Odd Shaped Balls - review

No no, dahlinks! This is a proper
pic of a proper rugby player:
England's Paul Sackey which I
have put in to show you the shape
of the ball. The rugby ball!
You surely do not think I  would
use gratuitous images of naked
men. (From Brisbane Times.)

(XX)
Well, the Six Nations is upon us. Those who know and love me well will be amazed that such is my dedication to this blog, I have taken time out to write a review at this time. I was unable to resist using the occasion to mention this exceedingly Hot Hot Hot delicious story about a lovely lady who hooks herself a couple of balls (wink).


Redzinger's Playing Up has more sex packed into its three short chapters than there are bits of popping candy in a bar of Cadbury's Marvelous Creations. Whew, what a zinger! and that's just the heroine of our tale, Sian. She might be carrying a few extra pounds on her waistline, that just offers extra sexy curves for fit prop forward Rob Powell to man-handle. Sexiest of all is her loss of control when her hot body entangles with his hot body. Oh, and she has a sexy snappy wit when she gets going as well as other oral uh ... skills <snerk>.

But hey, the course of true love never runs smooth, huh! Will Sian lose her man because the heat of her momentous moments make her look like she is 'easy'? Will that idiot take team-mate Gavin's advice and end up having to have his head kicked in? Or will Sian decide to go off with one of the other numerous men she suddenly realises are trying to fall down her gorgeous cleavage? Just go and read the story already!

Redzinger is a smoooooth writer, who sets the scene well. You get an excellent sense of a rugby community in a British small town, with nice touches of regional dialect and accent. There is plenty of action, too. Guys wondering how to get women weak and begging for it, get ready to take notes. (If you can spare a hand <snerk>.) Judging by what I remember of the club I used to play for (not much, I hung out with the other women players - wink), Rob did not get his multiple sexy techniques from the Harford coaching squad. Women - just lie back and think of your home nation (and its balls).

And now for Redzinger, me and others who are serious fans of ball play, some rugby spiel. 

The Six Nations kicked off in proper fashion with defending Champions Wales at home in the Millenium Stadium - every rugby player's favourite venue. It's great to see the Italians really rising to the challenge and showing how worthy they are of the invitation to join the European nations' rugby tournament they were accorded 14 years ago. In the early days they were a bit unsure of themselves and you would see fans in the Stadio Flaminio wearing beautifully cut Gucci jackets and chic sunglasses. However they rapidly realised this is not the raiment de riguer for the rugby fan and started dressing up as Roman centurions and pizza chefs.

And this year they didn't spoil the party by beating Wales, phew.

From WRU pages

From Metro.

From Zimbio

On to England v. France. I don't know about Man of the Match, I have already chosen haircut of the tournament. Ordinarily it's the forwards who sport the most hilarious haircuts - I'm thinking the ninja poodles in the Welsh front row. This year there is of course Chris Robshaw's floppy hoxton fin and the Return of the Mohican (Joe Marler).

From the BBC.

However the out and out front runner is the new winger Jack Nowell. That is a haircut that is fairly screaming: "Alright, my handsum!", as they say in Cornwall. As soon as Jerry Guscott (who is from Bath, where they say: "Alright, my lover") saw that haircut he started laughing and was unable to help blurting back: "Alright, my son!" (I sat next to his mum on the coach to London once! EEEEE! I know! Jerry Guscott's mum!) Guscott was the first of the England rugby squad to do snappy dressing in chic Italian suits so he knows exactly what that haircut is saying. It was so terrifying that that lad was obliged to wear a scrumcap in case the sartorially sensitive French complained of unsportsmanlike behaviour.

OK, what that haircut actually said to me is, this is definitely a new era for England. No way some talented lad with a hilarious haircut would have made it from Exeter to the England squad in the old days. Before Lancaster, English rugby was absolutely an old boys' club. If you were going to be taken up by the RFU, you played for one of the trendy clubs, not somewhere on the outer limbs of the British Isles. Against France, Nowell made mistakes, yes - but it was his debut. He was really in the game, nipping here and there, playing to what is obviously the new Lancaster strategy: get the wings and fulback to play like three fullbacks. He exemplified why, although they lost today, England are going to be a flying force in the World Cup in eighteen months.

The last time England won the World Cup one magazine supplement described them as 'concorde - aging but technologically perfect'. France were like your girlfriend, you never know what mood they might show up in. (Sheesh, you could sure say that about my ex-girlfriend!)

Well, the flighty femme fatale sure turned up on Saturday!

Image from Dreamstime.

The pundits had put it all on the forward play, with pundit supremo Clive Woodward predicting England would win by five points if they sorted out the scrummaging and lineouts. He was nearly right. For a lot of the second half, there was sustained forward play, but in the first half the French had scored two tries through a classic flash of individual Gallic flair (winger Yoann Huget). Uncharacteristically those salauds put in a passage of sustained flowing balletic passes through the backs in the dying moments of the match and there we are - they are the winners of 'le crunch'.

Do not talk to me about the match on Sunday. Remember: I am a Scotland supporter. I therefore had my bottle of single cask whisky installed well before kick-off. (Never should have let Andy Robinson go.)