We’ve coughed and spluttered our way through another round of the Aviva Premiership and we’re delighted to turn round and see that all the letters we put up are still in place. Here are four talking points we pinched from a popular TV programme and rehashed to make it seem like they are ours.
Harlequins v Sale served up some notable performances; Danny Care’s ability to find wingers with his boot was impressive, Marcus Smith showed some youthful dance moves and Kingston’s men won well in the end. However, Jack Clifford’s dislocated shoulder not only ended his involvement with England’s autumnal series, more importantly, for those of us with a dangerous allergic reaction to knobheads, it meant that James Haskell was one step closer to once again playing in his national side’s back row. Luckily, Haskell stepped up on Sunday versus Saracens and played like Stephen Hawking in a dance off, reminding us all that surely a better choice would be anyone else (including Hawking). Talking of choices, Joe Marler posted a video after the Quins/Sale match that seemingly took the piss out of players (CJ Stander) who help clean up the changing room after they use it. “So humble…” he offered to the camera sardonically, as we watched him pretend to hoover up. Needle has started early ahead of this year’s Six Nations. Quite why Marler thinks he needs to give the opposition a reason to dislike him is beyond us.
Johan Ackermann hasn’t a fucking clue. He’s on the Gloucester bucking bronco at the moment and doesn’t know which way it’s going to throw him. League leaders Northampton came to Kingsholm on Saturday and of course the Cherry and Shites, who last week shipped fifty-seven points away at lowly Sale, played like the fucking All Blacks. How you go about keeping your shit together supporting Glaws is almost unfathomable. But let’s try and focus on the positives: Henry Trinder was the undisputed centrefold, pert and glistening in the Gloucestershire sunshine, and he put in a performance so good that the South African Head Coach has now drawn up a rota of Gloucester backs who have to take turns noshing him off.
Henry Trinder getting noshed off by Billy Twelvetrees
Jess’ curried rug
Leicester are good again; Matt Toomua throws beautiful cut-out passes; and Matt O’Connor could now be spending Christmas in the East Midlands. The best story however came out of ‘The Times’ newspaper as Jonny May revealed that he and his new wife had not only moved in with the woman he was trying to buy a house off, but that he’d gone round and spilled curry sauce on George Ford’s girlfriend’s rug. Not only does that second one sound like a wonderful euphemism but the whole idea of a newly married couple moving in with an unknown elderly female, watching ‘Bake Off’ and boiling her eggs in the morning, does make you want to be Jonny’s friend and run around with the same sort of spasticity he does every time he takes the field. In truth, Leicester were kinda fortunate against a spirited London Irish side, who are by no means straight-forward relegation contenders, but a win’s a win and Tigers are four from four. Go and get a wet cloth Fordy, let’s have a go on Jess’ rug.
By George, I think he’s got it
As alluded to previously, Wasps failed to turn up early doors against Saracens and conceded two early scores from which they failed to recover. They are now third from bottom and many of us are sniggering behind our tiny hands. But the main talking point has to be ‘Fez Head’ favourite Jamie George scoring a hat-trick (a feat only achieved by a hooker once every two hundred years) and then promptly wishing he hadn’t. The cameras found him on the bench and England’s soon to be No.1 No.2 couldn’t help but look properly pissed off at all the attention. And in a way, you can see his point. His first try came about as Wasps left their defence agape like a recently gangbanged gash, and for his next two scores, he hung around the back of a dominant maul and flopped over the line like Jason Leonard after 45 pints. As he was quick to bashfully point out, he was just benefitting from the hard work of others. Like Premiership rugby players in general. And in a beautifully cyclical motion, we come back to the point in our first paragraph (The Crooked Feed isn’t just gratuitous sexual reference and irreverence, you see): George has no need to pretend to be humble. He just is. Will Joe Marler be taking the piss out of him too? Someone get us a squirty water bottle.
We take a three week Prem break. Quite what shit Europe will serve up, who knows? We’re off to phone Boris for some insight.