All posts by Davster

National Grid feeling the benefit of Robinson’s Rage

Chief Orc: Tamping Beyond

Households amounting to the population of Reading are tonight enjoying the benefit of cheap renewable energy generated by Scotland coach Andy Robinson going absolutely tonto at French referee Romain Poite for being hurty.

Following the calculated decision of the official to do his calf just as Scotland had found their three-quarters, meteorologists and seismologists began reporting strange readings from the Twickenham area which were interpreted variously as a category 5 hurricane popping into existence or the early signs of a direct strike by an asteroid the size of Skomer Island.

The government were alerted and were seconds away from issuing the orders for Operation Shrug – which as the name implies is reserved for natural disasters so severe and so certain to end all known life in the country that there is absolutely nothing to be done other than to maybe give heroin a go and try it on with attractive women. Once it had emerged that the event horizon was in fact a single human being’s fury, quick thinking by a National Grid employee allowed Robinson to be plugged in to the UK’s electricity supply network, both diffusing a catastrophe and generating free energy to many thousands of grateful households.

Secretary of State for Energy, Chris Huhne, appealed for public calm and an end to the looting of shops and panic-buying of essential supplies. “Whilst a small risk remains that further anger spikes could overload the grid, rest assured that Mr Robinson is being kept calm by listening to ELO’s greatest hits and having the wispy thinning hair around his bald dome gently blown on by a tag-team of nubile Thai women. We have this under control”.

Ireland Week threat-level raised to “Steady now”

Both Welsh and Irish camps issued statements today raising the pre-game threat level to “Steady Now” – up one notch from “Quietly confident” and below “Expecting to lose narrowly”.

An IRB spokesman confirmed that the upgrading of the threat level meant that both teams are officially ‘wary’ of each other and is likely to guarantee that any further press coverage between now and kick-off will be exceptionally banal; advising supporters of both nations to just hibernate for 48 hours if at all possible.

Although the public threat level had been raised, the private threat level could actually be anything on the scale. This is known as the McLaughlan effect, in that no-one wants to be making public shows of confidence only to lose and then have media harpie Sonja McLaughlin crush their genitals over the matter on live television. The result is pre-match press coverage that is like listening to a Colin Charvis lecture on the all the numbers between one and 240 million to two decimal places.

Hopes of Warren Gatland emerging from his self-imposed ‘Yip’-ban and having a pop at an unsuspecting Irish player’s ability, intelligence or even personal hygiene are slim, as the Welsh coach’s wariness of his own threat level has been at “Steady now” for four weeks.

Warren Gatland’s ‘Cut Out & Pin Up’ Opposition Team Talks

2011 Vol.4 – Ireland

Hello Ireland. My boys are playing you this weekend so here’s just a few well considered words to save your coach the bother of motivating you.

You are Cheats!

Everyone says so. I’m going to tell the Ref on you by spending this week bleating on about how you’re all murdering ball-killers and the enemies of rugby.

 All my players Hate you!

 There, I’ve said it. We had a vote on who we hated the most and you won. Well actually Ronan O’Gara won, but the rest of you came second.

Brian O’Driscoll is Mortal!

The angel Gabriel did not deliver unto Mrs O’Driscoll a child: He is a normal guy. Feed him and does he not shit? This means that we’re allowed to tackle him, and he’s not allowed to spend half the game telling the Ref what his opinion should be.

I’d rather listen to Sonja McLaughlan than U2!

That’s right, the soulless microphone harpie sounds better than Bono. She makes my eyes bleed but listening to the Edge’s patented doorbell sound makes me want to thumb my eyes out of their sockets.

You’re drug-dealers!

Everyone says when the Irish come to Cardiff, the crack is always good. Crack is not good. It is a highly addictive Class A narcotic and it is a criminal offence to bring it into the country. It ruins lives and drains valuable NHS, law-enforcement and Social Care resources. Leave the crack at home.

 

Disclaimer: Mr Gatland’s views in no way represent those of the Welsh nation who have always got on with you very well actually – in spite of our dodgy deal with the English in 1169 that let them invade you, and Lloyd-George drawing partition lines across random bits of the island after a few too many doses of Port – sorry about all that.

 The Welsh nation does not have a standing army and would therefore like to avoid any armed conflict as a result of the above comments. Tribute can be paid in coin or cattle. Please send all invoices for reparations to The Welsh c/o WRU, Dept for Gatland Gaffe Repairs, Millennium Stadium, Westgate Street, Cardiff, CF10 1NS.

Trees ‘really annoyed’ at being cut down for more pointless guff about James Hook

Trees: Down with this sort of thing

Trees – yes trees – spoke out yesterday at the upsurge in the amount of them being brutally hacked down in order to be daubed in print with more opinion on where James Hook should play, how he should play, and whether or not if he was playing in the right place anyone else need bother turning up to play with him.

“Enough” said trees, “Seriously now”.

In journalist land, the crayons have been worn down. The past month has seen Hook’s wearing of the number ten shirt compared to the bit at the end of Highlander when the really old Scottish bloke had chopped off everyone’s head and become an all-powerful, all-knowing superhero in a big display of lights and fireworks and Brian May rubbing his guitar against Anita Dobson’s buttocks really loudly. It had been suggested that if he were to wear the 10 shirt then just to be safe, the large Hadron collider should be turned off for a bit in case the combined activity tear a hole in something important and invalidate the planet’s warranty.

According to the Grand Wizard Howley, so dangerous are the possible effects of Hook-magic that he will be kept below 5°c at outside centre and instructed to play in slow motion and not to do anything that might excite the molecules in the air around him into some sort of nuclear fusion.

In order to expand the lunacy beyond those paid for their opinion, it was decided that a Pole was needed. Bronisław Komorowski, President of Poland, announced that he was content with Hook playing anywhere but in the pack, 9, or on the wing as long as the guy was given more than a day’s notice and was kind of left alone about the whole thing.

In the event of today’s game not being called off by the marauding giant stay-puft marshmallow man; Come On Wales!

Berlusconi ‘disappointed’ with Welsh Under-20s

Berlusconi: Just another honest mistake

Italian Prime Minister and charitable friend of young stunning women everywhere, Silvio Berlusconi, was said to be hugely disappointed yesterday after a secret meeting in a dressing room with a large group of teenagers from Wales.

The Duce of Drool was very keen to personally welcome the visitors, especially as muddy grappling followed by a communal bath was rumoured to be on the menu at the San Vito Stadium. “I’ll be having some of that” he was reputed to say. Probably. But in Italian.

The Caesar of Seduction (©, but open to offers) shuffled into the changing rooms post-match in a velvet dressing gown, sporting a chilled Dom Perignon and a 30% extra free bottle of Matey bubblebath, offering what he claimed to be a traditional Italian welcome of ‘sudding the breasts’.

The Senator of Sausage (not sure about that one) was quick to withdraw the offer when the teenagers turned out to be a couple of dozen large males. A spokeswoman for the Prime Minister denied there had been any dodgy intention, and made clear that her starring role in the film ‘Maria Does Milan’ had nothing to do with her getting her current job. No-one has yet pressed charges.

Dum-dum-dum, dum der-er, dum der-er

New Death Star: Fully Operational?

If it were possible after only two matches to recognise a theme running through this year’s six nations, it is undoubtedly The Imperial March from Star Wars – the one that appears in the films whenever the Death Star appears and gears up to obliterate a planet, or whenever Darth Vader emerges from his masturbation disco ball for a spot of after-lunch cruelty to animals, but particularly when the innumerable massive forces of the evil empire are mobilising to crush all before them like the Doctor Martens of God descending through the clouds to stamp on helpless ants. It may have been masked somewhat by the obvious sound of “Swing Low”, but to the keen observer – it is very much there, and it heralds a great disturbance in the Force.

Since the dark days of 2003 there have been some fun times. Two Grand-Slams, thanks very much; including sporting a debutant centre like an impractical but novel handbag, and an away win at the Cabbage Patch requiring only ten minutes’ work. Brian Moore spontaneously combusting at inept downtown aimless kicking against the Italians. Mr Johnson bursting veins at Danny Care’s witless over-exuberance. Our eastern cousins were rapidly earning the label “Mostly Harmless” and the world healed over them with barely a visible scar to remind us of the dark ages.

And yet here we are again. Somehow in the space of a few months, a benign collection of plodders has managed to build a new Death Star, and guess what – the mother looks to be fully operational. Suddenly the level of post-match debate has descended to risk analysis of swallow dives and there’s talk in broad daylight, in the open, without fear of sectioning and as if the last 8 years hasn’t happened, of Grandslams, and worst of all, World Cups “coming home”. In these moments, the Imperial March swells to become the only sound in the entire universe.

So, once more, the world looks with the trembling outstretched hand of hope towards France. The fate of us all rests in the hands of 15 Han Solos; amiable folk who can pull off ridiculous stuff when they’re in the mood, but who unfortunately have a track record of motivational issues when the heat is on.

Come on then, France. You buy up all our best players, you have restaurants that close for lunch, you retire at 62 (and we all know how you bleated about that), and your popular music still has accordion solos. But this Saturday, you’ve got the big chance to blow up the shield generator so the Irish and the Scots can have a full-on tilt at the main reactor and put and end to this nonsense once and for all. We’ll be the Ewoks, pissed up on the sidelines throwing rocks and trying to be useful. Hope to join you for the fireworks party afterwards where you can get off with that incest bird with the headphones. Bonne chance, nos amis, bonne chance.