IRB unveils experimental Monopoly rules

SRNZPA: Go directly to jail; collect $200 with referee’s approval. The IRB’s power will soon be felt on family occasions and rainy days in baches the world over, as Rugby’s governing body moves into freelance rules consultancy. “The IRB rules committee offers solid experience in rule changes. Hey, we do it every three or four weeks” said IRB chairman Syd Millar at the unveiling of Monopoly’s experimental rules, being trialled in Australia’s B competition.

“The new position of a compulsory, non playing referee / banker will add new levels of consistency” explained Millar. The referee will have a range of powers, including harsh fines and deciding who makes the tea. For severe transgressions referees can force players to leave the room for a while and think about what they’ve done. Referees will be supported by neutral observers, who sit in the corner of the lounge and take notes for later review. There will be a blanket ban on owning both utilities and railway stations, which is designed to open up the game and allow it to flow, adding interest for new Monopoly markets. “Families and new players alike will learn to love the ‘depowered’ Community Chest” Millar added.

Critics of the ‘Old Kent Road’ laws, as they’re known, say they’re a thinly veiled tactic to blunt New Zealand Monopoly troupe All Hats’ captain Ronald MacKay’s game. MacKay plays to the very letter of the law, with moves that try the patience of Monopoly’s governing body. “We’re not comfortable with the direction of the game in the southern hemisphere, it’s becoming basketball on a board” said International Monopoly Board head Ralph Stevens. “That’s why we set those pedantic IRB arseholes loose”.

The IRB’s rules consultancy unit is also working with Tennis on a proposed new scoring system of Love / 15 / Touch / Hold / Engage.

Football weekend

– The Phoenix have risen from Wellington’s coffee grounds (or something) to play in Australia’s A-League, and kicked off on Sunday against the Melbourne Victory. It’s a shame for us Auckland footy fans, but the Cake Tin, or Ring Of Fire has it’s now known and football looks like a match made in heaven. There was a decent crowd, numbering around 14,000, seemingly ALL kitted out in cool yellow T-Shirts or scarfs (is it still cold in Welly or wot?), all keen to put those terrace chants learned on OEs to good use.

The Phoenix are made up of New Zealanders, Australians (including the Keano-like Aloisi), and BRAZILIANS no less, and lead by 1982’s Riki Herbert, who’s effortlessly gone from mullet and tight sorts to Casino Royale-style well cut suit. And they can play. Once the nerves had settled, and they’d gone two nil down and fluffed a penalty, they began to play, and started passing it around nicely. The Brazilian Daniel looks like a fine player when not writhing around on the grass, and Aloisi obviously brings great experience. Daniel and then Shane Smetlz headed goals, and we were really unlucky not to get the win, with a couple of fine chances they’ll bury later in the season.

It was really important to get a great start and bury those memories of the Kingz / Knights / whatever being flogged every week at Albany stadium. Riki Herbert really is the man, and his team are all set for a great season – Sunday afternoon on the couch just got really exciting.

– Spurs, spurs, spurs. You go out of interweb coverage for a week, and come back to this pile of shite. Tottenham are fast losing the ‘sexy football’ rep, and consolidating the ‘sexy shoot oneself in the foot’ one. The board is divided on the hugely popular Martin Jol, whose cheery unflappability looks more and more flappable by the week, and went to Portugal to try and lure Seville’s Juande Ramos two games into the season. It’s a typically Spurs dog’s breakfast, and when you’re in that situation, a trip to Man Utd the last thing you need. Surprisingly, we did alright, and conceded only the one 30 yard screamer, and got a dead cert penalty turned down – a typical Old Trafford result.

It’s back!


Poor old North Harbour didn’t know what hit them, from the stream of cars clogging the motorway, to the cacophony of cowbells showing Albany stadium what crowd support is all about, to the steam roller, utterly committed performance of the team in red, yellow and black. Stephen Donald’s performance was the best by a New Zealand first five this year, with flawless goalkicking, intelligent running and miraculous passing. We Mooloo men are all about that shield, and despite big bad Canterbury rolling up this weekend, I’m pretty bloody confident it’s staying in Hamilton this summer.

Fish 1 – me nil


I’m a guy who spends most days at a desk, my manhood being tested only by locking horns with Windows XP. So when the chance to go big game fishing came up on my holiday in Vanuatu… well you’ve got to go, don’t you? I was ready and waiting at the resort wharf at 7.30am on Friday, the harbour quiet and glassy as the boat pulled up. I clambered on board to meet skipper Fabrice, a local, and his son Stefan the decky.

I was a bit nervous, frankly. My preparation for a new sport is usually sitting down with a book on it, and having read about epic man vs. fish battles lasting several hours I wondered if I’d bitten off more than I could chew. I went on a fantastic fishing trip off Great Mercury Island earlier this year, pulling up Snapper by the bucketload, but Marlin the size of horses would be an entirely different (ahem) kettle of fish.

Handily, it’s a quick trip out of Vanuatu’s harbour to the open ocean, and we quickly went from gently rolling seas into big old swells in 100-150 metres of ocean, and the Nikita, an 8 metre fibreglass boat started pitching up and down. I’m generally OK at sea, but wondered if repeated viewing of ‘Jaws’ and an overactive imagination were the best way to settle the nerves. Stefan had quickly organised 6 rods with impressive reels and brightly coloured lures looking like SpongeBob Squarepants’ mates – and we were fishing.

Vanuatu is renowned for its Marlin, Sailfish, which is like a Marlin with different fins, MahiMahi, a big fish with a weird round head, and Wahoo, “very agressive fish, teeth like Shark” explained Fabrice in his thick French accent. We trawled through the swell for an hour or so, before hitting Pointe Diablo, an impressive place where the ocean swell smacks the coast hard from very deep water – Nikita started bobbing more erratically than a Wallaby walking home from a team night out.

We followed the coast back into the bay, and just as we were headed out to sea Fabrice started shouting “Fish! Fish!”. I leaped up and into the chair, heart pounding… 30 seconds later I sheepishly pulled a thin little Tuna of no more that 30 centimetres on board. This was a great sign according to Fabrice, as it was our prey’s favourite snack, but Stefan gave me a quizzical look as I snapped a photo – surely it was too small to waste pixels on?

It was back out to sea, and my little Tuna was quickly speared with a big hook and chucked overboard to add variety to the menu we had on offer. The swell was just as big, and despite Fabrice’s constant pleading “Where are the fiiiish?”, we had no luck. He was on the radio to other fishermen, and of the four or five boats out that morning, only one caught a fish, a 22kg Wahoo. It wasn’t my day, and as we went back to the harbour, I thought technically, I’m not a big game fisherman yet (I’m on my way though – on observing Fabrice and Stefan’s bare feet, I quietly kicked my jandals off under my seat – smooth). I enjoyed being out in the ocean and listening to the tales of better days and bigger fish, I’ll be back out there for sure.

Links on Friday

– Villa’s Martin O’Neil, pop picker extraordinaire, telling Robbie Williams what for – classic, it’s like being told off by a senile old science teacher
– Wayne Rooney meets Dirty Sanchez – the Welsh jackass imitators that are ten times funnier. That can’t be his house…?
– Touch The Rainbow – great tv ad for Skittles. Wish I could do this with a nice bacon sandwich
– All You Had To Say Was ‘Owen Wilson Befriends A Dolphin’ And I Was Sold – that’s how it gets done, team

Dunning not planning on speaking French during World Cup


SRNZPA: Australia’s Matt Dunning has announced he will speak no French during the 2007 Rugby World cup, being staged in France. “French is for woofters” he said. “I tried it in ’05, all that tu est le merde for brains or what ever – it’s not right”.

Dunning remains confident of making himself understood. “I always have a picture of four beers and a ham sandwich with me anyway, I’ll be fine” said Dunning. He went to explain team mate Lote Tuquiri was probably a garlic munching French wanker with a name like that, so he could do the talking for both of them.

England have the World Cup fever – the 2003 fever


Woah – another big website, another scary insight. With 20 odd days to go until rugby’s big showpiece event in France, click on the BBC’s ‘Rugby World Cup‘ section and this is what you get – poor old sicknote Wilkinson looking uncomfortable in the arms of an enthusiastic team mate on that magical night in Sydney.

Talk about Groundhog Day – I’m appalled at the shoddy lack of updates on the Beebs’ website. And NO mention of 1987 whatsoever.

HOLD THE FRONT PAGE!!!


What was the top story on the New Zealand Herald’s homepage at 1.30PM Monday 13 August? New Zealand’s nationally distributed and widely read newspaper published out of our biggest city?

A long retired Wallaby player reassures the nation about our biggest collective fear – the All Blacks won’t choke.

What will the evening edition bring? Martin Johnson saying Dan Carter and Richie McCaw are highly unlikely to accidentally kick each other in the bollocks in the first five minutes of the final? Janie De Beer saying “Go to sleep and dream little Kiwis, every thing will be alright. Everything will be alright”?

I love this country.

Roman Abramovich writes to young Chelsea fans


Chelsea chairman Roman Abramovich is a man of ominous, brooding, dark, dark mystery. Here’s his responses to children’s letters to Chelsea’s official fan’s magazine.

Dear Chelsea magazine –
My favourite colour is blue. I can’t wait for the football to start again, and when I’m big enough I want to play for Chelsea. I like playing football with my brother.
Darren, 6, Reading

Darren –
Blood. Let blood be your guide. When you have spent the off season waist deep in offal of indeterminate origin like Roman Abramovich, your thinking will be much, much clearer.
Roman

Dear Chelsea magazine –
I love Chelsea. When they win I run around in the garden yelling “Yes! Yes! Yes!” with all my might. I hope you win the Champions’ League this year. The other lads in my class mostly support Arsenal, but I love Chelsea FC!
Mike, 8, Richmond

Dear Mike –
Many, many years ago, a group of young Russians made a big mistake. They mocked a young man who was true of heart, whose only crime was the thick, matted hair covering his body no razor could tame. They laughed. They laughed and mocked. They sung “Roman’s a retard!” They’re all dead now.
Roman

Dear Chelsea magazine –
I love my Chelsea teddy bear. I called him “Terry”. I’m six. Can I be a ball boy?
Stevie, 4, Fulham

Dear Stevie –
I love Chelsea too! Why not buy your bear an official Chelsea scarf? They’re only 18.99 and available online. (edited by Chelsea FC communications dept.)
Roman