Devastated, absolutely gutted. We’ve been knocked out by the bloody French! Still, it could have been worse, because at least that’s saved us from having to play the Welsh, and I always feel bad about DOMINATING them, as they’ve got enough problems.
On another note, I’ve been musing over my diary format for a while now, and have come to the conclusion that I’ve not been doing it properly.
As this is my final entry, I’m going to do it properly from the top:
PACK DOMINATOR’S LOG (hehehehehe- “log”). Date: 10th October 2011.
This is the journey of the battleship Haskell, as I explore territories never visited by an English rugby player.
We’ve been dumped out of the RWC most unceremoniously, and the mood in the camp before we went our various ways was despondent. Poor Manu took it so badly (either that or it was the thought of having to play for England for another 15 Years) that he tried to end it all by launching himself off the Auckland ferry. To add insult to injury, and much with keeping with the rest of the World Cup, he made a bollocks of it, and when the highly unsympathetic police fished him out of the harbour, he was astonished to be given a fine.
Nevertheless, when we were saying our goodbyes, knowing that I was ploughing a lonely furrow in the Far East, well, it all became a touch emotional. I stood there like Adonis himself with a single manly tear rolling down my face. We all hugged and wished each other well, knowing what an absolute shitstorm they were heading back to. This is not going to be pretty.
Ben said “Wish you the best, big man, and I hope you lay down the DOMINATION on those little yellow buggers, you stand a great chance at becoming a global brand here, like Danny Cipriani.” I thanked him, but pointed out that I’ve got no intention of being arrested for stealing a bottle of Vodka. To which Ben responded that Danny only did that to fit in in Australia. Anyhow, his parting shot was that I “Stand a good chance at being a cult hero in Japan as they love big stupid buggers, out there. Look at Sumo”. Well, I wasn’t standing for this last piece of cheek, and the red mist rose in my eyes. Next thing you know, utterly consumed by battle-lust, I’d DOMINATED his luggage leaving behind one final piece of WORLD CLASS BANTER TM (in the shape of an award-winning turd- which sums up our play nicely) in his washbag. He was furious.
Dylan and Chris dragged me aside and asked “What the fuck was that in aid of?”
I replied “No pretty boy back is going to call me that. I’m not going out to Japan to be compared to a vagina, I’m purely going for the WONGA and a chance to extend THE BRAND. And maybe play some rugby.”
Chris doubled over laughing (cheeky northern monkey), while Dylan said “No, you stupid bastard, CULT hero.”
“That’s what I said,” I replied most indignently. Honestly, I’m not taking such insubordination from my team-mates.
“You thick wanker, CULT HERO is “one who has achieved his heroic status for perhaps unconventional reasons – perhaps because he is an unusual personality.” You’re already a complete and utter CUNT and can’t possibly become more of a cunt just because you’ve gone to Japan.”
Well, this put me in a proper huff, so I gathered my man-sized carry on and strode off towards my gate with just a parting piece of DOMINATION on a harmless pot plant to make me feel better.
The flight to Tokyo was uneventful. I gazed moodily out of the window, already missing my mates and the fun and frolics we had together. Thinking back on the glorious times of Chris diving in to beat the Scots, or nippy Ben shooting round the fringes to show the Argies what for (fuckers will NEVER get the Falklands back while I’ve got the power to DOMINATE in my bones), not to mention all the banter we’d had together, and all the times I’d shown them the meaning of POWER in the gym. Dwarves were launched, laughs were had, and I’m not ashamed to say that I did cry for a while.
I disembarked the plane into the neon tundra of Tokyo. Gazing around me, I’ve suddenly realised that I’m in a totally alien environment. I know very little about Japan, but my tour guide Yoshi, is a very helpful chap. I didn’t even feel any need to DOMINATE him, as he showed his subservience to a superior being by bowing when he met me. This is right and good, as I must have at least a foot height on everyone out here.
I’m struggling a bit with the language, which has lead to a few embarrassing faux pas. Not for me, but Yoshi has been less than impressed. For example, I was feeling a bit thirsty, so I stopped by a vending machine to buy a drink. Well, blow me down, but a pair of Schoolgirl’s knickers fell out, as I had utterly misinterpreted the symbol on it. This is fucking brilliant and I immediately stripped Yoshi of all his change (Yen, apparently. Although quite what money has to do with desire is beyond me. For example, my only yen is to DOMINATE), even holding him by his ankles and shaking until the change fell out. Having bought 30 pairs, I gently explained to him that I needed them to properly bond with my team-mates. These should be a splendid source of WORLD CLASS BANTER TM in the Ricoh Black Rams dressing room.
He explained to me that if I did that to him again, then he’d creatively hurt me as he’s 9th Derek black belt something or other. I was unimpressed, pointing at my own belt, which is also black. And naugahyde. Anyway, Yoshi did something fast with his hands and walloped me so hard in the bollocks that I was talking falsetto for a couple of hours afterwards. They’re sneaky little buggers out here.
Anyhow, to make up for it I took him for lunch. We went to this fucking weird place where all the food came round on a conveyor belt. I wasn’t chuffed at this at all, as it was all fucking raw fish. Honestly, do I look like a fucking dolphin? Still, when in Rome and all that, but I was understandably perturbed to be thrown out of the restaurant for raiding the tank in the corner. I was only trying to help the chefs out by cutting out the middle man. I was going to pay for it, but I had problems explaining this to the security guard as I had a whole Koi Carp flapping around in my mouth at the time.
To get over this embarrassment, well, I wasn’t embarrassed but Yoshi kept muttering about “dishonour,” and “stupid Gaijin”, he took me for a cup of tea to calm me down at his local café called “Geisha”. It was a fucking bizarre experience. All these ridiculously over made up chicks wearing silk dressing gowns made a right palaver over it. I tried to explain to them about “milk, two sugar and make it snappy, love” but they insisted on turning the fucking cup around, not adding milk at all, and then kept asking me if I wanted “Extras”. I decided on the spot that given recent headlines back home, this possibly wasn’t a good idea, because I couldn’t see a sticky bun anywhere and given what this place was like it was bound to have a sordid application.
Since then, (for my own safety) I’ve been mostly staying in my hotel room learning about Japanese culture. Yoshi pointed me in the direction of some writer cunt called “Haruki Murakami” and I’ve been reading his books with abandon. I liked the one about the Beatles song (even shedding a tear when the nutty bird offed herself) as there is a good bit of shagging in it to keep Little James interested, but was, I am not ashamed to admit, completely lost in others of them. That is one fucked up dude, and his books just don’t have the power of classics like Mr. Strong (my personal favourite of the Mister Man, but that’s only because he hasn’t penned Mr. DOMINATION yet). Not to mention that there are no pictures.
I’ve also been watching a lot of news. For a country as technologically advanced as Japan, I’m astonished that it’s in black and white for the most part. I don’t know how people live out here, because every other day Tokyo seems to be being attacked by some giant dinosaur thing called Gojira. Well, lucky for them that I’m here now, because I’m just the man to lay the DOMINATION down on the prehistoric bastard. I’ll get up close and personal like we do on the pitch and I swear he won’t know what hit him.
Best be off now, as the knickers I bought from the vending machine are cutting in a bit.
It’s been an emotional roller coaster, but I’ve got to hit the gym before I turn into one of those fat nappy wearing bastards that I keep seeing on the sporting coverage.