The Rugby Roundtable

Kia Ora from the land of the complimentary test ticket.

Well, the wanna-be’s test campaign against the French got off to a good start with the announcement that Matt “the pudding” Dunning would be missing with injury.  Apparently the injury occurred when the rest of the team realised it was the only way they could be rid of the fat bastard.

French sideshow Sebastian Chabal was unusually vocal in the lead up to the first test, announcing that he no longer wanted to be known as “The Caveman” but would prefer the decidedly less tough moniker of “Sea bass”…

What is his flippin’ problem? Maybe he’s upset that the rest of the world has caught up to me in realising that he’s simply getting by on a catchy nickname and looking a bit weird, whilst not actually being particularly good at playing rugby. Sea bass – you’re a tool.

Another interesting piece of media this week – in the build up to the first All Blacks-Wallabies test, Sydney Morning Herald Journo Phil Wilkins has been asked to list his top five Bledisloe Cup games.

He kicked things off with describing the thrills of the final match of the 1929 series. Eh? To remember the details of that game, he’d have to be well over 85 years old. He is a backward old dinosaur, out of touch with the modern game, but he isn’t that old, and there’s no film of the game, so what the hell does he know about it?

I would suggest that he only included it because that was the first time the criminals won a series against us. Also, the Bledisloe Cup didn’t even exist until 1931…

The ARU responded to reports that they had been giving away free tickets for the Australia- France test at Sydney’s Olympic Stadium by spinning some bullshit about the ground at Homebush being “cursed”. Whatever you try and say boys, the truth is that people aren’t interested.

Now, I’m going to do something unusual here and offer some support to John O’Neill’s possum and the rest of the Aussie rugby intelligentsia on this issue. Here goes…

Why aren’t people interested in these June tours? I’ll tell you why – ‘cos those useless pricks up in the Northern Hemisphere can’t get it together amongst themselves to sort out sending decent teams down here to play us. England didn’t even send a coach this year! What’s the story?

You’re ripping us off you bastards, and I’ll take it upon myself to speak on behalf of the rugby public up there in the North as well, because you’re ripping them off too. I was sitting in the stands at Stade de France in 2002 when John Mitchell rolled out a sub-standard All Blacks team which scraped a draw with the frogs 20-20, and I can tell you that watching the team you support under-achieving because the fat idiots in charge are allowing the legs to be cut out from under the national jersey is a bloody unpleasant experience.

On behalf of the Rugby Universe, the message to rugby administrators worldwide is this- Get into the room of mirrors, take a good, long, hard look at yourself then do the right thing by everybody and SORT THIS MESS OUT, once and for all.

Finally, the man with the name everyone loves to hate (including himself), Rocky Elsom, has been given a an early release to join Leinster (well spotted Staf) after the Tri-Nations. The release was officially granted on “compassionate grounds”, but nobody seemed to be able to explain what these “grounds” are.

Allow me to switch on the Aussie-speak translator again. What this really means is “Rocky is the arguably our best player and if we don’t let him do whatever he wants he’ll bugger off to the big money up north permanently and not give us, our baby-poo orange jumper, waltzing matilda or tah man a second thought, and we just can’t cop that”.

Money is truly the root of all evil. That, or Jimmy Cowan with a few jugs inside him.

Now for this weeks’ edition of CSI: Brisbane – Crime Scene Inebriation

The Normanby Hotel, Red Hill.

Okay ladies and Gentlemen – if you’ve heard of Brisbane, then you’ve heard of the Normanby Hotel.

This is yet another of Queensland’s fine and ancient old drinking establishments that has had a bit of a refurb and is now back in the domain of the young and the binge-drinking.

This watering hole sits just on the outskirts of the city and no more than a 10 minute stumble from Suncorp Stadium. The hotel is laid out over several different indoor and outdoor levels and although it offers the important amenities of a good feed, live music and a bit of a punt for the gamblers, it is mostly known for being extremely serious about drinking and drinking hard.

The Normanby Hotel has achieved a certain notoriety in 2008 for the amount of drunken misadventure taking place in and around the venue. From brawling in the street to a high rate of intoxicated casualties to bat attacks in the beer garden (yes, bats - like the vampire. I told you this country was primitive) there has been no shortage of controversy surrounding this out and out party joint.

There has been a lot of public outcry over the Normanby’s situation and they have even had to show reason to the government why they shouldn’t be shut down. Simply type the name into a Facebook search and you’ll find groups supporting and condemning the place in equal measure.

Popularly regarded as putting on the best Sunday session in Brisbane, the Normanby Hotel is always packed to the rafters and a good place for those who aren’t bothered by a slightly “unpolished” atmosphere (wear your gumboots).

It must be noted that the bar staff are predominately female and seem to be selected for their aesthetic value as opposed to drink-serving abilities. This means that you do have a long wait for your beer, but at least you’ll have a nice view for the duration.

Finally, I’d like to add that the last three times I was there, so were the Wallabies. Yes – Dan Vickerman is bloody tall (I thought he was standing on a chair), and I once saw George Smith pick up another human being and do bicep curls with the guy.

Impressive, but they’re still just crooks.

Some photos from the hazy aftermath of the Australia-France test 28-6-08. Hold the cursor over each pic for the caption.

Kia Ora from the land of the enthusiastic Policemen.

As some of you will have heard during the podcast, on Sunday night I was hosted briefly at the Brunswick Mall cop-shop by the good Officers of the Queensland Police Force.

I was out and about in Brisneyland performing my CSI duties, when the coppers in question noticed via closed circuit cameras that I was keen for a wee-wee, and reacting quickly to a citizen in need, dispatched two of their finest to locate and bring me back to the station, presumably with the intention of allowing me to avail myself of their lavatory facilities.

Unfortunately, by the time they got to me, my need to urinate had been satisfied in a nearby alleyway, so they decided to give me a demonstration of their handcuff usage and arrest technique, which was both enjoyable and exciting, particularly for the 20 or 30 onlookers who had no idea what was going on and were about to become very “anti-cop” given that a seemingly innocent man was being harassed on their patch by Mr. Plod for no particular reason.

In the end, the Coppers turned out to be good blokes and when they found out I was a Kiwi they let me go after I sang them a verse of “God Defend New Zealand”. Needless to say that I capped my virtuoso performance by singing it in Maori. Something to keep in mind, should you ever find yourself in an awkward situation involving the crook’s constabulary.

Anyway, back on the field last week, a bottom-of-the-barrel QLD XV comprising of apprentice mechanics and blokes studying to be P.E teachers crushed a pretty handy Auckland team by the sad and lamentable tune of 42-0.

The Auk’s team was made up of genuine NPC and Super 14 players, and the game was played at the Queensland holiday playground of the Sunshine Coast.

Taking this into account, I’m guessing that had the Auckland boys been breathalysed before kick-off, they would’ve been WELL over the limit, and probably suffering from the dreaded young men’s ailment known as “Shagger’s Back”.

Also up here in the mosquito state, Rodney Blake, the man who made a career in professional sport with nothing more in his toolkit than a catchy nickname and a weight problem, has somehow convinced cashed up French club Bayonne to sign him.

No doubt he’ll get paid far more than he’s worth, whilst failing to contribute anything of value to the team or club. Rodzilla – he’s fat, he’s slow, he’s got a silly haircut, and he’s a lot richer than me. Bastard.

The Criminals are planning a lot more than petty thievery it seems, with announcements that the failed plans for an elite national rugby academy at Ballymore in Brisbane have been resurrected by the ARU.

Last year former convict PM John “So- sor- so… no, I can’t say it” Howard pledged 25 million Aussie pesos to the plan, which went tits up when he was voted out shortly afterwards. Speaking from atop John O’Neill’s head last week, an oily possum announced that the plans for the academy were back under consideration, and with an added “Pacific Island angle”.

This is criminal code for “We want to steal the talented Pacific Islander kiddies and possibly even the Maoris as well before they reach the age of realising that being an All Black is a genuine possibility for them because if we tried after that there’s no way they would choose the ugly skin-tight orange jersey with the built-in man boob bra instead of pulling on the Black and Silver Fern.”

And Staf agrees with me.

In more genuine criminal news, apparently the NSWRU has been contacted by Centrelink (the Australian social security agency) due to the number of Sydney residents on unemployment benefits claiming to be the Waratahs mascot.

Over here, when an unemployed person has been claiming the dole for a certain amount of time, they have to prove that they are undertaking some sort of useful activity in order to keep receiving their benefits.

According to press reports last week, at least 10 different bludgers have claimed that they are the person behind the mask on the sideline at the Sydney Football Stadium and therefore also contributing to society.

I think that story speaks for itself.

Now for this weeks’ edition of CSI: Brisbane – Crime Scene Inebriation

Tony’s Niteclub – Wickham St, Fortitude Valley

Now listen up pilgrims – Tony’s is not a place for the faint-hearted.

Tony’s is the place where low-quality beer is served warm out of cans at an over-inflated price.

Tony’s is the place where ugly girls get naked on a makeshift stage for whatever loose change you’ve got in your pocket.

Tony’s is the place where you have to find the strippers when you arrive and toe them in the ribs to waken them as they sleep off the methadone.

Tony’s is the place where the minimal lighting is all blue UV, to stop patrons cracking out a needle and smacking themselves should the urge suddenly overcome them.

Tony’s is the place where nobody asks any questions and you don’t stay for more than three or four beers if you know what’s good for you.

Tony’s is a place where none of the above matters because you only stop in briefly after midnight when you’re already wankered, and you’re just there to remind yourself how much of a good time you’re having when you’re somewhere else.

Tony’s is…legendary.

Kia Ora from the land of the pissweak scrum.

Okay, here are the convict results in brief:

Under 20’s – lost to England (Yay!)

Australia A – Beat Samoa (boo!)

Wanna-be’s – Beat Ireland, but probably should’ve lost (hmmmmm…)

After the crooks’ less-than-convincing win over the brave but unskilled Irish, the mood here in the prison is still cautiously optimistic. They aren’t stupid enough to try pass all their failings off as simple rustiness, and they are aware that their forwards are shit.

Al “scrum face” Baxter has publicly admitted that he and the other forwards “failed” at the breakdown in allowing rookie halfback Luke Burgess to repeatedly get the crap beaten out of him by large, angry Irishmen. Baxter blamed this on their inability to adapt back to life without ELV’s, but promised that they’d do better next time. This will probably be a great comfort to Burgess, assuming he ever consents to play with a loser like Baxter again.

John O’Neill admitted this week that before Kerry Packer’s death, he, Packer and the possum on his head got together and drew up plans for hybrid rugby union-league code. Given what Packer managed to do with World Series Cricket and the one-day revolution, this is disturbing news indeed.

Think about it – a hybrid game would mean opening the doors of the original, and superior, code to all sorts of miscreants, for it is mainly the convicts that play the 13 man game. Hasn’t rugby union got enough problems at the moment without having to deal with guys like Willie Mason, Greg Bird, Mark “fire up bitch” Gasnier and Russell Crowe? Not to mention the return of Mat Rogers and Ding Dong Dell…

Speaking of leaguies and rugby, Lote Tuqiri commented in the media this week, saying that people who didn’t know the details of Sonny Bill William’s contract situation should “shut their mouths” and not talk about it.

The man who yearns to be captain of the criminals then proved his credentials as an intelligent footballer by stating the he himself knew absolutely nothing about Sonny Bill’s situation and therefore, by his own criteria, should shut the hell up.

Thank you Lote, we’ve been waiting for some time now for you to do this.

Now for this weeks’ edition of CSI: Brisbane – Crime Scene Inebriation

Hotel Bravo – Brunswick St, Fortitude Valley

Dear, dear, dear… after all the positive news I’ve been reporting about great boozing experiences in top venues, I ventured where I knew I probably shouldn’t – and this happened.

On the podcast, I feel that I didn’t properly express just how awful this jumped-up, puerile, wanky little cocktail bar is, nor did I fully illustrate just how thoroughly obnoxious are the arrogant, self important and vacuous gobshites that populate the place.

Picture the guys in (possibly) expensive suits with collars open to their belly buttons, trying vainly to pick up girls by waving their business cards and gold visa/ amex/ MasterCard around the place, as the younger blokes wear tight, fluorescent shirts, even tighter black jeans and stand around comparing hair gels and protein shakes.

Admittedly, the girls are extremely gorgeous, but watch too much Sex & the City, were probably spoiled by parents that didn’t love them and have personalities that would make Satan himself seem like a reasonable, un-demanding guy. I believe “high-maintenance, attention seeking, Paris Hilton clones” is the term in searching for.

As for waiting 10 minutes for the privilege of paying $8 for a small bottle of crappy beer, and getting smirked at by a minimum wage-earning, teenage monkey of a barman because you’re not ordering one of their fabulous, artistic cocktails – fuck that.

And nobody was interested in talking rugby…

Save yourself the hassle and go to a real pub, with real people.

Now because I didn’t snap any photos of the shithole, I decided to provide a couple of drawings of my own, just to give you a visual of two of the types of complete arseholes who contribute to the clientele population at Bravo. Enjoy.

Kia Ora from the land of the wrong white crowd.

Well, as discussed on the fantastic live 100^th show, there was bugger-all happening vis-à-vis the rugby in convict country this week, so I’ll be as brief as I can.

Rocky “I’ll never forgive my parents” Elsom is likely to be granted the Dan Carter sabbatical deal to go and play a season in Europe, although he will not be eligible for the Wallabies the following year. Elsom has been off contract for some time now, and negotiations have been causing John O’Neill a lot of headaches, even more so than the possum that lives up there on top of his melon.

I think it’s fairly obvious now that the ARU’s master plan for problem solving (no decent coaches, no way of sorting out contract disputes) is to just steal a solution from New Zealand. And they wonder why we call them criminals.

Hello Sailor! Ding Dong Dell with the white line fever made his return to professional sport after a two year drug ban last weekend, when he took the field for the St George-Illawara Dragons in the NRL.

There’s no punchline to this story, except the fact that he broke his cheekbone in the first half, and will be forced to spend quite a bit more time on the sideline. Sucker.

And the latest in a long, long line of pissweak nicknames and tacky marketing gimmicks (waltzing matilda, “men of gold”, signing league players, “bring back bill”, The Red Army, buying South Africans, ‘Tah Man, Matt Dunning) convict rugby has finally sunk to a new low in their sickening hero-worship of Robbie Deans… he is now being feted in the media as “Aussie Bob”…

For f##ck’s sake. 

Now for this weeks’ edition of CSI: Brisbane – Crime Scene Inebriation

The Story Bridge Hotel – 200 Main Street, Kangaroo Point (Opposite Juice’s house)

This pub is about 120 years old and has recently been renovated to keep up with the needs of the modern boozer… and the desires of sexual miscreants like Mark Stafford.

Situated on the banks of the Brisbane River, directly opposite the CBD, this venue contains an old fashioned pub, a flash nightclub-style cocktail bar, a beer garden, three restaurants and a bottle shop that stocks Speight’s. And (occasionally) Monteith’s radler.

The clientele is made up of all sorts of people, from the middle aged yuppies that live in the surrounding up-market apartments to the young girls in shorts skirts and guys with fluro t-shirts and Queensland Reds’ hairstyles.

Sport is popular here and there’s plenty of TVs to catch whatever code you’re into, or even the Fashion Channel which gets lively after midnight. There is also 18- count ‘em -18 different beers on tap, so you’re never going to go thirsty.

The hotel also runs free buses to all the major sporting events in Brisbane, so popping in for a steak and some beers before the game and then taking the 15 minute drive to Suncorp Stadium is a pretty comfy option on match day. 

Then you can return afterwards, tell everyone how well the All Blacks played and work your way through the beer selection as the dance floor and the young people on it start to become more and more attractive…

Bless the Borchers for taking us World Wide!!

Anthony Boric will hold his breath as the clock slips past midnight tonight, as the seconds dissolve into Saturday he will change. Not that you will notice anything, but those who know him will; those who have driven down to the Rugby club with him will know, all those old coaches will be keeping a close eye on the ‘young fella’. When he received his training kit and sponsor product package this week, it was all adorned with his initials – AB.

When Anthony Boric arrives under the cover of darkness to Saturday morning he will be an All Black.

And in this country that makes you different.

It is still enough in New Zealand to be an All Black, it is still enough to strive and dream to be given the ultimate challenge in New Zealand Rugby, the responsibility to carry the colour with success and pride. It has become obvious that Black equals mean Green in the Rugby World and for certain Black is for sale if the price is right. But don’t think for a moment that a purchase guarantees that Black like result, it buys the player, it contracts the ability, it harnesses the instinct but it doesn’t buy love.

To be an All Black you must love the idea of being one, it takes a vision crafted out of hard earned effort. What is there to love?

The possibility that you might be involved in a team that in ‘the’ moment achieves something truly special, the shoulder to shoulder understanding that you are part of a group that is special because the expectation of the individuals is to dig deep and find that little bit extra. So past the barriers of fear and failure, through the physical pain and lies that go with weakness leaving the body under protest and to the threshold of utter commitment.

We are the country that does it best, our very finest players have created the world in which many others play, the demands our players have placed on themselves will never be adequately recompensed with gold or silver.

When Anthony Boric opens his eyes on Saturday morning he will be an All Black, from that moment on there’s no going back.

In a moving tribute to the RU’s top podcast, leader and administrator of the SIR sends in the ‘Bin Laden’ type address from point ‘unknown’ so stealth are Gato’s movements.

Gato - We Salute You!

Kia Ora from the big floating prison.

The big news this week has seen me wasting valuable time monitoring the newsfeeds for the report of Robbie’s first Wallaby squad on Monday afternoon, and when it finally was announced, I can only admit to feeling distinctly disinterested. There was no surprise, no revelations and absolutely no point.

Whilst our general attitude towards whatever the criminals do is rightfully one of “we don’t care who you pick, we’ll beat them anyway”, it was gratifying to see the omission of the fat midfielder, because maybe now he’ll get the message that he’s rubbish.

There are hints however, that tubby Turunui may still be called into the squad, but only at the expense of Matt Dunning.

The main focus of the convict rugby public though, has been not on the players in the hideous orange jumpers, but the Kiwi in charge of them, and it has to be said that Robbie Deans should be re-named as “The New Ned Kelly” - because he’s a criminal hero.

The crooks have been disgustingly grateful to have Robbie in their midst, and although I’ve said that you can’t polish a turd, I do believe that Robbie might get this loose collection of petty criminals and turn them into something that resembles a half decent test rugby team.

But as long as they keep wearing the skin-tight baby-poo orange Spiderman jerseys with the built in man-boob bras, we’ll still be able to have a good laugh at them.

Other criminal news sees one of the Western Force’s major sponsors doing the dishonest thing and trying to weasel out of paying Mitch’s Wild West outpost a hell of a lot of money. Included in the pesos owed to the Perth-based team is about $500,000 worth of third party sponsorship to Matt “I’m holding this crap team together” Giteau, furthering speculation that he’ll be back in toytown and saddling up with the Brumbies very soon.

And just to have a quick look back to the past, the ta-tahs prepared for the Super 14 final by switching from the hotel they usually stay in when visiting Christchurch, because it was believed to bring them “bad luck”.

With the benefit of hindsight, it’s easy to say that the theory was complete arse, but given that I made that assertion in the pub last Friday, I’m allowed to repeat it here now.

Speaking of the Final, I think it’s fair to say that the ta-tahs never looked like winning, even when they were two tries to the good, but the final nails were really driven into the coffin when Dunning and Adam Freier were brought off the bench. Those two blokes equal a white flag in anybody’s book.

And finally, this weeks’ edition of CSI: Brisbane – Crime Scene Inebriation

The Fox – Melbourne Street, South Brisbane

The Fox is four storeys of recently renovated pub just near the Brisbane river, opposite the city and next to the Southbank tourist attraction.

An art deco theme is carried throughout the venue and the hotel reflects the architecture of this period, from the marble bars to alabaster mood lighting and impressive lead crystal chandeliers.

More importantly though, there are plenty of bars, the beers aren’t too pricey and the joint isn’t full of weirdoes and smelly, incoherent old men like most places in that area used to be.

The Main Bar is on the ground floor, and has plenty of space to spread out and try your patented Staf-style radler moves on the unsuspecting university students, or dance like a prat if you’ve swallowed enough booze.

Amongst the clientele are plenty of laid-back youngsters from the nearby artistic enclave of West End, and on Saturday there were many Kiwis in attendance, although the white sneakers, mullets and rats’ tails did the international New Zealand reputation no favours.

Of special interest is the amazing roof garden with 360 degree views of Brisbane. The views of the city skyline over the riverscape at night would set a truly magnificent backdrop, and an opportunity, post-Bledisloe, to look out upon the city that has been freshly conquered by the might of the one and only BLACKNESS.

Drew Butterworth has managed to smuggle this video of good will and congratulations out of ‘Prison Isle’ to me here in the seat of blackness.  Many people risked their lives to get this out of the sand pit and before you all here today, so stop, sit down and enjoy the best little g’day you’ll ever see from a criminal.

Kia Ora from HM Prison Australia and the State where losing is back in fashion.

There was no rugby in my neck of the jail this weekend, so the main focus up here was on the other code, which put on the first game of the annual rugby league “State of Origin” series in Sydney during the week.

It’s fair to say that the utter lack of ability displayed by the Reds this year has had a big effect on the rest of the state as the Queensland rugby league team went into Wednesday nights’ game as overwhelming favourites, only to finish up on the wrong end of an 18-10 scoreline.

Present at the game were the Sharks, who attended the match as part of the build up for their semi-final against the tah-tahs. Coach Dick Muir said they enjoyed the game and were particularly interested in the defensive aspect of it. Obviously the bits that stuck most in their minds were the missed tackles, which became evident as the tah-tahs saw off the South African invaders with relative ease.

Australia is full of gum trees as everybody knows, and it now seems the criminals have taken to smoking the leaves as a rumour has emerged that florist McKenzie is going to take over at the Crusaders once Robbie “I’m getting paid more than all the Wallabies put together” Deans leaves. I was going to make a joke about this suggestion, but I think it’s probably funny enough on its own.

ARU boss John O’Neill spoke out on recruiting this week when he commented on the subject of rugby league players;

“We’re just not interested in them full stop. It’s not about affordability, it’s about concentrating our own investment dollars in our own backyard.”

Having said this, he then demonstrated the ARU’s commitment to investing in their own backyard by stating that they would be focusing on recruiting leaguies from the under 20 competition rather than the NRL. He really should leave the talking to the possum that lives on his head.

The Smith brothers, George and Tyrone caused celebrations in toytown this week, as the Brumbies’ duo won awards as the top Australian Super 14 player and Super 14 rookie respectively.

George snuck through for his third consecutive title ahead of “Aussie” Dan Vickerman and Chris Latham ranked highly also, despite not even being on the field for half the season, which says a lot about the state of aussie rugby. Any rumours that Phil Waugh actually won but was disqualified as he technically isn’t human anymore, are yet to be confirmed.

Tyrone meanwhile, picked up his prestigious gong ahead of stiff competiton from the likes of Tom Carter (?), Tom Hockings (???) and the pie with eyes, Leroy Houston.

Over here, any large Polynesian that scores a few tries in club rugby is immediately labelled “the new Jonah Lomu”, and the convict media are beside themselves with the news of the latest one.

Ratu Nasiganiyavi is 20 years old and comes with the added bonus of being Lote Tuqiri’s cousin. He plays for Randwick in the Sydney competition and when he arrived they couldn’t find a jersey big enough to fit him, which apparently means he’s going to be a star. He’s been named in the Australian under-20 team, but Rusty will probably come along with a big cash offer and nab him for the Rabbits in the NRL. 

Finally, this weeks’ edition of CSI: Brisbane – Crime Scene Inebriation.

The Groove Train – Eagle Pier, City.

I’ve carried on last weeks’ bohemian theme in picking this riverside establishment, which is every bit as relaxed as it sounds. This place is a café/bar that could pass itself off as a well-furnished branch of Real Groovy records. The interior theme is orange, brown and concert poster wallpaper. No pool tables in this joint, instead there are 80’s style spacies games, the kind that are as big as a table and seat two players on either side. Playing Donkey Kong, Pacman or Galaga while knocking back a few beers and listening to some chilled tunes is a pretty pleasant way to pass the time.

The food is fantastic and cheap, and range of booze is extensive but unfortunately not so cheap (and no, radler is not available). The venue is in the heart of the city and open from 7am until late every day, so it is probably best suited for pre-game drinks and snacks, or a visit for the hangover-curing breakfast, coffee and sunshine on Sunday morning.