No Prey, No Pay, No Pau
[Ed: Both Master Scribe and Pierre D’Eranged battle for match reporting supremacy this week.]By Pierre D’Eranged...
Alors ! Eh bien, je is tres honoured to be asked to write ze match report for ze glorious Pau against le ros bif. I haf to say ze bif were tres lucky to win ze game and in ze end it was close run thing between two equal sizes of teams. Je suis convinced que dans another day ze result would be different, mais non, c’est le guerre.
C’est was tres bon idée aller before ze game to the ros bif pubby a la gare, called les trois guineas. It is ze great pubby full of big fatty ros bifs and ze barmaids with ze boobies. It was zere dat je was asked to write ze report of ze match, et at first je didn’t want anything to do with ze drunky fatty bifs. Mais je remembered les mots du famous philosophical man who says “the pen is mightier than the sword” et je thought “quelle opportunity to stick the nib in the bif!”. Anyways we drinks ze dirty beer avec le blanc top and go to match in Subaru noisy car. Ze driver est mad and je gets ze shakes bad by ze time we nous sommes arrive a la stadium madejski, qui je think est un polka entre preneur.
Je suis sitting dans le stand easty quand ze glorious Pau team runs out into pitch. I clappy big hands mais ils not hear moi and zen ze ros biffy runs into pitch and suddenly zere is big bangy thumpy noise all over moi. I gets ze headache and gutsy gurgles and haf to go loo very quick. Ze dirty beer est passing in me like ze salt of doses and je only gets to ze loo in plenty time. Mais j’ecoute le screaming sounds from ze pitch et je guess que nous giving le rosbif plenty hiding already. I pull up les panties et run into pitch et not believing eyes. Nous sommes 28 down already ! Merde! Je shout at the referee just as ze rosbif score un autre try and ze flutey boy kick conversion.
Zis is tres bad je pense, quelle is feckin happening? Toutes les greeny men are all over the ze place et seem to be scoring ze tries pour le fun. Even ze ref no helps when he stops us every time we gives ze forward pass. Quelle surprise? We does this every day in france so who thinks he is ? Ha ha tres funny I thinks inside head et je pinch myselfs, mais it gets worse et at ze time half it is 56 nil et pau is in ze poo.
Zen we goes to outside pitch where ze ros biffy fatty men give me plenty dirty beer and gristle pie and toutes is spinny head. Quand the second time is starting pau est all over ze green men and we look like ze proper rugby team. I am shouting ze head off mais le fatty rosbif next to me tells me zat ze teams have changed hens et stupide mois est shouting ze head off pour les rosbif greeny men. I am red with being silly and fatty ros bifs zey laugh at me every day and drummy men go bang bang bang tout les feckin time and moi head is very bad. Even ze little boys in front of me zey laugh at me every time. Mon dieu quand whistle blows and game is end.
Toutes est un blur après that mais je pense que nous went to the trois guineas un autre temps. Les ros bif fatty men give me shirt with green monkey man on right tit and zey tell me it only costs £30 each. Quelle bargain, so I buys two of zem. Zey is tres stupide, zey have no idea how to run ze bizness. Le maitre d’hotel est un funny man with strange sounds I cannot understand feckin word mais he buys me lots of dirty beer and Magners whick is ze drink made with les pommes.(I have known ze Australian fatty men who make drink from poms but zat is another place). I am very happy parce que zis is very nice of ros biffy men to call drink after French player et je have ze little chuckle in ze head when thinking how funny it would be if ze ros bif men had signed Monsieur Jean Condom a few years ago instead. Ha ha ha fatty men, zat made me laugh all ze way back to France thinking of you in your pubby.
Anyway it was funny time et je have lots of pictures and ze telephone numbers of fatty ros bif men and girls with boobies. I hopes you win ze cup again parce que vous etes tres bon fatty men et better zan the fatty men from Gloucester who is pain in arse place.
Voila et Bon Chance !!
-- Pierre D’Eranged
By Master Scribe...
Arrrrrrrr Jim lad and all that fecking shite. Too much of a right royal slaughter to report, so a nipper of a summary will be my deliverance.
A mere 4 and one half thousand souls bothered their arse to have a run ashore to watch this final old match up against Pau. Brian Smith had told the crew to man the rigging and prepare to overhaul, a cry answered by his chargers.
The Irish lads were arf ‘oping for other results to fall the right side of the of the gallows, and the old dude in the parrot suit had his one good eye on these t’other duels, sat in the safety of the cabin on the Solent, on his own.
A reet ol starm brewed in te heavens as the land lubbing French pirates walked the plank of doom, ‘anding the bounty of victory to the exile mateys by a quart over the yard arm. The score was higher than the crows nest on the good ship ‘French Can’t Travel’, sat at three score minus a few, to the oversea-feckers nowt. Fecking dead men tell no tales after slicing the throats of the brave souls from across the channel.
Shiver my timbers, shipmates, but Pau had not bothered to bring in their best sailors as they failed to find mid-ships to steady the old sea legs. Twas one of those match-ups where the cabin lads got a good fecking from the capan, with the lads taking 75 lashes for their feck up. Men vee boys, my heartys, men vee boys. Either that, or they had cracked Jenny’s tea cup the night afore.
Breaching of the line marker was gained by Cabin Boy Hodgson, Capan Catt, The Hook Horak, Jolly Roger Roche, Magic Flutey, Loyalman Flavin, Shipmate Armitage with a brace and the young lad Topsail Ojo with trick of the hat type.
Mention in the ship’s log must go to a few of the hardy souls. Ye old front row battened down the hatches and ground their cousins into the pete, and Big ol’ Bob, having received the Exile shilling for another fifth of a decade, was fecking huge in all he done.
The Galic charm of newly crowned father, Mayne, was a reet real joy as he marauded around the patch, dispatching the foe at will. A fair player this fella, and tis good to have the old sea dog back.
The shipmate of the battle for this wise ol’ traveller was the Geezer, the scallywag, who was the scourge of the seven seas in the weeping eyes of the visitors. He fired his six ponders and hit the fecking target on every turn. Close to the bounty of the top dog was Magic, and we must keep dis fecker fit for the rest of the year of 2006.
The main sail was pulled for the last quart, which threw the Frenchy blokes a bone. They snaffled the scran on offer, claiming pieces of eight to weigh down their return to home shores. Mere gifts as they where a killick to the Irish anchor, made steadfast on sure by the fine victory.
We all fecking joined in the chantey and grabbed a draught once the slaughter had been completed, all loaded to the gunwalls by journeys end. A jot of friggin in the rigging was the eve that was ours, booty plundered and a home ward sail back for the quarter finals.
Bayonne will be the next chapter of dicovery. The crew and their loyal band of thieves must strike the colours for this scurmish to claim the ultimate treasure.
Sail ho, my merry men, and on now to Glawster to renew our fight with dem feckers.
-- Master Scribe