Aviva Prem Round 1 – Four Loud-mouthed, Somewhat Obnoxious Talking Points

Well, what did we do to deserve this? The Aviva Premiership stacked the metaphorical Ferrero Rochers in a pyramid and got a bloke with white gloves to bring them in on a tray. Rugby this weekend was all twinkly and smiley and everyone was scoring, just like at the Ambassador’s party. There was many a talking point; we settled on four.

Dan is the man

Fast and furious it was at the Ricoh, and Dan Robson wouldn’t let many people play with his ball. Four tries from the golden haired maestro and Wasps knocked up a neat little half century. Surely then, Robson could at least get a look in with England at some point soon? I mean, I know there’s more to scrum halving than spin passes and running fast (and his kicking from hand isn’t great) but everything else little Dan does look so lovely. He’s got dreamy blue eyes and a pert little behind, we’d just love him in our team. Can he have a go? Can he Eddie, please?

Gloucester good for the whole match

Yep, you read that correctly. Perennial under achievers and seasonal ‘Oh-but-they-nearly-did-it’-ers Gloucester managed to beat champions Exeter with a performance that went on for the whole 80 minutes. Ballsy and adventurous, the Cherry and Whites made a real nuisance of themselves and after Chiefs’ No.8 Sam Simmonds had given the Kingsholm faithful the heebee jeebees in the opening half hour, Jeremy Thrush doubled up to make sure Rob Baxter spent half-time trying to dig out the Canesten Combi. The 70th minute saw Olly Woodburn level the scores and anyone who knows anything about Gloucester would not have guessed what was coming next: Henry Slade missed a penalty and new signing Jason Woodward rounded off a sweeping move to upset the Devonian apple cart. Bonus point start for Gloucester and Ackermann. They played well for the whole match, weird eh?

Northampton going south

A fair amount of masking tape and black magic was used last season as the Saints qualified for Champions Cup rugby via the playoffs. Truth is though, they weren’t good. Cue a fair amount of buying and selling over the summer. But with the exception of Mitch Eadie (their only new recruit not having to wade through shit loads of visa paperwork), no new players started against Saracens. More’s the pity; they could have blamed the opening forty minute wankathon on players not really knowing each other. Saints made Sarries look otherworldly. At one point, the ever so horny Schalk Brits turned in field and chucked the ball overarm like he just didn’t give a fuck. Do you know how bad you have to be to generate that sort of carefree attitude in a professional rugby player playing at Twickenham? Saints flickered in the second half but that was mostly down to the fact that twelve of the Saracens squad had taken themselves off to Spearmint Rhinos. Northampton need better players and better coaching and generally need to be better. Let’s see what happens next week.

Irish eyes are not peeping through their fingers so much anymore

We could have chosen Bath’s gallant win over the Tigers but London Irish’s return to the big time was just that little bit more bosomy and flirtatious. The Exiles retook the stage with verve and vigour and on 24 minutes, announced to the watching public that their shit was real. Topsy Ojo was found by the neatest of dinks from James Marshall and then an exchange of passes saw him gallivant up the field and over the line. More tries followed with the reliable boot of Tommy Bell keeping things ticking, and even though Quins started to find more space in the second half, the damage had already been done. Brendan McKibbin (the spiky and obnoxious Australian scrum half – fancy that?) sealing the win after latching on to Mat Luamanu’s spilt pass in centre field. Ofisa Treviranus’ second half score was actually the pick of the bunch; Irish fans should have that recorded on a special video that they can get out and watch in March, when they are balls deep in a relegation scrap and being beaten 9-3 by Saints at home. Still, make hay while the sun shines out of Nick Kennedy’s arse.

‘Til next weekend muddyfunsters…


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