Some bald Pommy bastard passed on a message from Hask asking me to drop by and give you fullas my two cents worth about this Heineken Cup thingy. Apparently it’s Europe’s second tier club competition, or so Hask tells me. He’s busy off DOMINATING (he asked me to make sure I put that word in capitals) the top one – called the Lamelin, or something – and he asked me to watch the footy this past weekend and give you all my opinion. So here goes.
First up, I gotta tell ya I don’t get to see too much of what you fullahs up North get up to. I’m usually too busy spanking Saffers and Aussies down south, but I’ll give it my best shot.
Okay, the Frenchy teams. Why the hell can’t they play as clueless as that when they play us, fercrissakes? Leaving aside Clermont, who are of course coached by me old mate Vern – top bloke, wanna see him crutch a ewe sometime, the man’s golden – but crikey, what were the other blokes thinking? Noves’ calls made about as much sense as Dingo’s. As me girlfriend Charlene once said to me: *cough* “What’s the point of packing all that meat if ya don’t know how ta use it?”
Same with Munster. ‘Course, with me old mates Dougy and Casey there, and Robbo on the mike callin’ the shots, those blokes know how to do a number on anyone. Although Old Nick is in good form for Harlequins – funny name for a footy team – I wouldn’t be too surprised if the Lads From Turnipstan do a number on them, come whenever it is.
Which brings me to another thing that’s been bugging me. How fucked up is your season up there, or what? When’s this Heinie thing kick off again? Just after you’ve got a good head of steam up, you’re off to play in some other comp for a bit. A least down South, we know who we’re playing and why, week in, week out. As Charlene once observed, how are you supposed to perform at the top level without knowing from day to day who you are partnered with?
So anyway. Who’s gonna win? Frankly, I don’t have a clue. But I’ll share with you who I’m glad won’t be winning. That fucker Dylan. Next time I’m in Scottyland, I’m gonna buy the whole country a pint. Karma is a bitch. Speakin’ of karma, one of the things I’ve been doin’ while I’ve been takin ‘er easy is plotting how to get that fucker Quade back good and proper. If there’s one thing worse than an Aussie, it’s an Aussie from Tokoroa. Chippy little shit. Charlene reckons she wouldn’t do him, even using me as a contraceptive device, which is a relief.
Anyway, Hask tells me not to sweat it. Reckons he’ll sort Quade this June when he captains the Lions down there.
So okay. Great to chat, catch you next time. Oh, and you Pommies. Don’t get too far ahead of yourselves. We’ll be back. As Charlene says, real men do it time after time, not just once every ten years.
No airline would fly avsfan to New Zealand gratis to chat to Richie so he was forced to rely on hearsay