SO, the orange and black management at Wests-Pussycats have
shafted John Hopoate, Craig Field and Kevin McGuinness.
Dead set, true league fans have been spewin' from Darwin to fucking
Dandenong over events of the past fortnight.
The head pussycats gave Hopoate the flick pass, dressed it up
as a resignation and then asked the media to leave poor old Hopa
alone, because he was feeling fragile, whoever he is.
The real reason, true league fans, was that when the moral indignation
wore off, they feared some pisspot bimbo journo just might ask
the question: why hadn't the committee or coaching staff noticed
that Hoppa had a tendency to play "find the haemorrhoid"
for the best part of the season?
The club was quick to point out that Hopoate is no rocket scientist.
Pretty bleeding obvious in a game where most players have to come
off the field to get someone to tie their laces back up if they
come undone. But I still reckon he's smarter than the entire management
at Wests-Pussycats. He invented a variation of the traditional
ball-and-all tackle and the collective turds at Wests took for
ages to spot it.
Race and religion aside, Hopa is as mad as a meataxe – another
prerequisite for running around a paddock chasing a pigskin and
getting hurt very badly for your troubles. But he's still got
something to offer on the football field, not withstanding the
current stain on his reputation and index finger.
Backsides.... I mean besides, you've got to admit that
the man's stated aim of making players think twice about wanting
to get the ball in their hands is not a bad strategy.
Some blokes understandably would prefer to knock on, declaring:
"Fuck this, I'm not going to be tackled by that bastard!"
if they saw Hopa charging towards them.
Of course, it wouldn't always work. There'd be quite a few of
the lads who'd take a pass and change direction just to line up
against Hopa, with a nudge and a wink thrown in for good measure.
After all, I've never known a game that's so chockablock full
of homophobes. For the Bash's part, I never saw much sense in
the regular pastime for my fellow A grade players of going into
town and bashing up freckle-punchers in the public toilets. My
mates obviously felt threatened somehow by these shirt-lifters:
I never did. I always reckoned the more poofs out there, the more
chance the Bash had to weave his magic on the fairer sex. For
some reason, Sydney was always a happy hunting ground for me.
Anyway, Hopa's paid a big price for doing something that was probably
just a big clubroom joke until the shit hit the fan, so let's
hope there's some club out there somewhere prepared to give him
another chance if he promises to pull his finger out and keep
it clean for the rest of his career.
***
I've also got a gripe about Craig Field and Kevin McGuineess
scoring $250,000 deals over a little ecstacy and coke indulgence.
At least the NRL left the players with some tens of thousands
of dollars out of their annual paypacket to survive on while they're
out of work for the next six months, a figure the Nazis from rugby
league headquarters obviously plucked out of their arses.
And of course, the club has said it will not finance any appeal
by the lads. That's tantamount to saying: "Even if you get
one of those fancy QCs to represent you, we'll still line up with
the NRL and do you over."
Then we had to listen to some boffin from Wests Pussycats tell
an ABC pisspot media bimbo that "we have to stamp out recreational
drug use".
He and some other club lackeys then spent the next two minutes
saying how much they enjoyed getting on the piss together.
Don't these hypocrites realise there's a sign saying "I'm
a bloody imbecile" that glows on their foreheads everytime
they open their gobs and come out with such crap.
Now I know, true sports fans, that these boofhead players sign
contracts to behave and they're supposed to be role models for
young kiddies, etc, etc, ad nauseum, but for fuck's sake, who
gives a toss what these blokes are on at the weekends, long as
they front up and play to their ability.
Think about it, true league fans, if filthy rich, very fit young
men can't pop a few Es or snort a line or two, who the fuck can?
The Bash's other gripe of course, is the inconsistency. Some sports
frown on these drugs; others turn a blind eye. Look at our nation's
flannelled fools. I'm told that one of our Test players is always
higher than a kite, but gets away with it because the game either
don't test all that often or makes sure it's at a time when no-one's
gonna get caught. Even if they did, it's just an in-house warning
apparently. At any rate, spare a thought for Adam Gilchrist. He's
apparently been tested over 24 times in the past year alone after
some arsehole in authority read a report somewhere that one of
the side-effects of steroid use is oversized ears.
Just imagine, true league fans, if these jumped up NRL nazis contaminated
the rest of the Australian workforce.
If they started to test the police force, the medical profession,
teaching, the public service and, yes, the leeches in the law,
society as we know it would collapse.
So don't be fooled by these smug, sanctimonious bastartd, true
league fans. They are the enemy within.
At least with Hopa, he might have been trying to stick it up your
arse, but at least you knew where he was coming from.
***
And before I sign off, how about this ultra right-wing Cattle
Tick archbishop they've plucked from Melbourne to head the whole
shebang from Sydney?
George "I hope I'm next Pope" Pell's best line so far
is that gays can still receive holy communion, provided they are
not sexually active.
Sexual preference aside, it's confirmed what I discovered 30 years
ago when I had stint in church league: God loves those who aren't
getting any!
Cop-u-lata,
The BASH
