Andy: Fuck me, I think I'm turning in to a shirtie - that wee assitant ref's giving me a boner
Richard: It's alright, it a she
Andy: Yer fucking jokin, big man? A wee lass running the touch line?
Richard: Yes, and I'd like to touch her line
Andy: Aye, right enough. I bet she'd be a good header
Both snigger
Richard: Is she wearing a bra?
Andy: Dunno, but look at the Bristol Cities on her. Man, they're fuckin huge. She could blow my whistle any day
Both snigger again.
Richard: It's more like the FF cup than the FA Cup.
Andy: Spot on, wee fella. She'd be better off in the Euraper League.
Richard: Good thing you turned of the mic, Andy
Andy: Turned off the mic? Aw, no, we're fucked.....
Now that might have been enough to get these two football icons out of a job. Might. Light hearted banter at worst. Nothing you wouldn't hear the female version of on a hen night.
But for these two paragons to be pillaried from pillar to post in the way they have is downright wrong. The world has gone mad. We need to regain our sense of humour, and harden up. A lot.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
In memoriam crickitus crimulus
Since the conclusion of the fifth Ashes test, NOSF has been insomething of a reverie. One could liken it to the opium enduced trance in which Coleridge penned Kublai Khan. Or not, depending on your perspective. But jolted, and rudely awakened by the improbable victory in the first one dayer, I feel compelled to arise from my torpidly pleasurable state and put pen to paper.
I say improbable, because if ever a side was wasting it's time trying to beat England, it is this moribund, motley and mainly crap bunch of Australians. Clearly match fixing of the worst kind has gone on. Obviously the England bowlers have colluded to defraud the betting public. Look at the evidence. Shane Watson passed 60! Michael Clarke passed 20!! Bollinger took a wicket, and if that wasn't enough, the final, irrefutable piece of evidence, Australia won. Skullduggery is too good a word for it.
The remainder of the one day series will be interesting, if only for trying to spot the obvious influences of my good fried Ranjit Bhung of Ladbrookes (Hyderabad branch)
So what of the Ashes?
On the one side we had the magnificent England XI, fit, lean, handsome and herioc to a man. Opposing them, with little gusto or guts, a traditional Australian side of cow faced, moronic, obstreporous and mostly weak willed progeny of long forgotten deportees. Only Hussey, who should surely now be promoted to skipper the side whilst rebuilding takes place, stood out as having any real ticker. The rest were simply pathetic.
Brisbane notwithstanding, this is undeniably the worst thing to happen to Australia in years. It's clearly a direct consequence of having a Sheila in charge. In fact, things could only get worse if, for example, that great Richie Benaud was revealed as a closet screamer. That's how calamitous a state of affairs prevails.Nuff said.
There is one small chink of light. NOSF has it on good authority that a fund raiser will be added to the England shcedule, a match against a World Obnoxious Gits XI. The good news for the Ockers is that they are guaranteed at least 4 representatives in the form of Watson, Siddle, Ponting (skipper) and Johnson. Bollinger may also make the side as despite a lack of cricketing ability, he would clearly be there on merit as the most obnoxious git to play for Australia in the last 50 years.
And so to Caesar, a man whose influence presided over both teams.
Sir Andrew Strauss (I trust I am not letting the cat out of the bag) came, saw and conquered. Alistair Cook and Jimmy Anderson crossed the Rubicon of their careers and Australia endured a caesarean, in that they were opened up and had their stuffing ripped out of them.
And a jolly good thing too!
I say improbable, because if ever a side was wasting it's time trying to beat England, it is this moribund, motley and mainly crap bunch of Australians. Clearly match fixing of the worst kind has gone on. Obviously the England bowlers have colluded to defraud the betting public. Look at the evidence. Shane Watson passed 60! Michael Clarke passed 20!! Bollinger took a wicket, and if that wasn't enough, the final, irrefutable piece of evidence, Australia won. Skullduggery is too good a word for it.
The remainder of the one day series will be interesting, if only for trying to spot the obvious influences of my good fried Ranjit Bhung of Ladbrookes (Hyderabad branch)
So what of the Ashes?
On the one side we had the magnificent England XI, fit, lean, handsome and herioc to a man. Opposing them, with little gusto or guts, a traditional Australian side of cow faced, moronic, obstreporous and mostly weak willed progeny of long forgotten deportees. Only Hussey, who should surely now be promoted to skipper the side whilst rebuilding takes place, stood out as having any real ticker. The rest were simply pathetic.
Brisbane notwithstanding, this is undeniably the worst thing to happen to Australia in years. It's clearly a direct consequence of having a Sheila in charge. In fact, things could only get worse if, for example, that great Richie Benaud was revealed as a closet screamer. That's how calamitous a state of affairs prevails.Nuff said.
There is one small chink of light. NOSF has it on good authority that a fund raiser will be added to the England shcedule, a match against a World Obnoxious Gits XI. The good news for the Ockers is that they are guaranteed at least 4 representatives in the form of Watson, Siddle, Ponting (skipper) and Johnson. Bollinger may also make the side as despite a lack of cricketing ability, he would clearly be there on merit as the most obnoxious git to play for Australia in the last 50 years.
And so to Caesar, a man whose influence presided over both teams.
Sir Andrew Strauss (I trust I am not letting the cat out of the bag) came, saw and conquered. Alistair Cook and Jimmy Anderson crossed the Rubicon of their careers and Australia endured a caesarean, in that they were opened up and had their stuffing ripped out of them.
And a jolly good thing too!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Here come the Ashes
Once again, the Ashes are upon us and we are burning with anticipation. It will be a battle royal, we hope, riddled with fast bowling, electric catches and in the middle, tons of runs!
England are led by Strauss, a batsman of classical style, who has conducted himself with aplomb and will orchestrate the campaign. Let us hope he waltzes into form from the off, and resists any overtures from Asian bookmakers.
Amongst his armoury he has the potentially potent weapons of Broad and Anderson, not to mention the revived Monty "Frying" Panesar, who will be hoping for more turn than a turban at Sydney.
The extraordinary offer by VB - to buy every adult Aussie a beer if they win the Ashes, will earn them plaudits amongst the average, moronic Strayans, but the intelligencia will both be mindful that this is more likely a comment on their chances being slight.
Unlike the great Australian Elevens of the past, there is the look of a group of players, rathert than a team, about this lot, and when they finally select the side from the preliminary squad of 917, I suspect there will be few who cause a tremor in the England dressing room.
Clarke, who is a shoe in for the number 4 spot, will be told to "Hush, puppy" if he gets above himself.
Ponting will be worried about the collapse of his business empire in the UK, and wondering if he will be able to still do a contra with Center Parcs this year.
The English have encountered a good number of Australian Hussies in their time, but Michael of that ilk is unlikely to fill them with dread (or the urge to buy him 8 Bacardis and shag him stupid)
The bowlers too look weak.
5 tests may be too much for Bollinger who is expected to run out of fizz and will probably fake an injury, howling with sham pain.
The heavily tatooed Johnson will also probably need to go to the Doctor at some stage.
As fo the wicketkeeper, most people have had enough of his endless sledging.
But what of the English?
We can expect to see Trott amongst the runs, the now well-seasoned Cook is always a recipe for disaster, but he will be hoping to roast his detractors with century after century and KP, if he rediscovers his form, could go nuts. If Bell gives himself enough rope, her may finally confirm the ringing endorsements which have always praised his potential.
Broad will shoulder the burden of stock strike bowler, Finn will be fishing for the outside edge and then Swann will ensure the Australian's goose is cooked.
So on paper, this Ashes series looks done and dusted. Arise Sir Andrew, and Rocky Ponting will doubtless be sacrificed at the Fosters Cathedral in Melbourne.
But this is Australia, the self procalimed lucky country, and you never know!
England are led by Strauss, a batsman of classical style, who has conducted himself with aplomb and will orchestrate the campaign. Let us hope he waltzes into form from the off, and resists any overtures from Asian bookmakers.
Amongst his armoury he has the potentially potent weapons of Broad and Anderson, not to mention the revived Monty "Frying" Panesar, who will be hoping for more turn than a turban at Sydney.
The extraordinary offer by VB - to buy every adult Aussie a beer if they win the Ashes, will earn them plaudits amongst the average, moronic Strayans, but the intelligencia will both be mindful that this is more likely a comment on their chances being slight.
Unlike the great Australian Elevens of the past, there is the look of a group of players, rathert than a team, about this lot, and when they finally select the side from the preliminary squad of 917, I suspect there will be few who cause a tremor in the England dressing room.
Clarke, who is a shoe in for the number 4 spot, will be told to "Hush, puppy" if he gets above himself.
Ponting will be worried about the collapse of his business empire in the UK, and wondering if he will be able to still do a contra with Center Parcs this year.
The English have encountered a good number of Australian Hussies in their time, but Michael of that ilk is unlikely to fill them with dread (or the urge to buy him 8 Bacardis and shag him stupid)
The bowlers too look weak.
5 tests may be too much for Bollinger who is expected to run out of fizz and will probably fake an injury, howling with sham pain.
The heavily tatooed Johnson will also probably need to go to the Doctor at some stage.
As fo the wicketkeeper, most people have had enough of his endless sledging.
But what of the English?
We can expect to see Trott amongst the runs, the now well-seasoned Cook is always a recipe for disaster, but he will be hoping to roast his detractors with century after century and KP, if he rediscovers his form, could go nuts. If Bell gives himself enough rope, her may finally confirm the ringing endorsements which have always praised his potential.
Broad will shoulder the burden of stock strike bowler, Finn will be fishing for the outside edge and then Swann will ensure the Australian's goose is cooked.
So on paper, this Ashes series looks done and dusted. Arise Sir Andrew, and Rocky Ponting will doubtless be sacrificed at the Fosters Cathedral in Melbourne.
But this is Australia, the self procalimed lucky country, and you never know!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Sports Results (upcoming)
The decider that will be played between England and Pakistan tomorrow morning was won by England, who triumphed by 1 wicket after the final over bowled by Mustapha Bung went for 29 runs, mostly in no balls.
The match was overshadowed by the news that, just before the toss, Ladbrokes had dramatically cut the odds on Paul Collingwood hitting a six off Umar Gul on the 4th ball of the 7th over, clearing long leg and being caught in the crowd by a heavily bearded man in a blue shirt with his left hand, after a series of heavy bets.
A number of Sky Sports commentators were then caught on camera muttering into the cellphones and taking the 3-1 that had been freely available about such an eventuality, and it went to post at 6-4 on.
Pakistan, who won the toss, posted a relatively innocent looking 233-8 off their allocated overs, and when Strauss and Davies came out to bat, a good match appeared likely.
Quickie Mohammed Aamercheet opened the bowling, curiously electing to forgo his usual left arm pace for some innocuous right hand leg breaks, and a grateful Andrew Strauss duly posted 36 off the first over.
England then lost 6 wickets off the next over, before the surprisingly recalled Andrew Flintoff struck a rapid fire 100 off the next 5 overs, facing every ball bowled in the process.
Flintoff, who had publicly backed himself at 250-1 for a recall for this game, was seen handing over what appeared to be some photographs to Geoff Miller, chairman of selectors, just before the game.
On reaching his century, Flintoff then called for a quick single, raced to where he had hit the ball, and displaying the sort of agility reminiscent of his glory days, turned and threw down his own wicket to be run out for 100.
England need 28 off the final over, and as 17 of them came on no balls courtesy of Bung, the target was actually achieved with 9 balls to spare.
Andrew Flintoff was named Paddy Power Man of the Match for his heroics with the bat.
For those wishing to watch the game live it takes place tomorrow morning at 11.00am.
The match was overshadowed by the news that, just before the toss, Ladbrokes had dramatically cut the odds on Paul Collingwood hitting a six off Umar Gul on the 4th ball of the 7th over, clearing long leg and being caught in the crowd by a heavily bearded man in a blue shirt with his left hand, after a series of heavy bets.
A number of Sky Sports commentators were then caught on camera muttering into the cellphones and taking the 3-1 that had been freely available about such an eventuality, and it went to post at 6-4 on.
Pakistan, who won the toss, posted a relatively innocent looking 233-8 off their allocated overs, and when Strauss and Davies came out to bat, a good match appeared likely.
Quickie Mohammed Aamercheet opened the bowling, curiously electing to forgo his usual left arm pace for some innocuous right hand leg breaks, and a grateful Andrew Strauss duly posted 36 off the first over.
England then lost 6 wickets off the next over, before the surprisingly recalled Andrew Flintoff struck a rapid fire 100 off the next 5 overs, facing every ball bowled in the process.
Flintoff, who had publicly backed himself at 250-1 for a recall for this game, was seen handing over what appeared to be some photographs to Geoff Miller, chairman of selectors, just before the game.
On reaching his century, Flintoff then called for a quick single, raced to where he had hit the ball, and displaying the sort of agility reminiscent of his glory days, turned and threw down his own wicket to be run out for 100.
England need 28 off the final over, and as 17 of them came on no balls courtesy of Bung, the target was actually achieved with 9 balls to spare.
Andrew Flintoff was named Paddy Power Man of the Match for his heroics with the bat.
For those wishing to watch the game live it takes place tomorrow morning at 11.00am.
Monday, April 12, 2010
On a Masterly performance
How very appropriate. A gentleman won one of the most important events of his chosen sport. He did so in the face of enormous personal adversity, by showing grit, true grit.
Hi victory was characterised by brilliance, daring, humility and grace. The man he beat shared these sentiments and characteristics throughout.
Somewhere down the field was the player, a snarling, bitter and ungracious loser who's promise to conduct himself like a gentleman lasted 2 rounds, before he reverted to type. Perhaps it is this inability to control himself that has kept his wife from returning.
If ever anything will serve to remind Woods of what he has forsaken, it will be that hug between the brave Mickelson and the far braver Mrs Mickelson on the 18th green - a moment of romance in sport, and sporting romance of the kind that will keep us watching top class international sporting action late into the night, and late into our lives.
The Masters, much maligned by those who do not understand it (fans), rarely fails to produce great sporting drama - it stands alongside events such as the National or the Darts at Lakeside as pure sporting theatre in which all the actors are Giulgud.
Today we witnessed both a right result, and the right result. Bayete Phil, a true legend.
Hi victory was characterised by brilliance, daring, humility and grace. The man he beat shared these sentiments and characteristics throughout.
Somewhere down the field was the player, a snarling, bitter and ungracious loser who's promise to conduct himself like a gentleman lasted 2 rounds, before he reverted to type. Perhaps it is this inability to control himself that has kept his wife from returning.
If ever anything will serve to remind Woods of what he has forsaken, it will be that hug between the brave Mickelson and the far braver Mrs Mickelson on the 18th green - a moment of romance in sport, and sporting romance of the kind that will keep us watching top class international sporting action late into the night, and late into our lives.
The Masters, much maligned by those who do not understand it (fans), rarely fails to produce great sporting drama - it stands alongside events such as the National or the Darts at Lakeside as pure sporting theatre in which all the actors are Giulgud.
Today we witnessed both a right result, and the right result. Bayete Phil, a true legend.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
On the Masters - part 1
The below copy has come from a colleague of mine who runs a golf manufacture busines.....
A friend of mine was in Augusta today, and had a long conversation with Mr Waters, who is 80, and owns Bonaventure Golf. This store is fantastic, and has been in existence for 40 yrs. He owns all his inventory, has NO receivables, and yes, he does business with us.
Some of his customers during the 3 weeks of the Masters.....one week prior, the actual week, and one week after, include, Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, Gary Player, Johnnie Miller, Tom Watson, Angel cabrerra, Camillo Villegas, Sergio Garcia....get the message.
Well here is the kicker.
Tiger has been in Augusta since this past Sunday.
Monday shot 74
Tuesday shot 75
Wednesday said he wanted to play like it was the Masters...shot 72-77. 36 holes.
The caddies were saying, as he hit every shot there were 10 golf carts surrounding him, with 2 armed guards in each cart.
Where the ball was expected to land, be that the fairway off the tee, or the green, an additional 5 golf carts, with 2 armed guards in each were waiting.
On holes that border Augusta National, an additional 6 golf carts were positioned on the fence side of the hole. 2 guards, both armed.
All this with NO ONE ON THE COURSE!!!!!!!!!!
Augusta Police have called in extra security for the 7 days of the Tournament.
All the vacant houses that had not been rented have been snapped up by Puliitzer Prizewinning Organisations like TMZ, The National Enquirer, etc etc. The Caddies that are walking the course are saying.......60-40 he wont make the cut. 95-5 say he cannot win Drives not too accurate, and short game not up to par.
Putting....not even close.
It makes for interesting reading - as will the interview with Woods - should he condescend to give one, if he fails to make the cut.
The thrill of anticipation is in the air!
A friend of mine was in Augusta today, and had a long conversation with Mr Waters, who is 80, and owns Bonaventure Golf. This store is fantastic, and has been in existence for 40 yrs. He owns all his inventory, has NO receivables, and yes, he does business with us.
Some of his customers during the 3 weeks of the Masters.....one week prior, the actual week, and one week after, include, Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, Gary Player, Johnnie Miller, Tom Watson, Angel cabrerra, Camillo Villegas, Sergio Garcia....get the message.
Well here is the kicker.
Tiger has been in Augusta since this past Sunday.
Monday shot 74
Tuesday shot 75
Wednesday said he wanted to play like it was the Masters...shot 72-77. 36 holes.
The caddies were saying, as he hit every shot there were 10 golf carts surrounding him, with 2 armed guards in each cart.
Where the ball was expected to land, be that the fairway off the tee, or the green, an additional 5 golf carts, with 2 armed guards in each were waiting.
On holes that border Augusta National, an additional 6 golf carts were positioned on the fence side of the hole. 2 guards, both armed.
All this with NO ONE ON THE COURSE!!!!!!!!!!
Augusta Police have called in extra security for the 7 days of the Tournament.
All the vacant houses that had not been rented have been snapped up by Puliitzer Prizewinning Organisations like TMZ, The National Enquirer, etc etc. The Caddies that are walking the course are saying.......60-40 he wont make the cut. 95-5 say he cannot win Drives not too accurate, and short game not up to par.
Putting....not even close.
It makes for interesting reading - as will the interview with Woods - should he condescend to give one, if he fails to make the cut.
The thrill of anticipation is in the air!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
On a dark and despairing future
That glorious monument to open, attacking rugby, the 6 Nations, draws to a close this weekend.
What an extraordinary tournament it has been. England playing dull, forward dominated rugby, Wales showing skills aplenty and ticker in absentium. The Jocks, dour and downtrodden, plucking defeat from the jaws of victory. Who'd have thought it?
Contrast it, if you will, with the Super-Duper 14, a showcase for the modern world, where tries are scored by the hundred, tackles (spearing excepted) are forbidden, and each starting 15 has an average of 1.3 criminal convictions per man - St Dan Carter excepted.
Each hemisphere pours scorn on the other, siting their game as all that is wrong with rugby in the modern era. Worryingly, it may be that both are right.
Since turning professional, rugby has struggled, both with it's identity, and it's bank balance. The hemispheres have become polar opposite in their attempt to find a solution.
Critics of the south will point to the fact that sevens is a game best played by seven a side, whilst in the depths of Dunedin and the warrens of the Waikato, sturdy, ruddy faced farmers will point out that they prefer mud wrestling when the combatants are naked and nubile ladies, not 30 big, ugly men.
The answer, of course, is that rugby should have never turned professional - it should have remained a jolly, amateur game played by Ex public schoolboys, doctors, policemen and clergy-in-training. But these are far off hills to which we can never come again.
The game is in a terrible state. No two matches are played under the same rules, all referees are blind incompetents, stadia are half full, and Wales greatest try scorer has outed himself as a screaming knobgoblin.
Passes are all forward, scrum feeds more crooked than MPs expenses, a little bit of "argy bargy" gets reported to the Scuffers, and rugby jerseys now resemble the sort of thing you'd expect to see in a Village People video.
Of the 80 minutes nominally played, a good half is wasted in resetting scrums, the field is constantly populated by waiters bearing trays of isotonic sports supplements, and all the players can talk about in their insightful post match interviews is "composure". Bah! Composure is best left to Beethoven, Mozart and other highly questionable mittel Europa types.
Streakers have been outlawed, high tackles effectively endorsed - we don't want big hits, we want big tits. Bring back Erica Roe, I say.
In short, rugby union is in a mess.Sadly, and NOSF says this with a heavy heart, there is a solution at hand. It's currently played by the whippet-buggering burgers of Burnly, the roo-rooting Brads from Queensland, and a motley assortment of heavily tattooed Polynesians masquerading as New Zealanders.
I speak of course, of none other than rugby league. And it is the future of the Union game.
What an extraordinary tournament it has been. England playing dull, forward dominated rugby, Wales showing skills aplenty and ticker in absentium. The Jocks, dour and downtrodden, plucking defeat from the jaws of victory. Who'd have thought it?
Contrast it, if you will, with the Super-Duper 14, a showcase for the modern world, where tries are scored by the hundred, tackles (spearing excepted) are forbidden, and each starting 15 has an average of 1.3 criminal convictions per man - St Dan Carter excepted.
Each hemisphere pours scorn on the other, siting their game as all that is wrong with rugby in the modern era. Worryingly, it may be that both are right.
Since turning professional, rugby has struggled, both with it's identity, and it's bank balance. The hemispheres have become polar opposite in their attempt to find a solution.
Critics of the south will point to the fact that sevens is a game best played by seven a side, whilst in the depths of Dunedin and the warrens of the Waikato, sturdy, ruddy faced farmers will point out that they prefer mud wrestling when the combatants are naked and nubile ladies, not 30 big, ugly men.
The answer, of course, is that rugby should have never turned professional - it should have remained a jolly, amateur game played by Ex public schoolboys, doctors, policemen and clergy-in-training. But these are far off hills to which we can never come again.
The game is in a terrible state. No two matches are played under the same rules, all referees are blind incompetents, stadia are half full, and Wales greatest try scorer has outed himself as a screaming knobgoblin.
Passes are all forward, scrum feeds more crooked than MPs expenses, a little bit of "argy bargy" gets reported to the Scuffers, and rugby jerseys now resemble the sort of thing you'd expect to see in a Village People video.
Of the 80 minutes nominally played, a good half is wasted in resetting scrums, the field is constantly populated by waiters bearing trays of isotonic sports supplements, and all the players can talk about in their insightful post match interviews is "composure". Bah! Composure is best left to Beethoven, Mozart and other highly questionable mittel Europa types.
Streakers have been outlawed, high tackles effectively endorsed - we don't want big hits, we want big tits. Bring back Erica Roe, I say.
In short, rugby union is in a mess.Sadly, and NOSF says this with a heavy heart, there is a solution at hand. It's currently played by the whippet-buggering burgers of Burnly, the roo-rooting Brads from Queensland, and a motley assortment of heavily tattooed Polynesians masquerading as New Zealanders.
I speak of course, of none other than rugby league. And it is the future of the Union game.
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