Eh up lads!
It’s ex-league superstar and defensive fucking Guru Shaun here. I was going to give some fucking insight into the 6 Nations, talk about Wales’ strategies and whatnot, but it turns out we don’t fucking have any.
And there’s another fucking turn up for the fucking books. That ungrateful twat Gatland didn’t fucking pick me on his fucking coaching team. Reckon he got right confused, and picked that fucking Farrell chump because he was thinking of me. Least that’s what t’whippet tells me. Else, there’s no fucking reason that he wouldn’t fucking select me, Shaun “fucking” Edwards, mastermind of the “Big bastards in the Line” selection policy.
Instead, and this is fucking inexplicable on every level, he’s picked that fucker Howley. Not only is Howley a Wales coach who is actually a sheep botherer, which automatically makes him both useless and clinically insane, but he’s responsible for our innovative “run sideways until out of room” plan, that means we’re less likely to score than a Manc in a Scouse bar.
He’s single-handedly undoing all the hard work me and Wazzer put in over t’years toughening up this bunch of daffodil eating pansies. You think these fucking freezing chambers are actually for fitness? Bollocks, they’re to strip the luxury out the pampered buggers! Remind them what it’s like to get up 2 hours before you go to bed to trek down fucking pit. Bit of fucking hardship never hurt anyone. Character forming, you know, and us Leagueies in the M62 Corridor have more fucking character than the cast of that soft southern shite Downton Abbey.
Course, nobody watches our game, but that’s reet good too. Perpetually losing to Australia in front of 2 men in flat caps, a hungry dog and a lost racing pigeon just makes you tougher.
Anyway, we’re one game in and I’ve got some thoughts on who’s going on trip to convictland. He’s going to take a right load of people, because it’s good for the air miles, and he’ll be able to take t’family somewhere reet classy for a break. I’m telling him to go to Torremolinos- had a right good full English last time I was there on us hols.
He’s reckoning that the AI’s are more important than 6 Nations. Shite. If he goes on that, then not one of our players will be going with him, as we’ve been shite since last year’s tourney. Eight in a row, you know, still we’ve got to win some time. If not one of t’lads goes, then they’ll be reet pissed off, and I’ll have to dish out a fucking kicking like when we started. First fucking day, I had to paste some lippy bugger, and we’ve never looked back.
Right, so this is t’group of lads I’d take (ignoring recent results- count for shit anyway in the grand scheme of things):
- Gethin, Adam Jones (good, tough pair. Jones may be a bit of a porker, but he can stuff the Aussies right up their own jacksies)
- Lydiate (if soft fucker’s not in casualty again), Felatu, “Big” Sam Warbuton (Sam will be captain. Sure he makes a twat of himself in the press, but we all do that, but he showed the right stuff when he piled that diving French git into a drawing pin. That sort of stuff is just what the doctor ordered- it’s a man’s game, after all)
- Mike “Best SH in the World” Phillips (who cares if he can’t pass? He’s hard as fuck and plays like a forward. He’d have been a cracking league player as he always finds the man to run into)
- The Doctor, JD2 (not any fucking need to pass if you’re thrashing round on t’ground), “little” Leigh Tuppence, English George, Crybaby Nancy Alex (All big lads, and Leigh is right good at kicking)
- Cian Healey. (Aside from having a stupid name, he’s a big fucker)
- Best (name says it all)
- Ryan (Another big lad. Shame Paul’s not likely to be fit, because I’d take him every fucking time)
- SoB and Ferris (Pair of fucking monsters)
- Sexton (lack of choice. Softer than a melted ice cream)
- Zebo (Sounds like fucking comic book character), BoD (Non-playing captain), Robbie K (Were magic against Saffas),
- Euan Murray (Religion is bollocks, nowt to it, but he’s on t’flight)
- Big Richie Grey (Fucking huge lad, this)
- Kelly Brown, (Gives his all. Would have been great in t’proper code)
- Wee Rory Laidlaw (I’m not sure about this. Reckon he needs a few slaps to toughen him up)
- Tam Visser (Poor fucker can’t remember where he’s from. Sign of a good honest northern concussion, that)
- Either Corbs or Marler- Depending on injury, Dylan (dirty fucking bastard, I right approve), Dan Cole (look at that face, there’s someone that looks like he’d chew through a steel bar for the cause)
- That Kid and Parling (bit soft for my tastes the pair of them), Big Courtney (‘nother dirty bastard. Never have too many up for t’fight)
- Big fat Ben (can’t do 80mins. Fucker. I’d have him in a cryochamber faster than the time my racing pigeon, Speckly Jim, set on way back from Donny),
- Robs (can captain dirt path lads),
- Little fat Ben and Drunken Danny Care. (Just give me 5 minutes with them. Discipline problems me arse)
- Faz (Good league pedigree. Even if his dad has nicked me job)
- Manu (fucking Rhino)
- Chrissy Ashton (Fat lad, but were top league player)
- Mike Brown (looks like thug, Solid in defence. I like him)
There you go. That should be plenty to stuff t’convicts. Lots of fat lads up front and a nice few hard men from league in t’backs. Sure there’s the odd pansy, but if we keep them carrying water the real men can get stuck in to the violence.
I’ll give you me final, me fucking ultimate, selections after tourney finishes.
PS- if one of you bastards mentions London Irish, there will be consequences. It’s my own fault for trying to instil some spine in a bunch of soft southern jessies. And Irish jessies at that. Couldn’t fight sleep.
As dictated by Dr. Claws Cat from his hospital bed.