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.

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.