Friday night Bath. Marvellous, isn't it?
[Has Master Scribe absconded with our regular match previews? Another chancer seems eager to fill his boots.]London Irish, eh, not so much London and not too many Irish these days but, nevertheless, still our favourite rugby team. Along the way we may have picked up a few Johnny foreigners, but so what? What's in a name, eh? Take the All Blacks, more sort of brown than black, I would say, it's all a big nonsense; take Paul Hodgson, he may look small but he's not really, they only made him look small to fit him on the telly.
All inclusive, that's London Irish and I love 'em all, so a big hello and:-
Buongiorno, buenos dias und bienvenue.
My name is not Master Scribe and I haven't had sex for 15 years, not that I'm bothered of course because quite frankly I've got better things to do with my time.
Bath, eh? Take a bath, early bath, coochie coochie coo Bath, Barf, Berf, big Berfa, Boof, Bof, B**h, Bif, Bonk, Bonkers, Blinkers, Buffers, Bosoms, Big lads, Buttocks. Big lads with big buttocks. Call them what you will, but there is no mistaking the quality and pedigree of our Friday night guests all the way from ... er, Bath!
Banahan, eh, shame he went, scored a try at the weekend; scored a try in the corner; who's that in the corner? "That's me in the corner", he said, "losing my religion!" Watch out for that bugger, no loyalty, buggered off to Bath, brave new Bath, team of legends. Berne in for Barkley, eh, pah; can you kick it? Yes you can! Cock up your kick off's Berne. Big cock up, cock's and dick's seem to be in abundance in the Bath team; Grewcock and Dixon! Don't quote me on that.
Barnes, Dixon and Jarvis, big buggers. Barnes the experience in the front row, Jarvis making a fist of it but has he got what it takes? Bit like us; do we play Dan Murphy? Two young lads, two young lads locked together, two young lads lightly oiled and locked together. Grewcock, eh, punch in the napper Grewcock up against Big Bob and Peter Short up against our Nick, pah, no contest, the line-outs are ours, ours is the platform, feed the back's, feed the world let them know its Christmas time.
Flankers, eh, Bath's academy boy James Scaysbrook, ex ND1 man Andy Beattie, play Thorpe or Dec, Ant and Dec, I'm a celebrity get me out of here. Start Steffon, Steffon must start! Step on the gas Steffon!
Brave new Bath, brave new world with just a handful of men, academy men, they'll start all over again. David Essex, eh? What a prick.
Bath, eh, new season, brave new Bath, move the ball wide, two wins to their credit, looking good, looking good with their wingers running from deep throwing the pill around, throwing it out wide, making the breaks, always willing to take the tackle! NO, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no ... I won't say it, I just won't say it!
So that's it, a team of quality to be put to the sword on Friday evening. Quality throughout, quality from number 5,7,2,1,4, 0281 749299 "hello Quality Mortgages ltd., can I help you to reduce the cost of your mortgage payments?"
Yes, Bath have it all, Speed, soft hands, shimmy shammies, dummies, up and under over and out, play the man, do the can-can, rolling mauls, kicks in the balls, hands in the ruck, who gives a tuppeny halfpenny thingummy bob whatsit!
Can we do it? Yes we can; keep it tight, gain the platform, nullify them through the set piece, sling it out wide, let our backs fly; fly like a bird or something quite similar and it's there for the taking.
Bath by 15.
Master Scribe, pah, who was he anyway?
-Cyril, Rugby Manager