speech, Nottingham handed a list of violations

That Robbo had racked up on just this single occasion.

At this point, Robbo wished that his teeth had aligned

As he would have enjoyed having something to grind.

“That’s unfair!”  Mazza screeched, while slugging cans of Jim Beam.

“Bloody oath,” they all chimed in; consensus agreed.

“Wasn’t hurtin anyone,” Robbo said, and threw the ticket out.

“That fuckin cop doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

From that point on, it always seemed to be

When Robbo’s men were having fun illegally,

Nottingham was there to get in the way

Issuing tickets to spoil the day.

Like when Robbo went to watch the Canberra Raiders

As well as the time he saw the Brumbies v Crusaders.

Robbo was too pissed to walk through the gate

So trying to climb the fence was his initial mistake.

“Iss not fair I can’t afford to get into the game!”

Robbo slurred to Nottingham has he tried to explain.

“Spent all me moneys at the Tavs and the Inns.

And the Labes and the RSL and the pub.  Oh, and Sinnies.”

“Get out of here, Robbo,” Nottingham decreed,

Ignoring the fact that Rob was also carrying weed.

Although not illegal in Australia’s capital,

The ‘decriminalised’ defence is far from infallible.

“I’ll get you fuckin coppers,” Robbo Hood swore his oath.

And he tried all the time, but he never got close.

Robbo continued to try and recover his pride.

“Come on now Rob, just pay your fine.”

And that is the story of how Canberra’s legend began

A battle for the ages, of sticking it to the man.

So to the Robbo’s of Charnwood, Ainslie and Kaleen

My hat’s off to you for MEBCAM 2013.

Round 25 – Underbelly: Green Machine

“It’s a jungle out there, David,” Raiders CEO Don Furner said, as he placed a hessian bag over his brother’s head and secured it around the neck with rope.  The man could not struggle against the bag, as his hand and wrists were also tied tightly.  “Don’t try to stop those men in green,” he added, patted his brother on the shoulder, and pushed the supermarket trolley that the once-coach of the Canberra Raiders was sitting in down the hill, and towards Lake Burley Griffin.  The trolley hit a large swan and flipped, spectacularly catapulting David Furner into the murky depths. 

“Hey Sandor, do you have a piece of gum, bra?”  Blake Ferguson asked his team mate.

“Sure bra,” the man they called ‘Dor’ replied.  “I’ve got some right here.”  Dor opened his sports bag and pulled out a syringe.  He passed it to Blake. 

“That’s the bidness right there,” Ferguson said, almost salivating.  He says ‘bidness’ because he doesn’t actually understand that the word is ‘business’.  He held the syringe to his neck and injected the contents into a thick vein, like they do in futuristic movies about drugs.  “Minty fresh, bra.”

Just at that moment, Terry Campese said from behind them, “Hey did you guys have some chewing gum?  I have a big date with a highly respectable girl who loves me for who I am and not because I am a big time sports star tonight, and I want my breath to be fresh.”

“Sorry bra, that was the last piece,” Sandor replied.  He shared a knowing look with Ferguson. 

“Yeah bra.”  Ferguson added, with the concentration of a person who is about a sentence behind everyone else.  “That was the last piece.”  Both Sandor and Ferguson broke down with laughter at their private joke.

Terry Campese’s brow furrowed – something was definitely strange here, and it might have had something to do with the syringe hanging out of Ferguson’s neck.

Ferguson’s phone beeped next to him – it was a message from Dor.

Fuk m8 there onto us bra. 

He started to sweat.  He was on his fortieth chance with the Raiders, and the management had always said that the 41^st infraction was definitely going to be the last.  He quickly Googled ‘infraction’ again, just to ensure that the definition hadn’t changed since last week (it hadn’t), then hurriedly went around his apartment, closing the curtains and turning off the lights.  If what Sandor had said was true, the Raiders would definitely be looking for him. 

His phone rang again, and Ferguson’s mouth went dry.  Ironically, he really wanted a piece of gum.  The phone call was from the Raiders.  Ferguson sat in the dark, ignoring the constant ringing.  Luckily his ring tone was Robin Thicke’s hit song “Blurred Lines”, so he didn’t really mind, and by the third time around, he had forgotten why he was ignoring calls to start with.

         

Round 25

I’m opting for Brissy to beat the Knights, just because I don’t think I’ve actually watched a Newcastle game this year, and don’t believe that they actually exist.  I am picking a Doggies win over the Panthers, but am really not confident, and reckon an upset is on the cards.  I don’t trust the Cowboys to continue their streak, and it took a LOT for me to pick the Sharkies there.  They’d better not let me down.  I honestly want to watch the Eels vs the Dragons on Monday night – I might even buy Foxtel just for the occasion.  I can’t believe how shit that game is going to be. 

Brisbane Broncos vs Newcastle Knights     

Canterbury Bulldogs vs Penrith Panthers   

Cronulla Sharks vs Nth Queensland Cowboys       

Wests Tigers vs South Sydney Rabbitohs   

Sydney Roosters vs Gold Coast Titans        

Manly Sea Eagles vs Melbourne Storm       

Parramatta Eels vs St George Illawarra Dragons   

Game of the Round

New Zealand Warriors vs Canberra Raiders

It has been a fucking interesting year/week for the Raiders, as two more high-profile players have been given the arse.  As per the brilliant outline for the next Underbelly series above (and seriously, it’s better than Squizzy; not that I [or anyone] has watched any of that shit), Sandor Earl has proven positive to taking some kind of gamma radiation pill in the hope that it would turn him into the Hulk, and has apparently been throwing it around to anyone who wants it.  I would, but I’m saving myself for a radioactive spider bite.  Blake Ferguson has decided not to attend training or answer his phone, and should probably start looking for another club as soon as he can find the light switch in his house.  But in all seriousness, the NRL should deregister him so he doesn’t keep thinking that it’s acceptable to piss in the face of (anyone) the club that gives him chances to play football and not get arrested for being a massive dickhead.  Because he’ll do it again next year to whichever stupid bastard reckons they’ve helped him to “turn a corner” or “earn his halo” or “bury his murdered hookers.”  Fuck Ferguson.  Fuck you, you fucking fuck. 

With Carney, Dugan, Earl and now Ferguson off the cards in recent memory, it takes the number of tattoos within the club from 18,002,352 to about six.  So that’s not bad.

Warriors to win.  

Sandor Earl's guilty tweet.  I would have used a Grumpy Cat meme myself:

 

Cold? What is this cold of which you speak?

Canberra is a diverse and interesting city, as demonstrated by its diverse and interesting population.  Whether you’re a public servant in Tuggeranong, working for the Department of Human Services, or a public servant in Belconnen, working for the Department of Immigration or a public servant somewhere in between, there are unique and interesting individuals with unique and interesting backgrounds.  Just listening to these fascinating people can uncover unique and interesting questions including “what other departments have you worked for?” and “do you know Jack Smith?  He used to work there.” 

There is, however, one type of person that stands out from the usual Canberran, and it has nothing to do with their Government security pass.  It doesn’t even stead from their residential suburb, the car they drive, the school they went to or which code of football they support.  It’s not whether they’re a Hungry Jacks kind of person, or a McDonalds devotee.  It’s not even a part of the epic Northside vs Southside debate that began at the same time as they filled that fucking lake.

Canberra is, by and large, a cold capital, and this is most prevalent during the winter season (from April until late October), where the mercury doesn’t even bother getting out of bed, and just hovers around the 5 degree mark all day.  Meteorologists don’t even give Canberra’s weather a mention during their Australia-wide wrap-up, usually giving it a “Queensland had a bit of fog in the morning, but cleared to a bright and sunny 24 degrees, perfect for those who decided to fuck work off and go to the beach.  Sydney had a similar start but didn’t quite get that sunshine, peaking at 22, but there’s a change coming through that will warm things up during the week.  Canberra - fucking cold.  Again.  Melbourne had a wet day, interspersed with periods of soaring temperatures and gusty coastal winds, followed by a tropical storm and then a lovely humid 32 degrees; perfect for those who are preparing for the Armageddon…”    From this, we can gather that during the chillier months of the year, Canberran citizens bunker down in warm clothes; with long pants, at least one jumper and a big ol’ jacket to keep the sleet from killing them.  A beanie covers the head, hands are replaced by gloves and a scarf becomes something that “hipsters wear during the summer because they’re dickheads” to “the only thing keeping me alive.”

And then there’s the people who just don’t get it.  Regardless of the winds coming directly from the snowy mountains at 100km per hour, or the hail, rain and fog, the unusual Canberran is out there in a t-shirt and shorts, wondering what all this fuss is about.  The unusual Canberran looks down on people who wear thongs during winter.  The unusual Canberran who “doesn’t mind if you pop the heater on” but is also quite happy to “crack the window and get some cool air circulating through.” 

These are not the same people that wait outside Mooseheads in tiny skirts and a midriff top, or even the girls that do the same.  The unusual Canberrans are not to be mistaken for the Moosehead Fuckwits, as they hold down good jobs, are educated and eloquent, watch movies and read books, play sport and drink beer.  They don’t ignore the weather because they want a like-minded fuckwit to hook up with, or wear what they do so they feel they’re allowed to punch you in the throat because you looked at them, the unusual Canberran ignores the weather because they just don’t get it.  They are often seen at bus interchanges, movie theatres, football stadiums and cafes – that’s right – the same places that you go.  I once saw one looking through a rack of jackets at a David Jones sale, but I could tell that their heart wasn’t in it.  I said to him, “Mate, don’t do this.  You know you don’t want it.  Embrace your unusuality.  Rock that t-shirt and shorts combo for another month.”  He hugged me, thanked me and left the rack, which was handy because he was going to buy the same jacket that I was. 

Unusual Canberrans of Canberra, I salute you.  Well, I would if I dared take my hands out of my pockets.  But I won’t.  Because it’s cold.

I've changed my mind.  You're all fucking weirdoes.

NRL 2013 Round 24: I'm sorry Dave, I can't let you do that...

A cracker of a Canberra Appreciation Month week this week, as David Furner was given the arse by the Canberra Raiders as head coach of the Greenus Machinas.  With a Ninja-Turtle handful of games to play for the rest of the year, one must ponder the reasoning behind sacking a coach so late in the season.  My guess would be to lure new players to the nation’s capital in the off-season, with the main attraction being “David Furner is not here.”

Personally, I liked Dave Furner.  Unfortunately it appears that Blake Ferguson and I were the only ones.  Speaking of Fergo, the sacking of Mr Furner means that he has a ‘Get out of Jail Free’ card (not literally), as his contract stipulates that he can seek an escape clause from the Raiders if Dave Furnsie is not the head coach.  I guess he can fuck off back to Cronulla then, although I have been rubbing my crystal ball lately (not literally) and reckon he’ll line up at the Roosters next year. 

The Raiders also managed to lose young up-and-comer Anthony Milford, although there’s still a whole lot of “get fucked” “no, youse get fucked” going on about giving him a release from his contract to go and live with his old man in Queensland.  So he wants to play for the Broncos, who are understandably excited about that, because it could mean that they could finally get rid of Peter Wallace. 

What does it all mean?  Basically that the Raiders lost Furner, Ferguson and Milford in one week, but on the other hand, might have made room for Peter Wallace.  HAAHAHAHA.  Kill me now.

Round 24

Panthers vs Broncos

Rabbitohs vs Bulldogs

Dragons vs Tigers

Titans vs Warriors

Cowboys vs Knights

Storm vs Eels

Sharks vs Roosters

Fairly cut and dry round for 24, with a couple of noodle scratchers in the Panthers-Broncos game, because you never know just how shit either of them will be; the Titans and the Warriors will be playing to remain in finals contention (although realistically, neither team would get past the first round of finals, so are probably both already looking forward to their end-of-season trip to Bali); and the Cowboys vs Newcastle game, which has about the same repercussions. 

Actually, turns out there’s a few games that could go either way.

My money is still on a Souths vs Melbourne grand final – the Chooks can go get fucked, and Manly are homos.  I just wish that the Burgess brothers would stop being dickheads by throwing street signs through cars, taking photos of their dick on Instagram and blatantly grabbing other people’s nuts during games.  I want to like them, but they’re making it a bit hard (not in that way, you sickos).

Game of the Round

Raiders vs Sea Eagles

Canberra should romp this one in – history shows that the team who sacks their coach after being flogged by everyone comes back the next week in a “who wants a flogging” mood themselves.  Except that statistically, that team is more likely to win the following week.  ANYWAY.  We shall see if the whole “Dave Furner’s coaching was losing us games” argument rings true this weekend, as the Green Machine come sputtering up against Manly, who are sitting pretty-ish on the ladder somewhere in or around the top four. 

Personally, I don’t think getting rid of the head-banded one is going to help things at all, and I’m tipping a Manly victory this weekend.  Of course, that won’t stop Geoff Toovey crying like a little bitch about how the referees don’t like him and won’t invite him to their birthday party, which is, personally, my favourite part of a Manly game.  Well, that and seeing Steve Matai get sent off.

Manly by… thirteen.  I love field goals.

Dave Furner looks fitter now that he did when he was playing.  And he was really quite good when he was playing.  Maybe he should pull the headband on again for 2014.

NRL 2013 Round 23: Schifcofske's Pretty Shitty Little City

Canberra Appreciation Month has coincided with a tumultuous time in the Raiders’ 2013 season, as they play the top teams right after each other.  Melbourne, Roosters, Canterbury, Manly.  We Canberrans love a challenge.  Traditionally, the Raiders play like absolute fucking shite during Canberra Appreciation Month, which is an age-old custom that is used to help maintain loyal support for the Green Machine despite them losing a lot.  Personally, I feel that its effect is beginning to wane and they should probably consider, you know, winning.

I had a dream the other night about Clinton Schifcofske, a former Raiders captain.  I think it was because I was trying to work him into the opening MEBCAM poem about Canberra, and was worried that Schifcofske didn’t quite fit the rhyme scheme.  In fact, I’m still thinking about it and have decided that it did work.  In any case, in my dream, he came back to play in the NRL and was immediately made captain/coach of the Raiders, and for some reason the other team didn’t want to tackle him and he scored a shit tin of tries and went really well but retired the next game and moved in next door to me, but we didn’t talk to each other and I guess he moved out quietly fairly shortly afterwards.

Round 23:

What a shit week of tipping last week – sending me from a pretty 30,000^th in Australia to 87,000.  It’s a funny world, this footy tipping malarkey.

OH THANK FUCK the Eels have another Friday Night game.  I would hate for someone good to be in the spotlight for eighty minutes a week. 

Broncs to continue their winning form, Bunnies to bounce back (it helps that their two best players are arriving just in time), Cowbs to keep everyone guessing, Sharks to get back on the horse, Warriors to spank the Panthers, Storm to fuck up the Knights and the Chooks to get over the Tigers, but probably not by as much as everyone reckons.

EASY.

Broncos vs Eels

Rabbitohs vs Sea Eagles

Cowboys vs Titans

Dragons vs Sharks

Warriors vs Panthers

Knights vs Storm

Tigers vs Roosters    

Game of the Round:

Raiders vs Bulldogs

Canberra will have a chance to show their home crowd that they can definitely lose by less than the last time they played at Bruce Stadium this week as they take on the Doggies.  Canterbury haven’t been travelling terribly well (maybe), and are probably lucky to be as high as they are on the ladder.  That said, Canberra are lucky to still be allowed in the comp sometimes. 

I am tipping a Raiders victory this weekend (seriously), and they will do it in a way that will annoy the fuck out of their fans by showing just how well they can play, a few weeks after giving a fine demonstration on just how shit they can be as well.  

The stuff that dreams are made of

Canberra Celebrities - my brush with fame

Canberra is home to its fair share of celebrities – people like the guy from the Magnet Mart commercials and a couple of chicks who auditioned for The Voice (but didn’t get onto the show).  We also have politicians, who are always friendly and NEVER drunk, as well as a plethora of sports stars, both current and past. 

Most Canberrans will tell you about the time that they “saw George Gregan, you know, back when he was, you know, playing for the Wallabies, you know, at the Hyperdome” or when they were working at Maccas and “in walks fucking Big Mal who orders like three Big Mac meals.  Fuck man, he’s big!” 

I have had the pleasure of standing behind former Canberra Raider Brad Drew at an ATM (don't worry if you don't remember him), as well as sharing the Mooseheads dance floor with former Canberra Raider Luke Davico.  I have also bumped into former Canberra Raider Jason Croker whilst crossing the street (he almost got hit by a car), and spoken to former Canberra Raider Paul Osborne several times at Woolworths.  

HOWEVER, my favourite personal story about a Canberra sporting celebrity involves no former Canberra Raiders players.  It centres around Lauren Jackson, WNBA and WNBL superstar.  At the time, I was working a job which basically involved me going to buy alcohol for everyone who worked with me on a Friday night (I may have had other duties during the week, but I pretty much ignored them).  During one Friday afternoon adventure to the shop, my mission was to purchase two cases of beer and a bottle of wine for the thirsty punters.  I hefted the slabs into my bony-girl arms, awkwardly balanced a bottle of Chardonnay under my chin and joined the line at the check out. 

It wasn’t long into my vigil that I realised that I may have over-estimated my upper-body strength in my attempt to hold up 48 bottles of beer in my hands (and a bottle of plonk shoved into my throat) for an extended period of time.  In order to take my mind of the crushing weight of our Friday night drinks, I decided to concentrate on the things around me...  such as the behemoth of a woman standing in front of me.  I recognised her immediately - Canberra doesn't have a lot of giant blonde women who wear "Canberra Capitals" basketball shirts with "Jackson" written across the back.  Standing a good five or so inches above me (to be honest, I have no idea how much an inch is, but five inches sounds like a pretty good measurement to stand over someone who is by no means a short person edit: after some Googling, yes, she is five inches taller than me.  Take that, metric system!), she appeared to be struggling with a few bottles of Coke and some orange juice.  “Pffft,” thought I, as sweat from a new gland opened up under my chin, making that fucking bottle of white wine just that little bit harder to grip with my face, “Lozza Jackson, one of the best female athletes (in Canberra) can’t even hang onto a few bottles.  I hope she turns around and notices my awesome feat of strength, then gives me a million dollars because I am awesome.” 

Lauren Jackson did turn around.  Indeed she was struggling with her drinks.  In one hand, she had eight litres of mixers (four Cokes and the OJ), and in the other, she neatly held two cases of beer and a bottle of vodka (this happened just after the Capitals won the premiership, or whatever they call it in women's basketball.  I am not saying that Lauren Jackson is a raging alcoholic). When she paid the cashier, she put down the mixers so she could hand over her money.  She didn’t even think about putting down the two slabs in her other hand.

It was at this point that I decided to nickname her “Two Slab Lauren,” and I would make banners for her basketball games.  I would be her biggest fan (and she would give me a million dollars because I am awesome).  In the end, none of that happened, because I don’t particularly like basketball, women’s basketball even less, and I never saw her again.  But in those few moments that we lined up together at the Lyneham IGA, I’m pretty sure we could both agree that it was a great moment in Canberra’s history.        

  "Two Slab" Lauren, as she likes to be known

NRL 2013 Round 22: Football Canberra Style

The unofficial celebration of Canberra Appreciation Month (start of August) saw a brilliant weekend involving the ACT’s most successful and well-known sporting heroes, the Brumbies and the Raiders.  In honour of the greatest month ever (Canberra Appreciation Month), both teams stood proud and gave fantastic efforts in their respectful football codes.

The Brumbies got off to a surprisingly good start, and kicked it out on the full a lot, and clapped themselves wholeheartedly.  Unfortunately they couldn’t sustain the “speed” of the “game” and it was around the 64-minute mark that the Waikato Chiefs gained the upper hand and kicked and clapped harder than the Brumbies for the full 80 minutes to take out the game, and with it, the Super 15 Rugby title.

On the other side of the weekend, the Raiders took on defending premiers the Melbourne Storm, and rallied hard against their much-fancied opponents.  However, like the Brumbies, it was the number 64 that came back to haunt the might Green Machine, and they found that giving up a 64-point advantage was just too much to overcome, narrowly going down 68-4.

Round 22:

I’m throwing a couple of dark horses and gut feelings (and general “fuck, I don’t know!”) tips into the mix this week, starting with the Dragons to overcome a reborn Brisbane team.  No reason.  I also think the Storm will do it easily over an injury-depleted Rabbitohs outfit, the Cowboys will go back to being shit against the Panthers, and the Sharks to scrap it out in a close one to beat the Knights.

Luckily Channel 9 has their finger on the pulse of the season, and is giving league fans what they truly want on a Friday night, with the bottom-placed Eels hosting the second-last-placed Tigers.  I’m not doing any additional research here, but why is it that every fucking weekend these shitfull teams land themselves a televised game?  The Raiders have had one game this year (in which they were thrashed by the Bunnies), with most of the pre-game telecast concentrating on trying to self-fellate itself over the fact that Greg Inglis existed, and completely ignoring the Raiders.  The commentary team then proved how much interest they had invested into the game by calling Jarrod Croker “Jason” and Paul Vaughan “Paul Vautin.”  I'm not saying that it's time to get some new blood into the commentary team, but when we're confusing players in 2013 with players who last laced on a boot in 1991... yes, I am saying it's time to get some new blood into the commentary team.  And get rid of Fittler and Johns.  And Gould.  So basically, keep Ray Warren. 

Not that I’m angry at all.  I think I’m more bemused.  No, angry.  Fucking fucks at Channel 9.      

Broncos vs Dragons

Sharks vs Knights

Storm vs Rabbitohs

Sea Eagles vs Warriors

Panthers vs Cowboys

Eels vs Tigers

Bulldogs vs Titans

GAME OF THE WEEK

Roosters vs Raiders

This week, the Raiders can make amends for last week’s nail-biting loss by taking on competition favourites the Roosters.  There’s a saying in rugby league circles about “beware the team who was smashed last week because this week they’ll probably smash youse back” (or something).  However, if I was the Chooks, I wouldn’t be too worried – the Raiders have a habit of following up a drubbing with an even bigger drubbing.  But since it’s Canberra Appreciation Month, I can see the Raiders fronting up in defence more than they did last week (let’s be honest, it would be hard to do less defence than they did last week), and will control the ball a lot better. 

Still.  Roosters by about 40.

Maybe the Raiders should give up on making milk products and get on board with some Raiders beer?  The presentation of this can of piss is absolutely astounding.

Mister Evil Breakfast presents: Canberra Appreciation Month 2013

Canberra, Canberra, our little capital city

Canberra, Canberra, I think you're so pretty

Canberra, Canberra, people think you’re shitty

Canberra – our pretty shitty little city.

Canberra, Canberra, has endless possibilities

Canberra, Canberra, with unlimited complexities

Canberra, Canberra, it’s just too cold for the extremities

Canberra – why are you such a fucking chilly pretty shitty little city?

Canberra, Canberra, we love every nationality

Canberra, Canberra, as long as you’re a majority

Canberra, Canberra, and don’t take our spot at university

Canberra – it’s tricky in a fucking chilly pretty shitty little city

Canberra, Canberra, it’s always such a pity

Canberra, Canberra, that we can’t swim in LBG

Canberra, Canberra, because of the algae and acidity

Canberra – too many fatalities in a tricky fucking chilly pretty shitty little city

Canberra, Canberra, let’s get to the nitty gritty

Canberra, Canberra, it was decided by committee

Canberra, Canberra, to have a set capacity

Canberra – no anonymity for fatalities in a tricky fucking chilly pretty shitty little city

Canberra, Canberra, promotes heaps of teenage chastity

Canberra, Canberra, it was just meant to be a quickie

Canberra, Canberra, fifteen year olds tested for paternity

Canberra – kiddies not anonymity & fatalities in a tricky fucking chilly pretty shitty little city

Canberra, Canberra, you’re seen with no personality

Canberra, Canberra, Sydneysiders sprouting profanity

Canberra, Canberra, about our Australian Capital Territoriality

Canberra – we have affinity and kiddies not anonymity & fatalities in a tricky fucking chilly pretty shitty little city

Canberra, Canberra, you never fail with predictability

Canberra, Canberra, a buck’s night ends with “Let’s all head to Sinnies!”

Canberra, Canberra, giggity giggity giggity

Canberra – we like titties and affinity but no kiddies or anonymity & fatalities in a tricky fucking chilly pretty shitty little city.

Canberra, Canberra, here's the end of this activity

Canberra, Canberra, that when I started sounded witty

Canberra, Canberra, but has lost its joviality

Canberra – the end of the ditty about titties & our affinity but no kiddies or anonymity & fatalities in a tricky fucking chilly pretty shitty little city

2013 Ashes - Third Test: What the fuck, Australia?

The first Ashes test surprised the shit out of everyone in how close it was; somehow Australia came within a 14-run bee’s dick of snatching victory, after being decimated to 9 for fuck-all in the first innings.  Enter Ashton Agar, the great whitish hope of Australian cricket, to smack around a rapid 98-run debut batting performance.  The second innings saw normal programming resume as the top order struggled, the middle order struggled more and the tail end hung around longer than they had any reason to.

The second Test had everything the first one did, except for any display of Australian skill.  It was a close contest that England ended up winning, scraping over the line by about 350 runs. 

Following this loss, the Australian media rightfully got up the Aussie team, declaring them the ‘worst team ever’, ‘a pack of overpaid dickheads’ and ‘fucksticks who couldn’t bat their way out of Batman’s Batcave on Batman’s Birthday even if Batman was guiding them.’  Their batting is shitfull.

So what has changed in ten days?  Other than the calendar, not fucking much.  Team morale is at a high, proven by Michael “I didn’t compare Shane Watson to cancer” Clarke being in London and Shane “Yes you did, and yes I am” Watson faffing about in Leeds, instead of, you know, playing cricket or training together and becoming some kind of version of “mates.”

Look, Australia can fuck around all they want with the batting order.  They can bring in seventy-eight different bowling coaches and a thousand different physicists to work out the right way to bat.  They can nail Watson’s front foot to the ground so his initial instinct isn’t to take a big ol’ fucking step forward, plant his leg in front of middle stump and wait for the ball to hit it.  They can practice nothing but slips catching for a week straight, and they can work out the biomechanically correct way to slide while fielding, and it will all mean FUCK ALL AND NOTHING because they aren’t playing like a team.

When you play in a team, you are playing for the other blokes around you.  You don’t want to let them down.  The current team’s mentality is somewhere between “if I don’t score heaps of runs quickly, I will lose my Adidas sponsorship”, “if I don’t score heaps of runs quickly, I will lose my spot in the team to Steve Smith” and “fuck it, I can earn $1 million to play for the Punjabi Super Ninjas in the Indian Premier League a whole lot easier than this.”  What they really need to think is, "If I get out now, the team is fucked."  

If anyone reckons that Steve Waugh got on well with Shane Warne during Australia’s dominating period during the 90s and 2000s, they’d be wrong.  Steve Waugh hates everyone.  He probably doesn’t even particularly like his mum or his wife.  But both Mrs Waughs are good team players (or something... I don't know where I'm going with this).  Anyway... The Australian cricket team need to perform to the best of their ability for the good of the team.  Need quick runs?  Fuckin tonk away then.  Need to bat out a session?  Dig in and don’t play at anything that even thinks about missing off stump. 

England won the first two matches because they play better Test cricket.  Their bowlers kept their lines and lengths tight for longer periods of time, and their batsmen dug in and didn’t play at anything that even had a passing resemblance to a good ball.  Glorious to watch?  Probably not from a T20 cricket view, but in terms of real cricket, it was spectacular.  The English batsmen wore down the bowlers for over two days.  The best the Aussie batsmen could do was make the Pommie bowlers send down a few overs more than a One Day Match would provide.  If the English bowlers are sending down some accurate, tight bowling, then fucking block up and wait it out.  Jimmy Anderson is human; he will tire after about six straight overs -that's only 36 balls to contend with - so until then, keep your bat straight and stop trying to slog your way out of trouble.  That shit only happens in the backyard.

Similarly, when bowling, you could see that the Poms had a plan, some kind of idea that they were working on.  They pitched it up to Watson because they know he’s shit against anything a full ball.  They pulled it back against Hughes because he’s shit against anything short pitched bowling.  Swann ripped a couple of deliveries past Rogers’ outside edge, then lobbed in a straight ball that Christopher just stood by and watched crash into his off stump.  On the other side of the coin, Ashton Agar did what every Aussie spinner since Warnie has done; piff it in there and hope for the best.  And he got what most Aussie spinners since Warnie have got – sweet fuck all.  James Pattinson is overrated and erratic (and now injured HOORAY), and Siddle’s massive heart no doubt weighs him down during his bowling delivery stride.  

If there IS a plan that the Aussie bowlers are trying for, it's just not working.  Whether or not that plan is just plain wrong is entirely possible, but more likely is that the bowlers don't have the skill or patience to pull it off.  If that's the case, then one of two things needs to happen:  new plans, or new bowlers.  

While a lot of people are asking, “Where are all the Aussie leg-spinners that were supposed to have been inspired by Shane Warne during the 90s?” I am asking, “Where are all the boring-as-fuck fast bowlers who noticed that Glenn McGrath basically bowled the same ball (and had the same haircut) throughout his entire career – short of a length, aiming to hit the top of off stump.  Any movement in the air or off the pitch is going to get you wickets and keep the batsman guessing.  Instead we have fuckwits bowling a million miles an hour down leg side and then swearing at the batsman because they think it will threaten his manliness as his stock ball.  

I don’t see Australia coming close to winning this third Test, and England will deservedly go on to retain the Ashes.  David Warner will probably play following his score of 193 against a Zimbabwean 2^nd XI team, in which five other players also scored centuries.  I don’t think Warner’s great form against teenagers bowling on a runway is going to put him in good stead to play against a true bowling unit with swing, seam and spin to contend with, (also, because Warner’s a fuckwit) but I am, as always, happy to be proven wrong.