I’m heartbroken. That’s all there is to say. This is truly a black day in Dojo Haskell. The thing is, I’m not sure what I’ve done.
Given recent events, I’m not overly keen on discussing it with Dark Overlord Jonno as his monobrow twitches most alarmingly when he looks at me at the moment. It’s like a slug trying to breakdance. All things considered, I do believe that he’s still a bit pissy over that whole fiasco with the video recording, but he’s really got to put it in the past. For fuck’s sake, it was only the kind of japes and hijinks that alpha males like myself get up to. I even said sorry, and nearly meant it.
I look at the team selection that Jonno has put out for France, and can only presume that he’s lost his marbles. He’s picked the invisible man to take MY spot. Hasn’t he seen the figures? I’ve been DOMINATING the tackle count, DOMINATING the opposition and have had many a stampede up the middle.
I see that at least I made the bench, though, (those flowers I sent must have done the trick) but the thought of DOMINATING splinters with my mighty buttocks does not fill me full of joie de vivre (as the Japanese say). Still, there’s a good couple of days to go, so I’m going down to the gym to make sure that I’m properly honed and ready to be launched like a human Exocet missile to make the maximum impact.
Although I may not be starting, I’m thinking that I’ve got a vital role to play. We need to be properly motivated to beat the French. Well, we need some motivation. I find that when I’m DOMINATING a room, I’m the natural focus point for everyone’s attention, so therefore, I am clearly the person to get the team mentally ready. This is no time for WORLD CLASS BANTER TM, as this is a knockout match, but I think that if I spend a few minutes scribbling down some quotes, then I can turn out something that will put some fire in everyone’s belly and some lead in their pencil.
I was asked the other day by a journalist what the finest things in life are, and, well, this was a tough one. After some deliberation, I said:
To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of their women.
I’m sure I’ve heard this before, somewhere. Nevertheless, it strikes me as being an absolute truism. There’s nothing more splendid than coming off the pitch, glistening in a sheen of sweat after a hard-fought victory, relishing the look of abject misery in a DOMINATED opponents face, and engaging in vigorous intercourse with his girlfriend with the smell of battle still in your nostrils.
Fuck me, I’m feeling all tumescent even thinking about it. I may have just DOMINATED my own briefs.
I think I can work this up into a suitably stirring speech. Alternatively, I may wax lyrical about us being Rugby Gods bestriding the Earth, and how it is our duty to lay it all down in battle on the pitch, but hell, it’s only the French and do they honestly require that much effort?
Much to ponder…