Story by Hung One On and Marsupial Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula
Hey, Father O’Way here, you know, good old Sandy. I mean is the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop, a wanker or what? I mean he wakes me up at three in the afternoon, what sort of wanker is that? So I have to interview the Wallabies, lets face it, some pre historic marsupials ain’t gonna have much to say.
“Sandy, get down to HQ and find out what’s going on with the Wallabies?” rants the Bish.
“Well I don’t know this Wal Abbies Bish?” I reply trying to buy some time. I would much rather just go back to sleep.
“The Rugby Union team you twit” says the Bish in a rather exasperated tone.
“Not another football team, I mean why do you never send me to interview those shelia’s that play in lingerie?” I request rather forlornly.
“Just get down there and find out what’s wrong. Oh and by the way, don’t tell anyone to fuck off!” roars the Bish.
Can’t tell anyone to fuck off. You know sometimes I wonder why I bother.
I enter rugby HQ and no one really is standing guard. No one lets me straight in as he is Hung’s cousin and he recognises me as the globe trotting priest that drinks at The Pigsarms. The sign over the door is interesting. It says, “Remember the two qualities needed for Rugby Union are brute strength and bloody ignorance”. I mean what does that tell you.
I go to the Head Coaches office, Bobbie Bean, and ask for an interview.
“Fuck off” yells Bobbie.
Hmm, how come it’s okay for him but not for me. Is this a classic case of discrimination or what.
“So is it okay to call you Bobbie” I ask.
“Well all my friends call me Bobbie but you can call me Mr. Bean”
Hey, that’s the problem, Mr Bean is in charge of the team.
“Hey Bobbie, everyone is saying your lot are a bunch of pansies, that you were all dizzy at half time and the trainer had to point to the try line?” I barb. No f off’s for me, grumble, grumble.
“Grrr” says Bobbie, if grrr is really a word.
I can see I got off on the wrong foot here so I decide to dazzle Bobbie with my rugby knowledge.
“So Bobbie, did Mark Ella have a good game?” I dazzle.
“Arragh” replies Bobbie.
“Isn’t the object of the game to get the ball over the try line?” I amaze.
“Well, that’s the first I’ve ever heard of that, how about you come on board as an assistant?” quips Bobbie.
Hmm, yes, the ignorance is showing.
“How are you going to go against the Springsooks, you know, the South Ifrician team?” I probe.
“Once we get all our stars back like Virgo, Aquarius and Capricorn we will kill em unless they play Tony Grieg and Kevin Petersen” states Bobbie rather assertively.
Well they are cricketers but never let the truth get in the road of a good story.
“So Bobbie, what do you need to win, how about some ring ins?” I state with not a lot of confidence.
Bobbie leaps over the desk and grabs me by the throat knocking me to the ground. Gee, I hope my packet of Winnies are okay, can’t afford anymore.
“No Father, what we need is some real wallabies, real wallabies” Bobbie cries.
So there you are folks. The problem is Mr Bean is in charge of the team, they don’t understand the objective of the game and they can’t find the try line. Next.