Come rugby world cup time and I love Australians. So long as the New Zealanders don't win it, I'll actually support anyone, even South Africa (even though they have a sniff of winning it) and, my God, even Wales ('though only because they are total no-hopers).
Despite impersonating England for 80 minutes against Ireland, and playing a bloke at prop who looked as if he should have been playing at fly-half and who kept falling over and giving the Irish three points, the green and yellows have a real chance of upsetting the odds and beating both South Africa and the Kiwis because they've got fast fellows who know how to pass and catch the ball, not to mention a coach who's not afraid to keep picking a little magician at No. 10.
Quade Cooper is his name, and, because he had the audacity to be born in New Zealand and then cross the Tasman Sea when he was 12 years old, he's hated by New Zealanders with the type of passion normally reserved for English referees who make a few dodgy calls against them or South African chefs who poison their food before the final.
The biggest cheer of the tournament so far occurred not when the host country ran in a bucketload of tries against mighty Japan, but when Mr. Cooper tried to amend for an earlier flip pass behind his back – which went wrong – by attempting another one with his side just minutes from defeat – which went disastrously wrong – as the men in green intercepted the ball and charged upfield with it to make the game safe.
So, I'm willing to forgive the odd Australian (is there any other type?) who comes to this site by performing a Goggle search for "Le Jardin of Robuchon". Rather than excoriating him (or her - the Sheilas down there are pretty dumb too) for his inattentiveness in French class, I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt (like I did when Mike Tindall buried his head in that beautiful blonde's boobs) and, to use a bit of Robbie Deans coaching-speak, try to take the positives out of this sorry situation.
The Melbournite may not know the French for "of", but, crikey! he's up to speed on his definite articles.
Despite impersonating England for 80 minutes against Ireland, and playing a bloke at prop who looked as if he should have been playing at fly-half and who kept falling over and giving the Irish three points, the green and yellows have a real chance of upsetting the odds and beating both South Africa and the Kiwis because they've got fast fellows who know how to pass and catch the ball, not to mention a coach who's not afraid to keep picking a little magician at No. 10.
Quade Cooper is his name, and, because he had the audacity to be born in New Zealand and then cross the Tasman Sea when he was 12 years old, he's hated by New Zealanders with the type of passion normally reserved for English referees who make a few dodgy calls against them or South African chefs who poison their food before the final.
The biggest cheer of the tournament so far occurred not when the host country ran in a bucketload of tries against mighty Japan, but when Mr. Cooper tried to amend for an earlier flip pass behind his back – which went wrong – by attempting another one with his side just minutes from defeat – which went disastrously wrong – as the men in green intercepted the ball and charged upfield with it to make the game safe.
So, I'm willing to forgive the odd Australian (is there any other type?) who comes to this site by performing a Goggle search for "Le Jardin of Robuchon". Rather than excoriating him (or her - the Sheilas down there are pretty dumb too) for his inattentiveness in French class, I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt (like I did when Mike Tindall buried his head in that beautiful blonde's boobs) and, to use a bit of Robbie Deans coaching-speak, try to take the positives out of this sorry situation.
The Melbournite may not know the French for "of", but, crikey! he's up to speed on his definite articles.
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