What ho, chums!
Rumour of a conversation heard in Heaven last night . . .
God: Gabriel, what the dickens is going on down there on Earth? Egypt in chaos, the Iranians about to build a nuclear bomb, the Chinese hell-bent on world domination - shouldn't I step in and do something? Have a word in George Bush's ear perhaps? What about Tony? Has he still got the hot-line to Heaven installed in his pad?
Gabriel: Indeed, Lord. Things are rum. But I would not intervene just yet. And certainly not with that pair.
God: But why ever not? The place is falling apart down there!
Gabriel: True, sir, but there are a few promising signs that things are returning to normal...
God: Oh yes? Such as?
Gabriel: Have you heard of a fellow named Max Boyce?
God: Welsh singer chappie I brought into being in 1945?
Gabriel: That's him.
God: What of him?
Gabriel: Well, Lord, he once spoke of rolling back the roof of the Millennium stadium so that You could watch Wales play rugger.
God: Wales? The bottlers in red?
Gabriel: The very bunch, sir.
God: Go on, Gabriel...
Gabriel: Well tonight they did roll the roof back - and I was able to watch something decidedly reassuring occur...
God: (perks up) Oh yes?
Gabriel: Oh yes, Lord. The bully boys in white meted out a good and proper spanking to those lippy Welshmen. The poor Taffs were puffing and panting like Silvio Berlusconi on a viagra binge.
God: You mean... England are back?
Gabriel: It seems so, sir. Back with a super-strength cane no less.
God: (settles back and lights a cigar) Well thank fuck for that, Gabriel. If England are back beasting the Celts, then that means the world is sitting nicely on its axis once more!
Gabriel: My thoughts precisely, sir.
Exit to the sound of angels singing hymns in praise of the Great Johnno . . .
Yours, etc
Viscount Crouchback
Dear God,
Thank you for investing in England with so many excellent rugby players. It seems you weren't taking the piss with Coventry! It may be quite grotty, but it has produced some awful good rugby lads.
Keep up the good work and take it easy big guy.
Ben Saunders
P.S. Further thanks for allowing that goony Warren Gatland to remain in charge of the Boyos.
Also, why has Rob Howley escaped any criticism for the bland Welsh backplay?
Posted by: Benjamin Saunders | 05 February 2011 at 10:02 PM
My Lord, could you please do a post similar to this one, but with slightly different opposition? The Springboks! Would love to hear that...Glad you are back as well my lord!
Posted by: Paul | 07 February 2011 at 06:13 AM
What does my lord feel about Chris Ashton and his rather questionable pedigree? His unintelligible post game interview was nothing short of an assault on the ears and his try celebration hysterics devalue the sport. Hopefully, a job such as that done on Jason Robinson, whereby he was transformed from a similarly rum sort of individual into the epitome of an English rugby man and a sterling representative for the nation, is conducted forthwith. For what is the point in "beasting" Wales, as you so excellently put it, if, in doing so, one sacrifices the moral highground over the long faced, crooning horde.
Yours humbly,
Justin Fitzgerald
Posted by: Justin Fitzgerald | 07 February 2011 at 09:16 PM
YOU FOLK ARE ALL A BUNCH OF RACIST FUCKING PRICKS!!!
FUCK CROMWELL AND YOUR FUCKING QUEEN !!1
OGLAIGH na HEIREANN
IRELAND
Posted by: A Power | 10 February 2011 at 03:37 PM
Oh dear, someone doesn't get the joke!
Posted by: Hector Synge-Smythe-Bullingdon | 11 February 2011 at 04:43 PM
Ah, the hubris of the foolish mortal who would do battle with the gods. Ye will feast upon your vainglourius words and sew your tortured despair deep within the hallowed earth of lansdowne, restored now to its fabled glory. and from the heights of ruglympos mighty bo'd, weilder of the thunder bolt and marshall of the aggressive drift defensive system, and with him darcey whom the south dubliners call dorce the fleet footed as they pour their libations at his heineken alter, shall reign humiliation down upon your talentless ranks of aviva premiership wastrels, their only use as the sun sets on the devestation strewn accross the dublin turf,to provide carrion meat for dogs and birds of prey
Posted by: Paddy | 12 February 2011 at 05:26 AM
Do the block capitals signify shouting or irony I wonder?
Posted by: SgtMajor | 17 February 2011 at 05:00 PM
So where's His Lordship at? Back in that Caribbean gaol? Busy planning the deposition of some African dictator with the chaps at White's? Or has he finally admitted defeat, handed his pile over to the National Trust and eloped to Lagos with Adebayo. The possibilities are legion.
Posted by: Blondy2 | 19 February 2011 at 11:14 AM