Above: Orange fizzoged dunce-meister Henson reckons that dancing in the semi final of a celebrity dance contest is better than winning the Grandslam which is like saying having a tesco chicken salad meal deal with prawn coctail crisps and a bottle of fanta is better than receiving the nobel peace prizeSo rugby wise whats been happening in the world of late?
Well I suppose we should at least look at the Heineken cup quarter finals. In complete honesty I did not watch them all but then again that’s not going to stop me commentating on what somebody else wrote about them in the papers the next day.
I’ll start of with the pesky French or in the case of Toulon, the pesky UN. You would think that coming from the same group as the Ospreys they would have learnt that you can have the best players in the world but that doesn’t necessarily make you the best team – that is something completely different. I have an idea about why they may have failed to reach the dizzy heights their bosses, fans, players and world press have laid out for them in a murmuration of expectation.
Its because when they all go out after their match for red wine and shit fish soup and free plates of crisps (for all you Americans that’s ‘chips’ but in our language chips are a Scottish Health product and part of their five a day with Iron bru, fried eggs, dripping, budget no frills whisky and petty extreme violence) and then they get to their tiny Toulon bar with French hookers (not of the Raphael Ibanez kind but the haggard old prossy maked up like a Swansea girl who is in her 60’s kind) in the corner and who have they got to start the singing and partying?
Well I suppose we should at least look at the Heineken cup quarter finals. In complete honesty I did not watch them all but then again that’s not going to stop me commentating on what somebody else wrote about them in the papers the next day.
I’ll start of with the pesky French or in the case of Toulon, the pesky UN. You would think that coming from the same group as the Ospreys they would have learnt that you can have the best players in the world but that doesn’t necessarily make you the best team – that is something completely different. I have an idea about why they may have failed to reach the dizzy heights their bosses, fans, players and world press have laid out for them in a murmuration of expectation.
Its because when they all go out after their match for red wine and shit fish soup and free plates of crisps (for all you Americans that’s ‘chips’ but in our language chips are a Scottish Health product and part of their five a day with Iron bru, fried eggs, dripping, budget no frills whisky and petty extreme violence) and then they get to their tiny Toulon bar with French hookers (not of the Raphael Ibanez kind but the haggard old prossy maked up like a Swansea girl who is in her 60’s kind) in the corner and who have they got to start the singing and partying?
Jonny Wilkinson and Gavin Henson.
One is admittedly class while the other one has it but has yet to fulfill his potential. Wilkinson will go down as one of the all type greats, people concentrate on his kicking but he offers so much more but as lovely a chap as he may be he is boring as fuck. Telling Wilko off for fucking up fuzzy duck and watching him deck three fingers of high energy nutrient shake before he goes off and practices kicking again would be shit. He’s not going to get pissed, show his cock or set one of the boys on fire is he?
Above: Phillip Saint-Andre listens to an hour of feedback from Jonny Wilkinson
As for Henson he’d probably be stuck in the toilets like some retarded Budgie looking at himself in the mirror trying to kiss himself. I would call him thick as mince but I saw mince on tuffers team in Question of sport and he answered more questions that ‘tangerine’ Gav, he also got more laughs then him as well – in fact sue Barker laughed so much she started lactating. This is the man who said that he wanted to completely ignore all the goodwill given to him by the Ospreys and leave them because he wanted to be outside an intense rugby bubble and be close to his kids, so he spends 2 weeks being shit in Saracens before moving to the intenser bubble of southern French rugby and being even further away from his kids.
It doesn’t matter, he probably doesn’t think that he’s in another country anyway and because he’s so thick thinks that their not speaking French but as usual speaking English faster than he can understand. The only reason he spent so much time in OK magazine is because it was the only one he could spell. He is getting better though, he used to be so boring that he’d make one of Fat Mikes 5 hour talks on Croesyceiliog seem like Brian Blessed and Oliver Reed shouting shagging stories at each other in the middle of a German drinking hall to the music of Queen’s ‘it’s a kind of magic’.
Right what was I talking about..the Heineken Cup? Fuck that, I’ll do that another time……..
It doesn’t matter, he probably doesn’t think that he’s in another country anyway and because he’s so thick thinks that their not speaking French but as usual speaking English faster than he can understand. The only reason he spent so much time in OK magazine is because it was the only one he could spell. He is getting better though, he used to be so boring that he’d make one of Fat Mikes 5 hour talks on Croesyceiliog seem like Brian Blessed and Oliver Reed shouting shagging stories at each other in the middle of a German drinking hall to the music of Queen’s ‘it’s a kind of magic’.
Right what was I talking about..the Heineken Cup? Fuck that, I’ll do that another time……..
PS A murmuration is actually a collective noun for starlings
PPS what the fuck is wrong with you fuckers - get voting on the poll or i'm getting Big Will around your house to shit in your sink
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