I’ve been doing some thinking, and you know what? It may not be that bad a situation to have me on the bench. I’ve got plenty of time to work myself into the required state of emotional intensity. When the time comes, and Jonno declares “Cry Havoc and let slip the dogs of war”, then I’ll be a highly primed human wrecking ball and I think I’ll be just the dog for the job. I’m certainly going to wreak some fucking havoc, even if I’m not sure precisely what “havoc” is, but in context, I can only assume that it means DOMINATION.
While I’m thinking in a literary context, I’ve spent a hell of a long time pondering le mot juste (my Japanese is coming along swimmingly) to prepare the boys for battle. I’ve already said that this is no time for WORLD CLASS BANTER TM, so there is scant opportunity to relive the tension with scatological humour. Rather, we need to draw on the spirits of great Englishmen from the past to ensure that we DOMINATE the French as our ancestors used to.
So, I’ve put together a thought (I was going to say “a few thoughts” there, but I don’t think anyone would buy that) about what best to say. In retrospect, we’re responsible for some of the finest motivational writing in history, so I’ve turned to Shakespeare for inspiration. I didn’t want to, but Chris had hidden my copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar (now there’s an insect that understands the need for a properly regimented diet if you want to develop perfect GUNS). I didn’t know how fucking boring Shakespeare was though, and what’s with the bloody writing style, it’s all “forsooth” this, and “Ere” that, and fuck knows what else. Can’t he write in proper BBC English?
What with my esoteric and eclectic reading tastes, the quotes are positively tripping from my tongue, but nevertheless, I really want to make sure it’s perfect. So, with this in mind, I forced Tom to put down his copy of Voltaire (why is he reading that shit, and in French!) and help me out. He pointed me in the direction of Henry Vth (Fifth what?) and even highlighted the right passage. I’m not personally sure that Shakespeare got the order right, and it’s a bit dated (not to mention silly), so I’ve made a few changes to adapt it for the modern specimen. Anyhow, here’s my homage to Shakespeare and a speech to stiffen the pecker of any good English rugby player:
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the scrum up with our English fatties.
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of THE HASKELL;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise WORLD CLASS BANTER with hard-favour’d rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
And scream a War Cry to put terror in their head,
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English (and the rest),
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Be copy now to men of more enhanced blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England (and you too Dylan), show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear (and I don’t mean fuck)
That you are worth your breeding (I know you’re from the North, Chris, but it will do);
For there is none of you so mean and base (even Ben “Taxi” Foden),
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like rampant beasts,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry ‘God for Jonno, England, and Saint Jonny of A&E!’
If this doesn’t put everyone in the mood for DOMINATION, then nothing will. However, I’m feeling so excited and am positively quivering at the thought of twisting the weak and feeble French into croissant shaped leavings that I had best make sure that I thoroughly spank Little James before emerging from the dressing room. There’s nothing worse than going out half cocked and a session of digital manipulation usually helps me think more clearly. I don’t want to incur Dark Overlord Jonno’s wrath by giving away stupid penalties.
There is a storm brewing, and I can see the lights going out. We shall not see them lit again until after we’ve DOMINATED that nation with the repulsive eating habits and sent them home to fucking think again.
Roll on tomorrow.
(See, I am a dog of war)