Bristol: Relegation fodder my arse.
A buoyant bunch of Brizzlers will now make their way along the M4 from the West Country with an air of fecking confidence to take on the Irish in the first real home game for the Exiles on Saturday. The lazy friggin’ pundits have them bang to rights and cock-on certainties to get the feck out of the premiership, and back to the National Leagues. Made I laugh!Well, the Bristol Rugby lads have brushed such thoughts aside with zip in the ‘L’ column after two games. Having endured a pre-season that started the day after their fecking at Tigers towards the start of May, they are itching more than a crab infested pubic region to ram the negative scribes words up their collective holes.
The opening weekend afforded the Bristol lads the spoils of collecting their first senior try bonus point since 1957, when the same team from that day were put to the sword. Worcester, as they were affectionately known then, lost to a big Dick Hawkes who captained Brizzle at Bevere by 41-11. Fecking outrageous that the same result could be posted under the watchful eye of Hawkes’ son, Chesney, and get the side off to a fiver start. Fecking weird.
The following Sunday saw the lads at home to the Sorries, with most seeing a homer being the outcome, well, apart from pundits of the News of the Screws and Sunday Mirror. As it was, a draw was the result, 13-13, although Jason Strange had the chance to pinch the fecker from a conversion.
Twenty Eight fecking tries ALL last league campaign and now the West Country outfit had bagged seven in two! Relegation fodder my arse.
Richard Hill, the Brizzle leg end, has signed well to build upon survival from the top table of club rugby. Asked where he would like to finish last term, he stated that ‘11th would be a fecking result’, or words to that freaking affect anyhow. He got that fecker with eight wins and a draw to ensure that Leeds Tykes took the fall.
His side were a fecking mare to put away throughout 2005/6, with captain Muller Salter at the fore of all things battle inspired. Now Hill returns with his squad, and has a few quality pros, as well as a three-pronged Kiwi cavalry to arrive to really get the ‘party started’, in the immortal words of Pink.
To help out the old feckers in the front row, Bristol born prop (seems to be a friggin’ prerequisite), Justin Wring, arrives from Otley, and Leinster man, David Blaney, has signed to cover at hooker. Four times capped Somoan, Alfie (what the feck kind of name is that?) To'oala comes in from Plymouth to give the back row a wee bit of Islander spice as well as delivering his Michael Caine impressions.
The girls have had a make-over as well, with key holes filled, but not in a homo way and not a Kolpak breaker insight! At fullback, Josh Taumalolo joins from Neath, flashing his twenty eight Tonga caps at Vaughan Going on his way to the United side. ‘Taumalolo’ is apparently derived from the Tongan words ‘Tauma’ and ‘Lolowra’ meaning ‘Mighty-Penis’. Here’s hoping that fecker stays well and truly in the jock-strap!
In the centres, capped Italian stallion, Walter Pozzebon, arrives from Benetton Treviso. Bar Latino is going to get some fecking battering when this fella slides his way in, with quality Brizzle female flesh dripping from him. He will be more than an adequate replacement for the other Latin lover, Manuel Contepomi. The twin brother of former favourite, Felipe, has been released to sort out his family admin.
Craig Morgan, former Cardiff Blue and Welsh capped winger, ain’t going to get the action Pozzebon will be sniffing out, due mainly to a shoite baldy hair configuration, but he is a game breaker.
Come the end of the NPC in New Zealand, Waikato becomes twinned with Bristol by coughing up talented players possessing more hand skills than that owned by the ladies plying the ‘trade’ awaiting cautions in Trinity Road Police Station. All Black, David Hill, will slot in at 10, ensuring that Tommy Hayes never displays his wares again. Also from the Chiefs, Sean Hohneck will bring raw fecking towering steel in the second row.
Add Neil Brew from the highlanders at 13, and by feck, this team will start to ask some serious questions of all those they square up to. The Memorial Ground is going to be throbbing more than a young mans member during happy hour at Spearmint Rhino’s.
Relegation fodder my arse.
The front rows will clash harder that a demolition derby event, where the cars are replaced with props and hookers, going around and twatting anything that fecking moves, all in a random manner.
Bristol born dual, Dave Hilton and Mark Regan, form two thirds of this fat-fecker combo, with West Country Darren Crompton delivering the average age to 49.
Dave Hilton, with forty two fecking caps for Scotland (McBrizzle!), is the owner of a friggin’ huge hotel chain and father of some minger called Paris, so called after the city he received his first call to play for the Jocks. Mark Regan’s international class has never been questioned, well apart from those that rate Steve Thompson as a better number 2, and he will be a thorn in the sides of players, staff and fans of LI.
The second row pairing will also be a pain in the ass, and will provide drive and stability to the old fat feckers in front. Roy Winters, the former Hairyquim, is a real competitor and loves the contact, and should be partnered with Gareth Llewellyn.
The Cardiff born Llewellyn has ninety two Welsh caps; he seems to be turning into a fecking bigger Peter Pan. His age seems to be in reverse to his peers, and he is loving it. He scored his first try for Brizzle during the Wuss game, becoming the oldest fecker to do so at the prime age of 67.
The key, once again, will be securing and winning opposition ball in and around the tackle area. The back rows will be at it like a fecking rampant Leeds United footie fan, having found out his sister is getting a rimming from a Manc red.
The inspirational Matt Salter, who could start a fight in solitary, is a mean fecker who demands more from his men at every turn. His presence is essential to the Bristol cause, and by feck, I bet he gets close to a card.
Ably partnered by Joe El Abd from Brighton, a city known more for an all together type of ball retention (definitely in a homo way), and Dan Ward-Smith. Ward-Smith, a real posh fecker with his ‘Look at me with my double-barrelled name, wooooow!’, is one feck of a class act. That trio will be more trouble than that found in little China, mark my words.
Shaun Perry at scrummie will provide a real ticket-selling battle with former Bristol 9, Paul Hodgson. Perry is a diamond to have in any type of game, with his bullet pass, turn of speed and shoite hair. Having already bagged a pair in the first two matches, he is really turning into the real deal.
Jason Strange at 10 provides a steady, if not spectacular, halfback pairing. On his day, he will kick the points from all angles, and will be inspired to hit form with that David Hill fecker soon to hit the scene.
Sam Cox may well retain his 12 shirt come Saturday, and provides a bit of zip when required. He has played more representative underage games than a Bangkok bound pervy fecker and is looking to continue the progression in the senior side. Rob Higgitt is also another youngster making strides under the Hull/Hill combo, meaning that the pace in centres needs to be watched like a shoite-hawk. Pozzebon is due a start, and will relish a go at the more experienced green fellas.
The back three of Josh ‘Mighty-Penis’ Taumalolo, former Plymouth man Lee Robinson and Craig Morgan will be as dangerous as a stingray in attack. Robinson, a hero after ‘that try’ against arch rivals Barf, is gaining confidence and is no longer out of his depth in the Premiership. He and Morgan have grabbed three tries already this season, and will be a tough ask for the young Irish Trio.
Irish, with their fecking-limited pre-season, have been below par in the first two outings so far. It is true that both of the tries conceded so far have been friggin’ arse calls from Rose and Davey, but the hands seemed to have been borrowed from a few attendees of the Colston's Collegiate Girls School.
With Skuse and Hodgson up against former colleagues, LI need to feed off their desire to issue one feck of a fecking to a side riding high. The back row needs to own the breakdown, the locks dominate the set piece and the pack need to fight a good honest dirty fecking fight. In the girls, Flutey needs to continue his fine form and get them fast feckers into spaces.
A real hard one to call, with Brizzle looking sharper than a sharp infested razor pool. London Irish need the fans to get behind the side and try and drown the deafening screams from the Brizzle followers. Deliver all asked of, and one sixth of last seasons West Country treble-double will be theirs. Fall short, and Bristol Rugby will maintain their unbeaten start.
--Master Scribe