Tuesday 17 August 2010

Bread and Circuses

There were two things that kept the Roman mob happy. Panem et circenses.

Bread and circuses.

The peasants of ancient Rome loved nothing more that a soft bap and a bloodbath to keep them entertained. And a parallel can be drawn to the readers of this blog. They may enjoy reading a bit about rugby, but what they really want is tits. Tits and arses. Simple pleasures.

With that in mind, and the fact I we've missed out a few months, here is the latest round of the Eyes Right, B*llock Tight Cheeleader of the Month.

This month's winner is....

Candace Leigh Bell of the Natal Sharks. Yay.



Candace is from Durban and enjoys music, films, the breeze in her hair, and the firm but tender support of a Playtex bra.

Responding to her victory Candace said: "I can't believe I've won, it's amazing. I've been entering the competition for nearly six months and heard nothing so I'd given up hope of winning. This is so amazing, it's just amazing."

While clearly amazed at her victory, Candace was quick to thank some of the other Natal Sharks girls.

"All the girls deserve this award, and I want to give a big shout out to Holly, Molly, Natasha, and Charné."

Girls - I salute you all.



Get Carter


Well my friends, another couple of months has passed with no literary offerings from me. I have no excuse. I'm a lazy cunt. I apologise. BUT I have been keeping a close eye on all things rugby and what a couple of months it's been. The new season is nearly upon us of course but our antipodean cousins have kept us entertained in the meantime. Seeing the ozzies demolished by the ABs was a particular highlight and one I hope to see more of in the future.

But the whispering has already begun, have the men in black peaked to early? With nearly a year until the world cup they could well have. Their biggest weakness in my mind is...dare I say it...I'll hold my hands up to deflect the spleen that will be aimed my way once I have said it...DAN CARTER. He's still a match winner I grant you. But the man has looked decidedly shaky on a couple of occasions over the last few games and a bit of French pressure when he's got the expectation of the entire NZ nation on his shoulders could well be his undoing. We'll wait and see.

Friday 25 June 2010

I know your secrets, Daley!

Readers of this blog will know that I have the upmost respect for Tom Daley. I am a great admirer of his tanning skills. But I’ve recently been amazed to find out young Daley has another string to his bow. Yup, when he’s not bouncing on the boards, the little tan machine in racing up the rankings in women’s tennis.

It’s quite remarkable. When not diving he’s moonlighting as a former Junior Wimbledon Champion. Am I the only one who’s worked out his rouse? Surely there must be others out there who’ve uncovered his scheme?

He’s a clever lad you know. This makes sure he will definitely win Young Sportsperson of the Year at Christmas.



Back from the brink


Finally, after months of appeals, the filth have let me go. That’s right, the rozzers collared me after the France/England game for urinating on a Citroen. Now, I know for a fact that the French aren’t averse to a bit of public golden shower action and I’m sure they’d have let me go had I been pissing all over a Volkswagon or a Toyota. But because I’d chosen this particular 2CV, I was toast.

I tried to reason with them in my fluent Frenglish but, as I’m sure you can imagine, whatever a refreshed Englishman says it inevitably doesn’t wash with the froggy fuzz. I was carted off to spend the night at monsieur Sarkozy’s pleasure. I was only supposed to be held overnight but due to a monstrous clerical mix-up the cunt waffle pigs thought I was an Algerian pimp called Gillaume. I was, quite simply, boned.

After four months of waking up to the sight, sound, and smell of a Togolese transvestite crack dealer squeezing one out into the toilet hole next to my bed I was free. And now I’m back in Blighty ready to take on the world again.

Obviously I missed the second England Australia match. The greatest England performance since the world cup final 2003 [salutes dramatically]. But I’m not fussed. We’ve won down under against the old enemy and the confidence is back. Bring on the Autumn.

Thursday 25 February 2010

A meeting of minds


My Gran once told me; "Mother, its not the size of the nail that matters, it's the size of the hammer that hits it home." I never really understood what she meant but it's stuck with me.

She was a great girl my gran, she always made sure there were guys around the place to teach me rugby and stuff - my grandad died before I was born you see. Great woman, generous and kind hearted. And athletic to boot, all the guys I used to meet when I went round for tea used to tell me how flexible she was. I think she used to teach them gymnastics in the garden or something. Great gal.

Anyway I was thinking about that old saying of hers when I was watching the England game on Saturday. It's not the size of the win that mattered, what mattered was the win itself. Italy were pretty dogged and respect should go to them. England will be out to prove something this weekend though as will Ireland. It threatens to be a great game.

That aside, I've had my attention diverted to other things this week. Namely Eye's Right, B*llocks Tight's first exclusive interview. That's right folks, Mother Rucker is moving up in the world.

One man has taken it upon himself to shed some light on these dark economic days of ours. Bob Babbington is that man and the light that he’s shining comes in the form of his innovation to the great game, Sim Rugby, see the fruits of his labour at simrugby.co.uk.


Bob, who is the World President and Global Guardian-in-Chief of the United World-Wide Intra-Continental Sim Rugby Federation, took some time out of his busy schedule to meet with yours truly and give us an insight into his world and his vision.


MR: Bob, thank you for coming in to talk to me.


BB: Absolute pleasure, thank you for having me.


MR: I think we should probably get this out of the way first. My nephew is a big fan of yours, so I rather foolishly asked him what question he’d like to put to you. Here is his inspired offering.

If you could be an animal which would you be?


BB: I would be an owlard – a genetically-engineered cross between an owl and a leopard. I would use my owl wisdom to think up clever arguments that would convince people to play sim rugby, and then run around really fast like a leopard, so word got round quicker. Or maybe a monkle - combining the dexterity of a monkey and the sharp eyesight of an eagle would make me a great Sim Rugby player. If any rogue geneticists are reading this – get in touch.


MR: Good, now we’ve got that out of the way – how are you, Bob?


BB: Great. I feel like Newton must have felt when he invented the first gravity. I’m not saying that I’m the Newton of my age – that’s for others to say. But as the inventor of Sim Rugby, I’ve certainly earned my place in the history books.


MR: That you have, you’re right up there with Boyle, Andre and that bloke who invented the wind-up radio, what was his name….


BB: Trevor Baylis?


MR: Trevor Baylis, that’s it. Yeah, you’re up there with Baylis. So what did you do before Sim Rugby became such an important part of your life?


BB: I just did the usual stuff, you know… got married to my wife Barbara, had a kid. Just killed time, really. Then I discovered Sim Rugby, and my life began.


MR: And how has Barbara reacted to it all?


BB: My wife is a very – and I’m choosing my words carefully here – my wife is a very bitter, vindictive woman. She is jealous of my love of the game, and jealous of the time I devote to it. I do have to accept some responsibility for her unreasonable behaviour, though. ‘It takes two to pass a sim’, as they say. Maybe I could be a more loving or attentive husband. But Barbara is my wife – sim rugby is my life.


Well, you’re clearly a passionate man. What do you say to those who think Sim Rugby is a flash in the pan?


BB: To my doubters I have only one thing to say: You’ll be sorry (my solicitor has advised me not to elaborate). History will vindicate me, just as it vindicated other radical thinkers who were ahead of their time, like Martin Luther King, or Gandhi, or the guy who invented pet rocks.


MR: Martin Luther King and Gandhi, eh? You'd better watch out we know what happened to them.

Do you still follow rugby union?


BB: Of course. I would never, ever dismiss or belittle the more primitive versions of rugby. Rugby union still has its place in the sporting world because it’s of great historical interest; it shows us where sim rugby came from. It’s ‘living history’, if you like – just as Shakespearean theatre is still relevant, because it shows us where Holby City and Eastenders came from. Similarly, rugby union enriches our understanding of its more evolved form, Sim Rugby.


MR: We know you've got the England team involved in Sim Rugby but how are you faring in getting your message to the masses?


BB: The masses have embraced Sim Rugby wholeheartedly. The world needed this game, and I was the pair of forceps that brought it kicking and screaming into the world. So, now that everyone has embraced the game so enthusiastically, it’s only a matter of time before someone starts actually playing it.


MR: Are there any other celebrity ambassadors who you're targeting to promote the game?


BB: I want the game to become mainstream family entertainment, so I’ve made approaches to Ant and Dec. I thought they could incorporate a Sim Rugby event in that jungle programme of theirs. Certainly it would be much more entertaining than watching soap stars eat insects. And I always thought the name of their show was quite negative; why not re-name it ‘I’m a celebrity, let’s enjoy a game of Sim Rugby’? Their producer hasn’t yet answered my calls, or texts, or letters, or emails, or petitions, or local press ads. But it’s surely only a matter of time before the ‘powers that be’ pull their heads out of the sand and recognise the televisual potential of Sim Rugby. You heard it here first! Keep passing people!


MR: Bob, thanks for your time. It’s been a dream come true.

Friday 5 February 2010

Countdown Proper


So with 24 (ish) hours to go the count down has definitely started for England’s 6 Nations campaign and that tingly feeling of nervous anticipation is sitting firmly in the belly. England will have been boosted by Gethin Jenkins suffering a last minute calf strain but typically we now have to suffer an injury blow ourselves. Flutey is out with a dead leg.

A DEAD FUCKING LEG!!!!

Now I’ve played a lot of rugby in my time and received countless dead legs, some more serious than others and generally pretty painful I grant you. But on the whole they don’t put you out of fucking action.

I appreciate the level of rugby that Flutey is playing is slightly – only slightly mind – higher than my own, but he didn’t get hurt in a contact session. This happened during a non-contact drill. How bad could it have been? This raises the question of whether professional rugby players are too wrapped in cotton wool?

At any rate we now have the ex-Newcastle backline of Wilkinson, Flood, Tait. Be in no doubt that Jamie Roberts will be chomping at the bit to take the ball flat and smash the 12 channel. Flood has to absorb this pressure and not rely on Wilko to do all the defending.

Even with Flutey out I’m beginning to grow in confidence for an England win tomorrow. It won’t be by much but a win is a win. It’s about time England started turning Twickenham back into the fortress it once was.

Friday 22 January 2010

Back in from the cold


I’m back. Jesus that took ages. Fucking snow. I only popped out for a bottle of milk and some Rennie. The havoc the Christmas cheer was reaping on my insides was unholy. Honestly, it was like I’d ingested the entire Viking race and they were intent on raping and pillaging their way through my digestive tract. Suffice to say, I needed to get to the chemist. Sharpish.

There were warnings of TREACHEROUS WEATHER CONDITIONS but I thought fuck it, if I don’t get some indigestion remedy soon there are going to be some pretty treacherous conditions here too.

I got to the chemist, inhaled half the packet and – feeling pretty happy with myself – got in the car to negotiate the three mile trip home. Unfortunately someone upstairs decided then would be a good time to dump the insides of Daniella Westbrook’s nostril all over our tiny Isle. So there I was, under 12 feet of snow with nothing but 6 Rennies and a pint of semi-skimmed as company. To cut a long story short it’s taken me a month and a bit to negotiate the three mile journey home (obviously stopping at every public house enroute).

Clearly, that is all complete bollocks. Sorry to lead you on. I just wanted flex my creative muscle. I was simply too pissed to write anything over Christmas and have only just returned from a post-Christmas ski-ing jaunt. So now I’m playing catch-up.

First up. Hats off to Bill McClaren. The legend. The master. He’s the reason I fell in love with rugby and since his retirement commentary just hasn’t been the same. Who else could describe Bryan Redpath as “slippy as a baggy on a Border burn”. Genius.

What else is going on? Oh yes. Venter’s been throwing his toys out of the pram now Saracens have lost a couple. Cunt.

A Frenchman has been banned for 70 weeks for eye gouging. Yeeeeess, get in!!!

And there’s obviously the final round of the Heineken Cup group games this weekend. Well done to Bath for giving us another complete shower of shit. But I like the look of the rest of the competition. Northampton Vs Munster will be fantastic tonight and if Courtney Lawes plays like he did in their last encounter he must surely start against Wales.

Which brings me neatly onto the small matter of the Six Nations. Christ its come round quickly. I’ve decided I’m not going to make any predictions this year as my prophecies are always, 100% donkey spunk.

What’s that? You want my prediction?

Oh go on then. You’ve twisted my sack. Ireland will win and England will come a vomit inducing 4th.

But first, England have to face Wales. Jesus wept. It’s going to be awful.

But it needn’t be.

Now I wouldn’t suggest for a minute that Martin Johnson reads this blog, but if he did, England might win some fucking games. Yeah. That’s right. Win some fucking games. Here’s the team that WOULD beat Wales if our glorious leader bothered to listen to me.

1. Sheridan
2. Hartley
3. Wilson
4. Shaw ©
5.Lawes
6. Haskell
7. Moody
8. Easter
9. Hodgson
10. Wilkinson
11. Monye
12. Flutey
13. Armitage
14. Ashton
15. Cueto

16. Care
17. Flood
18. Tait
19. Mears
20. White
21. Borthwick
22. Worsley