As everyone knows, the old days was a better, more peaceful time (global conflict aside) when beer was 80c a pot, folk were respectful of policemen and those who played sport said only (if they were asked anything at all) that they hoped to play well, thanks very much, Sir. Now, of course, they’ll say any damn thing that pops into their heads.
Today’s best rubbish and fries is served up by John Hopoate (ex rugby league date botherer), who is now to boxing what the Boy From Oz would be to the Dockers’ Union. He says he is going to “retire” his next opponent Bob Mirovic, a giant who has never really bothered anyone, except to put his fist in their faces and box more than 300 pro rounds. The bucket is not a betting man, but you fear the worst for Hoppa.
The next surprise comes from brawler supreme Mark O’Meley, who seems to have disappointed his fans by becoming the first choirboy prop. “We’ve got to get back to working together, dominate around the ruck and not give away too many penalties,” says the Rooster, attempting to explain the side’s recent woes. “It’s mainly us forwards, we haven’t been square at the marker, or leaving early, or grabbing legs in tackles, we’ve just got to be disciplined.” Disciplined? A mature Mark O’Meley? I’m sorry, but this doesn’t compute. I’m off for a check-up.