The Secret Diary of James Haskell (IQ 25 1/2). Date 14th September

OK- now that I know where this entry originally came from- it wasn’t me: it was originally posted by cleftydave (see below) in Planet Rugby, and I saw it in the Guardian but Mr. West (who posted it) didn’t know where it was from either and just included it with the rest of them, as it gave me the idea (well, I shamelessly pinched the idea).

This is by far the funniest entry. Mea Culpa. Apologies for extreme laziness. But I am a fat cartoon cat working for a megalomaniac, so is that any surprise?

And then there were 30. Seriously, I’d better get down to Boots I’m nearly out of hair sculpting moose.

Anyway, got a call from the big man himself. He was practically in tears, begging me to come on tour with him. You know what? I was flattered. Well, I’m always flattered, usually by everyone. But I had to say no. I mean, he’s not ever the president of Stade anymore. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, though, so I went into DOMINATION™ mode, which Max totally loves, and said, “Not this summer, honey. I’ve got other fish to fry…” [Note to self, check if a Kiwi is actually a fish, otherwise, cut the line.]

So, anyway, I was talking to my agent and he was going on about the need to spread the BRAND™, which got me worried since Max used to call it that, but he explained that I was going over to Japan to DOMINATE™ the Chinese next season. I can’t pretend I’m not looking forward to it, Donncha is always telling my that I love Jap’s eyes but I’m not sure what he’s talking about so this’ll be the perfect time to find out.

And then I got another call. I know what you’re thinking: does my iphone ever stop ringing? And the answer is no. If it does, I ring myself on the landline. Anyway this time it was Martin Johnson. We chatted the for a while and basically talked about the HASK™ and other important stuff. Then he asks me, “Jamie, how do you fancy yourself in black?” And I had a think about it, then pull out some of my tester shots we did for the last HASK™ calender. There I was, in all my glory, in a black silk dressing gown, open just enough for the curve of my leg to be visible. I had to swallow down the urge to DOMINATE™ myself, and said, “Yeah, I look pretty good in black.” Johnno hung up. The next morning, the story was all over the papers. England have a new second strip, and its all black.

So, the flight over to New Zealand was pretty exciting. We all played pranks on each other. For instance, when I went to the toilet, Delon Armitage hid my book. It was fucking funny. You should have seen his face when he got back to his seat to find that I hadn’t used the toilet at all and instead shat on his seat. You should have seen the size of it. I had to put the seat belt on it just to stop it destabilizing the plane if there was turbulence. It was all a bit of school boy tom foolery, in the best spirit of team bonding.

So, Johnno stands up during the flight and tells us all to be quiet, that he wants to talk. Once Delon stopped sobbing, he begins, telling us about what this World Cup is all about. He’s won one with Johnny before, so we all have to listen to him. He reminds us that the rioting in Tottenham was all our fault for losing to the Welsh, and that it stopped when we beat the Irish and that if we lose again, then England will probably loot itself to death, and do you want to kill England? Do you?

My mind must have wondered off a bit because the next thing I know he’s talking about being adults and that he trusts us and I’m thinking here we go: its like pre-season with Max again, all boys-only sauna’s, towel fights and not a word to the press, just us guys together, working hard and playing harder and I can feel the camaraderie building already, when I tune back in and he’s saying that wives and girlfriends will be welcome in camp. My world cup dream shattered in a second. How am I supposed to be able to concentrate on the man next to me when there’s some hosefaced bint sat between us, talking about her granny the Queen? How am I meant to know, instinctively, that he’s got my back when I don’t even know what his back looks like, glistening with sweat in the firelight?

Anyway, putting aside my disappointment, Johnson starts talking about the Haka. Apparently, people in New Zealand use the Haka a lot. To say hello. To say goodbye. To order dinner. To threaten to cut open someones chest and rip out their heart. And when ever you see one, you have to stop and give it the maximum attention, without any emotion at all other than humble acceptance, otherwise you will be seen as disrespecting the Haka, and will be killed. Well, you know me. I don’t do humble acceptance. I do DOMINATION™.

Johnno shuts up and sits down and I look over at Dylan Hartley. He’s punching his anger monkey. I nudge him and he immediately punches me. “Sorry. It’s automatic.” I told him not to worry then asked him, “Listen. Your a Kiwi right? What’s the deal with this Haka thing? I don’t like the sound of meek acceptance?” He got this look on his face and sort of smiled. “You’re right. You know the only thing us Kiwis respect is violence. Look at our women. When they Haka at you what does a Kiwi do? He Hakas right back.” “You think I should Haka?” When he stopped laughing he said, “No you’re not a Kiwi. That’d be disrespecting it, bro. Me and Shaunie will do mind Hakas at them. What you’ve got to do is get up in their faces, dominate them whilst they’re dancing.” “DOMINATE™ them? I could do that…”

So anyway, how was I supposed to know he only meant on the pitch? We got off the plane and there was some school kids there Hakaing away… Look, I got carried away, but it’d been a long flight and I only know of one way to DOMINATE™… So I hope the kids get well soon and that Johnno stops looking at me like I’m the Irish President.

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6 Responses to The Secret Diary of James Haskell (IQ 25 1/2). Date 14th September


    This is total genius! Please keep doing this as I think you’re DOMINATING Haskasan just with words. The pen is indeed mightier than the sword and a QWERTY keyboard mightier than a big pair of armpit-bothering guns. God I hope he reads this. Can you find any way to get word to him that it exists? I think he’d Kevin Keegan it (fookin’ loov it).

  2. cleftydave says:

    Here, whats the big idea? You want to credit where you nicked this from? Not cool. I think you’re own stuff is funny enough without nicking mine.

  3. flint says:

    youd think youd acknowledge when youve taken someone elses work from another site

  4. Fair Enough. Do you want it pulled? Or can I leave it.

    I didn’t credit the original or the idea, because I saw it posted in the Guardian by Mr. West and didn’t know where the source was. I apologise for any offence caused, it was not intentional, and just down to sheer laziness on my behalf. It is a great idea, and if you don’t mind I’ll continue it for the duration of the RWC and then kill it stone dead afterwards.

    The rest of them are original, but not this one. I have amended the page and the disclaimer as well.


  5. I’ll reply to this in every thread.

    I saw it posted in the Guardian, Mr. West who posted it, didn’t know where it came from. I’m far too lazy to do research, so I didn’t credit it. I have now, and amended everything to show this, now that I know where it’s from. I honestly didn’t expect this to have legs.

    Apologies for any offence, and basically, I’m an arsehole.

  6. Not mine.

    See below.

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