opinion

You are currently browsing the archive for the opinion category.

A Crusaders fan with no interest in Cricket on the Bangladesh series

February 8, 2010 in cricket, opinion, rugby by Richard Irvine | 1 comment

“…and then Toddy said to me ‘OK mate, I’ve signed your arm, now get out of my bathroom…

“What’s that mate? Bangladesh? Yep, it’s a strip club, we were headed there for Dirk’s stag, but I got into a fight in KFC and spent the night in a cell. Nicked all their bog roll, though.

“What? Cricket? Bangladesh? It’s a country? Key the Falcon, never heard of it. They any good? Useless? Yip. If the Black Caps can beat em they must be as handy as four Swiss army knives in your arse.

“I’ll tell you the problem with Cricket – Cricketers are farkin soft. You’re meant to spend summer in The Sounds drinking piss with a broken arm, not getting grass stains out of your trousers. I bet those Cricket shit heels haven’t even been on a Jet-Ski.

“I mean the AUSSIES are good at Cricket. Aussies. We gave them Robbie Farkin Deans and they can’t even get a decent Rugby team together. That’s about as wrong as taking your missus to the trots. We could sort the Black Caps out with Robbie, a bottle of Coruba and a locked room.

“Have I watched any of the games? I’d rather try and shave my back. Julie Seymour could be wandering around in her undies at fine leg, and I’d only flick over during the ads.

“We done? Good.

“…anyway, I farkin wish I hadn’t drawn Stephen Brett on me Drizabone in Vivid…”

Tags:

I reckon it’d be sweet working in an office

December 15, 2009 in cricket, opinion by Richard Irvine | 1 comment

Hi, I’m Chris Martin, Black Caps paceman and ‘get the roller ready’ batsman. Har!

As an international Cricketer, I’ve got it pretty good, bowling, fielding, practicing, traveling the world, looking myself up on cricinfo.com, walking through airports with a big bags. It’s a great time.

But sometimes, you know, I reckon it’d be sweet to work in an office. Walking in, all “What’d you get up to at the weekend?”, “What about the Rugby?” and “I bet it’s raining in Wellington!” I mean, usually when I walk into the dressing room, I’m all “Who nailed my bat to the door? And my bloody undies?” Offices are awesome.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great life being a Cricketer, chewing gum and reading the paper and that, but I could really handle just, like, photocopying TPS reports and staring at the wall. I’d be into that. By myself. Just… thinking. Wicked!

I couldn’t imagine anyone in an office giving me shit about my name, either, people in offices would be all “Chris Martin? Yeah, I really love Coldplay, eh. I’ve got all their albums, do you want to come watch my ‘Viva La Vida La Birmingham’ Blu-Ray one night? I’ve got a massive, massive plasma. And a BMW.” That’d be wicked.

You just know where you stand in an office, everyone’s got a desk, a seat, work to do. I wouldn’t even mind being on a kitchen roster, I’d probably grumble a bit, but it’d be fine, really. There’s a whole DEPARTMENT to sort out your problems. The HR department. You could probably look yourself up on hrinfo.com. I’d love an HR department here, no more thrashing about blindly in the showers bawling “FIGHT YOU! FIGHT YOU ALL! COME ON!” Good times.

So yeah, count me in. Looking forward to that office. Coffee. Signing big cards and putting money in envelopes. Maybe a computer. A cake on your birthday! Probably have to buy it yourself, but still. Probably be heaps less bats chucked around in an office. Eh. That’d be sweet.

Tags:

This bench is frickin’ AWESOME

August 21, 2009 in opinion, rugby by Richard Irvine | No comments

Life is pretty sweet on the All Black bench. I mean check out the view – we’re talking ground level. Half way line. You CAN’T get closer to the action than this. I’ve even got an umbrella. That says All Blacks on it.

“What’s that? Warm up? Few stretches? Want a cuppa while I’m up? No? OK then.”

This rules. Running around. Warming up. I’ll probably cough up some snot badgers or bust out the wicked nose clearances later. Maybe the folks will catch it on telly.

What people at home don’t realise is that it’s not *really* a bench. It’s actually a whole lot of seats in a row, kind of seats you get a lot in school halls or gyms. They’re pretty comfortable, and take no time at all to stack away.

“Hey! Can I have one of those Poweraides? Blue one? Thanks mate!”

We get those free, by the way. I could probably get a Moro if I wanted.

So yeah, it’s a pretty good deal I reckon, spending your Saturday nights on a bench. It can get pretty cold in the winter, but you still get to have a shower after. The only thing to remember is shutting up when Ian Smith’s talking into his microphone, Smithy gets a pretty sandy vagina if you bugger up his bit. Those Moros come in handy, sometimes.

So yeah, this is it. Kicking back, sat on your arse catching the game. You can really see the world from a bench. I mean, if I get picked for the tour I could be sitting on benches in Italy. Wales. France. I bet the HQ benches are frickin’ sweet.

Tags:

Rules for watching the Grand Slam at my place

November 16, 2008 in opinion, rugby by Richard Irvine | 3 comments


- You get here by 5.45am. You’re not here by 5.45am, it’s the car radio.

- Come alone. You bring the wife? You’re going home. Kids? You’re going home. That Welsh guy from your work? Home. Clear? Good.

- Bring beer.  Yeah it’s Sunday morning, but this is Rugby. We drink. There’ll be no ‘make one can last the whole game and pour most of it in the sink like the World Cup’, either. It’s three cans per half minimum, and I’m going to be watching you like a fucking hawk.

- You stay quiet while I’m arguing with the commentators unless you’re saying “yeah, Greg’, ‘that’s right, Greg’, ‘good point well made, Greg’, or ‘you should be the commentator, Greg’. I’ll be ringing Deaker after, too, don’t you worry.

- Seeing as you’re around here watching my Sky, I’m going to need $25. That’s half my month’s subscription. Not fair? An 18 month ban from the Rugby club for shit that was never proved’s not fair, either. Just cos a joker’s got spray can on him for a bit of DIY on Sunday doesn’t mean he’s sprayed ‘We Are All Qeers’ on Eastern’s coach. Does it? Didn’t think so.

- Choose one from ‘cell phone off’ or ‘painful kick in the nuts’.

- If the All Blacks win, we’re on the piss for the day, mate. You gotta celebrate. DIY, Kid’s day, blah blah blah, what are ya? We’re going to the RSA. You’re driving.

- If the All Blacks lose you need pack your shit and be out in 60 seconds, starting from final whistle. If I’ve got a whole day of staring angrily at the lawn mower ahead, I want an early start.

Crusaders fan with no interest in Cricket talks you through the Black Caps’ Bangladesh series

October 13, 2008 in cricket, opinion, rugby by Richard Irvine | No comments

…so Yoda pulled up in his Ford and says “What the bloody hell are you doing in my wheelie bin?”…

What’s that mate? Cricket? Shiiiiiiiiiit. Cricket’s about as interesting as shopping, I reckon. Shopping that’s not at Bunnings.

How are we going, anyway? We lost to Bangladesh? Doesn’t surprise me. Bloody  Black Caps. They’ve got more losers than the Graham farkin’ Henry fan club AGM.

We won the next one? Doesn’t surprise me. You can turn bad form around pretty farkin’ easily when you want to. Reminds me of Smelly Dave’s 21st. He was spewing when we called compulsory six wine skulls, one for each toe on his left foot. He did them alright, but had to go sit quietly in the laundry for a while. Fair enough, it was 8.30am. Still did a 3.19 for the yard, pretty fair effort, that.

Last one’s tonight? We’ll lose. There’s no mongrel. They need mongrel. And Robbie Deans. Robbie’d have that pack of pretty boys performing before you could say “SORRY I BURNED THE TOAST, PREFECT MERTHENS, NOT THE STRAP, NOT THE STRAP!” Ah ha. Yeah.

I might watch the match, but fark, if something else comes up, like a case of Canterbury Draught in the driveway with the dog, forget it. We done? Good.

…so yeah, I don’t reckon the Wallabies’ white bra-stripe is that bad, actually…

More

Tags:

Taking care of NPC business with Dan Surchezk

September 1, 2008 in opinion by Richard Irvine | No comments

Hola, I’m Dan Surchzek, former Senior VP, Adidas Minority Pussy-Ass Sports Division, Pacific rim. Me and Adidas had a little falling out when the partners actually dragged their sorry asses into the building and saw my new office. My $134,000 new office. You know, taste is an extremely personal thing – if you can’t handle sculpture of a gargoyle raping a goat, that’s your problem, not mine. Ces’t la fuckin’ Vie amigos.

I needed time to think, so I bought a ranch in Arizona. Got me a porch, a sniper rifle and a bluetooth headset. I can sit in the shade, take calls and nail baby Armadillos all day long. I’m a consultant now.

So yesterday I just finished a 25 mile run when the phone rings – it’s New Zealand on the line. No, they don’t wanna fit rocket launchers on NZL92 to make that shit interesting. It’s the Rugby Union. They’ve got a problem with the NPC. Sheesh. You ring the Surchzekenegger and interrupt his warm down with a Rugby problem? The NPC? What is that, the National Pussy Championship? Fuckin’ Rugby.

Anyhoo, it’s their money. They got three problems. Number one: The crowds don’t give a shit about the NPC. Number two: The players don’t give a shit about the NPC, they all want to be in France. Number three: The Rugby Union don’t give a shit about the NPC. Turns out they get more money for showing porn. Whatever. They need a plan to kill this piss-ant competition once and for all.

They came to the right place. The Surchzekinator always has a plan. When Pi Lamda Kappa had a situation, and everyone was screaming ‘I can’t believe a spine can do that!’ and ‘But I’m the Governor’s son!’ it was me who got the paddling pool and the wood chipper. I’ve had more great plans than Paris Hilton’s had freakin’ morons. I needed some time to think. I chugged Power-shakes with Jack chasers. I shot a few Armadillos. I went on a crying jag on the kitchen floor. When I came to I had all the answers.

Turns out it’s real simple. You got a competition you don’t want? No problem, you make it self destruct like a Surchzek Senior parole hearing. The crowds don’t give a shit? Screw ‘em, we’ll have security rough the fans up when they enter, rough ‘em up during the game, and rough ‘em up on the way out. You want a drink? Drink goat piss. You want food? Eat shit on rye. $25 bucks each. Oh, and we’ll be playing ‘Barbie Girl’ all day long, as loud as it goes. You gotta be careful what you wish for, right?

Players wanna go to France? Whatever, there’s more Rugby players in New Zealand than crabs on my ex-wife. Actually, fuck those guys, we’ll force some midweek lady golfers to play for freakin’ Tarankai. How you like them apples? Three or four weeks of humanity-sapping action like that will bury the NPC once and for all. It’ll be like an Armadillo in the Surchezk cross-hairs. People will vomit when they just see the LOGO. The NZRFU can concentrate on makin’ money in the Super 36. Yeah, I’m consulting on that one, too.

So, the Surchzeker has solved all New Zealand’s problems and I’d only been consulting a week. Only thing to do, friends, is load the rifle, pour a Martini, and start thinking about breakfast. Catch you on the flip side, Amigos.

Tags: ,

The Herald dumbs down to sportreview.net.nz’s level

July 29, 2008 in cartoons, opinion, rugby by Richard Irvine | No comments

Great to see the Herald’s graphic artists stoop to the crappy-PowerPoint-speech-bubble-level. Pull up a chair boys, there’s beer in the fridge. Mind the stain… that one too… there you go.

Here’s today’s front page:

And the close up…

This is great, but remember – you can make them say anything. Why stop at paraphrasing what they’ve already said? Go nuts, really. It’s fun. Case in point:


(click for original)

More teams and more games make ANYTHING better!

May 5, 2008 in opinion, rugby by Richard Irvine | 1 comment

A Mormon missionary stands at your door and enthuses about an expanded Super 14 to establish rapport.

G’day my main mate.

Did you hear? 18 teams in the Super 14. No bull-pucky. You gotta hand it to the Rugby Union – there’s nothing can’t be made better with more teams and more games. Eh. That total entertainment package just got WAY more sick.

I mean, take the Super 12. I loved it. I LOVED IT! But a man soon got to thinking if, say, the Hurricanes could beat Perth. At Rugby. Or, how New South Wales would handle a composite team drawing its players from the Free State and Northern Cape Provinces. And whaddayaknow, SANZAR came to the party. Me and my buddies settled a few bets, lemme tell ya.

And the Tri-Nations? More games means more EXTREME. Yeah! Mate.

Look at Baseball, that’s like, 160 games a year. You could have a Super 160. Imagine the Hastings Razorbacks’ rush defence facing off with the Tamworth Rhinestones’ back row. Woah. Mate. Rugby Union in your face once again.

Back at the dorm, Elder Barry says a Super 18 is a poke in the eye of all right thinking Rugby fans, possibly the most moronic move ever, and it makes him want to start watching ‘poofball’, whatever that is.

I say – gimme five! Or gimme 18, if that was anatomically possible. Eh.

Tags:

What do you MEAN ‘the jerseys were hard to tell apart’?

September 24, 2007 in greatest hits, opinion, rugby world cup 2007 by Richard Irvine | 4 comments

I’m Dan Surchzek, Senior VP, Adidas Minority Pussy-Ass Sports Division, Pacific rim. Last night, Dan Surechzek slept like a fuckin’ baby. A heavily sedated baby. But this morning… it’s 7.15am and there I am, takin’ a shower after my 14 mile run to the office, and the phone rings (yeah, my fuckin’ iPhone’s waterproof). I take the call – it’s New Zealand on the line, but this ain’t some some hairy-dick hobbit wanting his ring back, no, they’re screamin’ “Dan! We got ourselves a fuckin’ SITUATION!”.”You can’t tell the jerseys apart!” they’re sayin’. “The All Blacks and the only other team in the world with similar colors are playing, and you fucked it up, Dan!” they’re tellin’ me. The thing they don’t realise, right, is that Dan Surchzek NEVER fucks up. Sure, there was that one time in college, but if you wanna join Pi Lamda Kappa, man, those are the risks you take. No-one FORCED the kid to run off that car park roof in blind terror. He chose his own path. He’s gotta look at life in a wheelchair as an opportunity, am I right? It’s up to HIM now.

Anyhoo, as we all know, when the shit hits the fan, El Surchzekio goes straight into solution mode. I get Vantella-May to bring me a triple shot mocha no cream, with some Avocado on toast on the double so I can think, and roll the tape. If New Zealand has got a problem, my 8.30am Racquetball game goes right out the fuckin’ window, lemme tell ya.

Here’s the deal. On one side, we got Richie McCaw and the All Blacks. On the other side, we got some bunch of fuckin’ pussies from Scotland. Hang on… hold the fuckin’ burrito – Surcheckarino’s spotted the problem straightaway – you Kiwis just don’t know how to watch Rugby. Sure, the whole thing’s a mess of grey and black and blue and grey, but you gotta forget about that. Forget it. Listen close. What are the All Blacks wearing? That’s right, a three fuckin’ dimensional garment with bodymapping technology. Made out of ClimaCool. IT! DOESN’T! FUCKIN! MATTER! About the color! And I haven’t even mentioned the Powerweb. Are you guys blind, or what?

And Scotland? Scotland got Canterbury jersys. With piping. And a chest-zone-separate-and-lift-power-strip. And what are those jerseys made of? That’s right, Temex Polycotton. You guys got me out of the shower for this? You’d have to be retarded not to tell the difference. AND a fuckin’ moron. Temex! ClimaCool! Temex! ClimaCool! It’s not so hard, is it? Sheesh.

I am so fuckin’ on. I get New Zealand back on the line, and after a bit of the ol’ Surchzek hairdryer treatment, they’re soon seeing things my way. Lemme tell you guys, we don’t spend an absolute shitload on R+D for some shit for brains with three sheep in his ass to interrupt my shower and tell me they can’t tell a ClimaCool from a fuckin’ Temex. Fuck me. Sideways.

Still, that fire’s out, and I can still make my 9.45am Pilates class. And hey – I mean, this is Rugby right? At least it wasn’t Hockey, or Basketball, then we’d have a REAL fuckin’ situation on our hands. Hasta manana, amigos.

Tags: ,

Rugby without music? No Way Jose!

July 12, 2007 in opinion, rugby by Richard Irvine | No comments


Once, I hated rugby. It was that stupid thing my dad and brothers watched Sunday afternoons when 90210 was on. AND they made the lounge stink like beer and wet wool. Eeeeeew!

Then Bev from the office dragged me along to watch the Hurricanes play the Whoever-they-ares. I wasn’t holding out much hope – chardonnay came in a funny plastic bottle, I got sauce all down the front of my top, and there were no cute guys in the crowd. Looked like Rugby was fully gunna suck.

And then… they started playing MUSIC. Woah. Who knew that just playing music turned rugby from something fully stupid to a night out that totally rules! “I don’t knowwwwwww – oh – oh – oh! WHY DOES LOVE! DO THIS TO MEEEE!” “HEEEEEEY HEY BABY! OOOH! AAAAH!” Then the DJ played the Feelers! And Robbie Williams! We were dancing like it was a night club! I’ve got to hand it to them – Rugby certainly is a total entertainment package!

The Rubgy DJ doesn’t just play the best music – he’s soooo funny! In the very first huddle thing, one guy went off injured – and he played ‘Another one bites the dust!’ Hah hah hah! He’s such a hard case! Then the ref made some stupid call, and he played Wet Wet Wet’s “Sweet little mystery!” Hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah! What a crack up!

Next thing you know the home rugby guys went ahead on the scoreboard, and he stuck on ‘One step ahead’ by Split Enz. Classic. He’s funny AND clever. I go every week now, it totally fits in with my lifestyle. I get my face painted, and wave my big finger glove around.

I have to take my hat off to the Rugby marketing guys (or my dreadlock wig). Before, Rugby was just stupid and smelly, and now, with music, it’s a perfect Friday night out with friends and family. The Sevens is even better – there’s more music and less Rugby! Choice! I buy the official Hurricances Jerseys every year just to say thanks! My wardrobe’s full of them! See you there!

« Older entries