The Rise of Radike

Over the last six months Radike Samo has proved his career is as robust as his afro. And while it’s a joy to behold his bulbous barnet in full flight, we should all step back and marvel at the remarkable renaissance he’s enjoying in the winter of his career.

2011 may well prove to be Samo’s golden year. Having spent nearly a decade in the rugby wilderness flogging his wares in France and Japan, the 35 year old back-row not only became a crucial member of the Queensland Reds (having been signed as short-term cover for James Horwill), he broke back into the Australian team seven years after his debut – helping the Wallabies win the Tri-Nations while he was at it – and was one of the first to secure a place on the plane to the New Zealand.

A pretty good return indeed.

And now he’s proved so indispensible he’s starting on the wing against Russia this weekend. Is this a sign the wheels have come off for Australia? Or will Samo continue his purple patch with a barn storming performance on Saturday?

It’s fair to say I’m no fan of the Wallabies, but in Samo I’ve found someone in canary yellow I can really get behind.

Don't Drop The Egg - World Cup Special

Good news.

The boys who brought us Don't Drop The Egg have teamed up with our friends at Rugbydump to bring us more offerings from Ollie, Freddie and Archie as they gear up for the rugby world cup.

You have to admire Blazeby's commitment to the cause. I think we should all try to be a bit more like Blazers.

Playing by the rules

Need to brush up on the rules of rugby?

Not sure where to get a concise but thorough explanation of the finer points of the game?

Well, look no further. Let's let the good people of Lynx give us a demonstration.

Rock your socks off

What the hell is going on with James O'Connor's socks? They're not up, they're not down, they're not long, they're not short. Can somebody fill me in?

If they were round his ankles I'd think "Huh, the kid's not pulled his socks up - fair enough". If they were all the way up I wouldn't think anything because, well, he's got his socks up like everyone else. But the bastard's got them set just below the summit of his calves. He's thought about this. He's gone out of his way to get his socks in a place where they would never naturally be. I know this shouldn't upset me, but it does. It really fucking does. It's lucky he's got talent otherwise I'd be shitting blood.

Then there's the question of WHY. Is this some Latham-esque attempt at individuality? Is he so proud of his shaven calves that he simply has to show them off? Or, is he just a twat?

I'm going to let you decide. Please vote on the poll on the right hand side of the homepage and let's see what everyone else thinks.

An Observation

Cian Healy is the most Irish man on the planet.

Fact

Irish eyes, they're smiling now

Well, well, well. Ireland have well and truly thrown the cat among the pigeons. What a game. What a performance. What a result.

I don’t know what was more pleasing, seeing Ireland finally hit the form they so clearly have on paper, or seeing Quade Cooper’s odious little face at the final whistle.


Ireland showed two things in this game. That Australia still have the most impotent front row in world rugby’s top-tier and they themselves have one of the most physical and dynamic back rows in the game – and that’s without David Wallace!! Granted, Ireland’s lives were made easier with the absence of David Pocock, but even so, Ferris, Heaslip and O’Brien were out of this world. In fact, the entire pack was out of this world, they were masterful.

All teams should learn lessons from the boys in green on how to deal with Australia in this world cup. DOMINATE UP FRONT. Australia operate on a different plain when their backs can get ball going forward. But neutralise their ability to play on the front foot and you’ll have them firmly by the balls. The backs will always be dangerous in broken play and on the counter-attack, but if you’ve worked hard enough on your defence you can cope with them.

So, well done Ireland, you’ve turned the world cup on its head and made me look like a lemon. I salute you.

Boys will be boys

So, the World Cup is up and running. England have started in their usual stuttery way, Australia still look like winning it and, with any luck, this weekend we'll see Samoa ending any chance Wales have of qualifying for the knockout stages.

It’s been a good start to the competition. The “minnows” are doing their upmost to cause a few scares and New Zealand are hosting well and doing everything they can through social and online media to engage the rugby public during the hours when we’re actually awake but no rugby is taking place.

All good news then? Well, nearly. Now this may come as a bit of a shock to those of you who are regular readers of this blog, but something’s made me absolutely, unapologetically and apocalyptically angry.

What’s caused this sudden gush of fury, you ask?

Well, according to most sane sources, Sunday night at the Altitude Bar at Queenstown’s Base hostel (high quality backpacker accommodation at a very reasonable rate) went something like this…

The England boys go for some drinks in a bar where entertainment is being provided by some small people – midgets, if you will. The England boys have some drinks and have some photos taken with some of the midgets and fans. Mike Tindall talks to a girl. They all go home.

But the fetid toilet bowl that is the British press have done their usual trick of taking some photos, video footage and hearsay and turning it into the scandal of the century. Every element of the story appears to have been taken out of context, sensationalised to the nth degree and written up in the gutter-press' usual spiteful manner.

So they went for some beers after winning their opening game. So they had some high-jinx (which, unlike some papers would have us believe, didn’t include tossing dwarves). So they talked to some girls. Errrr, hello? They’re professional rugby players with an average age of about 25. They’ve actually been pretty fucking restrained if you ask me.



And do you know what the really laughable thing is? The paper leading the charge on this moral crusade is the same paper whose owners, former editors and reporters are under investigation for allegedly hacking into the phones of murder victims and their families. Moral fucking high ground? Fuck off you cunts.

Keep up the good work England. Life's too bloody short.

Go On Then, If I Must

I get a lot of emails asking why I don’t write more in-depth analysis of rugby matches, teams and players. It’s a fair question, and one with a very simple answer.

I DON’T GET FUCKING PAID.

As a result, you’ll find me wittering on about stuff I like to witter on about. I love the game of rugby but I can't be bothered to try and come up with any deep and meaningful analysis, especially considering the few times I have tried I’ve got it wrong. Look at my prediction about Sharples being our star man for the world cup.

To be fair, though, even with a lack of technical scrutiny, this little corner of the internet gets its fair share of traffic. Amazing considering most of the content is complete bollocks. So in the interest of keeping my loyal and discerning fan base happy it’s time for the latest round of the Eyes Right, Bollocks Tight Cheerleader of the Month. Yee-motherfucking-Ha.

Previous rounds can be seen here, here and here and I think you’ll agree they’ve all been closely fought contests.

I’ve received a number of nominations for this month’s round and you chaps (and some extremely saucy ladies) have done me very proud. So, without further ado let’s crack on with the nominees:









But this month's hands down winner - or should that be hands on winner - is Katie from the Natal Sharks. Woo Hoo.

Commenting on her victory, Katie said: "What? Me? No Way, I don't believe it! All the girls talk about this competition but I'd never entered before and never thought I'd win in a million years. Thank you so much Eyes Right, I love the blog and will make sure I send more pictures in the future"

Make sure you do, Katie. For the love of god make sure you do.

Have a good weekend one and all.

Too Close For Comfort

Anyone who has experience of playing rugby at university, or at a club post-uni, will recognise many of characters and scenarios that make up this genius set of videos.

I pray they make some more. Enjoy.





Thanks to Rugby Dump for the links.

I Predict A Riot

It’s been a funny few days in London. On Monday night I had a grandstand view of the odious little fucks intent on bringing my neighbourhood to its knees – I’ve never longed for a sniper rifle so much in my entire life.

I would’ve loved to lock the cross-hairs onto the heads of the rabid scum, squeeze the trigger and liberate their moronic little brains all over the common. Fertilising the grass dogs piss on is all they are good for.

Alas, all I had was my camera phone and a note-pad, so I noted down number plates and shopped the cunts to the rozzers. Bastards.

But all this action did start me thinking. I was watching London’s riot police in action and thought to myself “Jesus – these guys would be awesome in a rugby team”.

Now, some of you may remember the rugby team I compiled of different food types in honour of Keith Floyd [salutes theatrically], so here is my team of uniformed and military forces throughout history.

I think you’ll agree, this little lot are not to be fucked with – London might have been kept damage free had these boys been patrolling the streets.

1. Loose Head: French Foreign Legion – These boys give up their identity and move to Africa in order to train to be some of the most fearsome fighters in the world. They have beards, axes and hammers. Put simply, they’re nails









2. Hooker: Special Air Service – I’m thinking along the lines of Schalk Brits here. Dropped into situations no one else really wants to go, causes damage, gets the fuck out










3. Tight Head: Riot Police – Love a bosh and aren’t afraid of a full frontal attack from angry hordes









4. Lock: Navy Seal – Big, brash, terrifying. Usually carry around huge equipment designed to kill you










5. Lock: Spartan Warrior – Not phased by being outnumbered 4,000 to one. Actively encourage death. Not afraid of getting their tackle out










6. Blind Side: Gurkha – Mental. That is all











7. Open Side: Para – These guys jump out of planes for fucks sake. As long as you can stop them scrapping with the marine then you’re guaranteed to have a tackling machine who won’t let anything through













8. Number Eight: Royal Marine – Unbelievable stamina, enormous bulk, commands respect and terrifies all comers










9. Scrum Half: Traffic Warden – Everywhere you don’t want them to be. Always get their job done, whether you like it or not













10. Fly Half: RAF Fighter Pilot – Can look in two directions at once and keep even the largest fighting units in check. Class









11. Wing: Samurai Warrior –Will cut you in half and score a try so quickly you won’t know what’s happened












12. Inside Centre: Special Boat Service – Solid, brutal and undetectable when necessary










13. Outside Centre: US Ranger – “Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a Ranger word” – Nuff said













14. Wing: Zulu Warrior – Quick over the ground, able to hurdle six foot walls of grain, love giving the Welsh the fight of their lives













15. Full-Back: Swiss Guard – These guys may look like the crappest clowns at the circus but twice in history have the Pope’s private guard been hacked down to the last man while defending the pontiff. That’s the sort of defensive commitment you want at the back

Twickenham on Pacific?

In what will hopefully be an absolute demolition of Welsh rugby tomorrow, England’s mid-field will line up with the best part of 200kg of solid south sea brawn.

The thought of two players born on the other side of world donning the red rose of England may make the rugby purists spit out their pints of mild in horror. But the prospect of seeing Flutey and Tuilagi in action for England TOGETHER is making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and my not insubstantial balls tingle.

The vision, guile and creativity of Flutey, combined with the pace, power and sheer ferocity of Tuilagi has the potential to be something quite special indeed. And with Wilkinson pulling all the strings at 10 it could be a very sexy match.

That said, a full international as the players’ first pre-season warm-up game means that errors are likely. But as long as young Manu can avoid situations like this…



I’m sure he will have a major impact on the game.

He certainly seems ready to take centre stage and if this interview is to be believed (courtesy of the awesome fellows at Sportsvibe.co.uk) then he’ll hopefully have his temper under control. He’s clearly not the brightest spark, but hopefully those around him will keep a close eye on his temperament during the game.



Good luck on Saturday, Manu and good luck England. Keep an eye out for Charlie Sharples as well. I genuinely believe he could be England’s surprise package this world cup. You heard it here first.

Pipe Down Jonah

Now, Jonah Lomu is not a man that I criticise lightly, but I have to take issue with his ludicrous attitude towards England wearing a black away strip for the World Cup.

If you’ve not heard what Mr Lomu has to say you can see it below and on the BBC website here.



So. Waddaya think? My thoughts?

Grow up Jonah, you peenarse!

The All Blacks are a rugby team, plain and simple. And as much as you might like to think you’re this untouchable religious order, you’re not.

A team can wear whatever colour they choose as their away strip and, while I have to admire Nike’s audacious PR move, the RFU has chosen a strip that looks pretty fucking cool. (I also love Nike’s touch of putting Flutey in the promo shots)
















Of course, it’s not as if the All Blacks would do anything like “disrespecting the legacy of past players” by wearing a colour synonymous with another team, is it?

Oh wait, what’s this?

















Dick.

An Open Letter to Joost van der Westhuizen

Dear Joost,

I couldn’t stand watching you play. You were the bane of my life. You were the bane of England’s life. Every time you took to the field against my team I knew you would do something to ruin the day. You were faultless in every aspect of the game.

Your balance, vision and guile were peerless. You got under the skin of your opposite man. You were cunning in the extreme. You scored more tries than I care to remember. You were a great ambassador for the game. You were a great captain.

I couldn’t stand watching you play, Joost. And that’s why you are one of the greatest rugby players of all fucking time.

I wish you and your family the best for the coming years.

Kind regards,

M.Rucker

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Afternoon Delight

Afternoon campers. I hope you’re well and looking forward to a weekend of dodging the monsoons. I know I am.

As it’s Friday afternoon and you’re probably putting off that important thing you’ve got to do before the weekend until Monday, here is something that will keep you going until 5.30.

It’s been sometime since this high-brow media outlet has had some gratuitous flesh on show so I thought it would be a good idea to catch up with the “fastest-growing pro sports league in the [USA]”. Not my words, the words of NBC Sport’s Rick Chandler. That’s right folks; it’s time to catch up with the Lingerie Football League. Fuck yeah.



Now this isn’t a sport I tend to keep a close eye on – except when alone in a darkened room – so I missed the ’10-’11 campaign. But it looked, to the untrained eye, like an absolute gusset ripper (is that alright to say? Fuck it, I’ve said it now).

The Western Conference champions, Los Angeles Temptation, took on Eastern Conference winners, Philadelphia Passion, in the 2011 Lingerie Bowl and what an encounter it was. Temptation pipped the Passion to the title defeating the ladies from Philly 26-25 in a hard fought battle of flesh on flesh [loosens collar, wipes sweat from brow].


With finals of this calibre it’s amazing that the LFL has not caught on more on these shores. So I appeal to you, men of England, men of Britain. Please, for the love of god, watch more LFL. These girls deserve your appreciation.

Sporting Perfection

Sport is a wonderful, scintillating and inspiring thing. And it’s made even more so when the ‘good guy’ comes up trumps.

In 2006, Darren Clarke not only won the hearts of golf and sports fans; he managed to touch anyone with an ounce of emotion in their body. Just six weeks after the tragic death of his wife Heather, Clarke went out and played in Europe’s Ryder Cup team. He won three out of three points and was crucial in helping Europe secure victory. Clarke was a hero that weekend.

It was no surprise, then, that sport fans everywhere began to stir with excitement when the Ulsterman began to climb the leader board at Royal St Georges this past weekend. I don’t believe there was a single person who watches golf – anywhere in the world – who wasn’t hopeful that he could maintain his lead on the final day. And anyone who doubts the power of positive thought had a case to answer when Clarke bounced out of and over two of the course’s nastiest bunkers during his final round. Luck? Maybe. But I like to think that the hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of fans around the world willing the ball to find the fairway had something to do with it.

Clarke finished the competition three shots clear and sealed his place in the hearts of the UK, golf fans world-wide and Northern Irish folklore. Darren Clarke, you are the classiest of acts and an inspiration to all. I tip my cap sir.

David Haye's £15m Rip Off

I'm not sure what's worse. The fact that David Haye ripped off the British public on Saturday night, or the fact that we fell for his bollocks in the first place.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not naive, I understand boxers build up fights to maximise viewing figures and line the pockets of themselves, the sponsors and TV rights holders. But in my mind, what took place on Saturday night was a clear example of a professional sportsman pulling the wool over the public's eyes and the “Hayemaker” walked away with a cool £15m for his trouble.

Haye blamed his woeful and quite frankly embarrassing performance on a broken toe. Well I'm sorry Mr Haye that’s just not fucking good enough.

Less than a week before the fight Haye told the world "I am in peak condition, really good shape. I look in the mirror and my body is unrecognisable to what it was six months ago"

In that case David Haye – you’re a fucking liar. People handed over their hard-earned money to watch you fight because they believed you were at the top of your game but, as you put it in the post fight press conference, "[My broken toe] didn't allow me to open up and throw big, powerful punches…I wasn't able to explode off my leg”

The viewing figures for the fight haven’t been released yet but however many poor bastards stumped up the £15 to watch the debacle – let alone the countless thousands who bet on the fight – they should all get their money back.

Haye went into the fight knowing he couldn’t deliver what he promised but didn’t want to pull out and “disappoint the fans”. In going ahead he not only disappointed his fans, but he very probably lost a sizable proportion of them.

On the HBO promotional material for the fight the tag-line exclaimed "The Talk Ends Now". For David Haye, who after the clash still believed the bout had put “heavyweight boxing back on the map” the talk really should end now.

If he decides to continue he should keep his trap shut and let his boxing do the talking. That’s the only way he has any chance of winning back some of the respect he lost on Saturday along with his WBA heavyweight title.