Best Performance in a Leading Roll (in a Foreign Comedy)
In a tightly contested race, the award of biggest comedian on show yesterday went to the French No.10 Frédéric Michalak for his near perfect portrayal of an explosion in an idiot factory during an amateur production of Les Miserables in Paris last night. Michelak, although easily carrying off the award (while trying not to drop it), had to fight off some pretty strong competition, notably from the likes of The Stade de France groundsman, Monsieur Herbe du Somme; Scotland’s own Jim Hamilton for Sunday Morning Lummox —his harrowing portrayal of a 1974 ExB Lock Forward with a forearm smash addiction; and Luciano Orquera, the Italian Outside-Half for his reprise of the Daniel Day Lewis‘s role from My Left Foot.
But in the end the award rightly went to Michelak for possibly the most embarrassing display by an old man on a sports field since Muhammed Ali ‘fought’ Trevor Berbick or Henry Leconte stopped his ‘zany’ antics on the ATP veterans tour. Michelak, of course, even in his prime could never be accused of having been an Ali, but yesterday many french rugby fans were heard to dub him “Leconte”. Or something like that.
The 30 year of from the south of France (born
To Lose Toulouse 1982) is also in the running for Worst Director of 14 Other Men, and The Academy‘s honorary Do Us All a Favour and Hang Up Your Boots Award (colloquially known as The Warnie), but has been withdrawn from circulation until further notice, having been found to contain at least 90% donkey.
Here’s something from someone called @WelshDalaiLama on Twitter. All good fun and optimistic on his part I reckon, but well-intentioned for all that. Once the Welsh Oozalem themselves into Wooden Spoon position, I suspect they won’t need the rules of a game to dive into the bottom of a bottle or glass. My doctor has advised me not to be driving or be near heavy machinery during an “epic” monologe by Eddie Butler of the Observer (he changed his name by Deed Poll), but it’s certainly worth keeping an eye (or ear) out for Pit Bullisms.
It seems the BBC have come up trumps with the amount of coverage they have during this year’s northern hemisphere Rugby competition, with “Live and Exclusive” coverage of the Championship promised. They certainly do seem to be very excited at wrestling the coverage from Bitter Barnsey and Woeful Will over on Sky. Though I feel that the BEEB may soon be accused of overkill in the not-too-distant future. Breakfast News’ hilariously awful Mike Bushell this morning chose the Millenium Stadium to misread his own pisspoor script in what seemed like a mini-series rather than a sports report. We are promised much more from him throughout the tournament. Oh Deep Joy!
I’m also hearing that every evening at 11pm there will be a live discussion programme on the big Rugby issues of the day, hosted by Claire Balding and Keith Vaz MP, as it is written in the Charter of the BBC that they should appear for at least 12 minutes every hour of every day the company broadcasts. At least that’s how it feels at the moment.
As usual, some of the information above may not be true at time of publication (apart from the bits about Wales and Mike Bushell).
No jumping in the line-out or pushing in scrums. Now a player gets a yellow card for a tackle. Lets save ourself time, make it an 11-a-side game and play at Stamford Bridge and Anfield. “Back door, mate”
Next week, Law 23: Looking at me in a Funny Way
While it’s all gone quiet, I thought we’d have some music.
A long time ago at a Rugby Club far, far away, me and a young Julian Holland sat down and sang the following. He sang lead and did most of the work on the keyboard, and I was on harmonies.
In truth it wasn’t just me who accompanied him, but a hundred or so privileged drunks, their wives and girlfriends.
Mr Holland had been bought by the local coppers. Or rather, he’d put himself (and his talents) up for auction and would play at a venue of the bidders’ asking for an hour – ish. To cut a short story long, a local Nick won, one of the bidders, was both a copper and a player down our club and so Jools took time out from Squeeze, or The Tube, or whatever he was doing at the time and came to our club to sing.
Well that’s how I remember it, anyway. Mind you, such was the drunken state of many of us at the time, the lyrics to this song sounded perfectly sensible.
Give me iko
I wanna ball the wall here
Shuffle in Dumaine
Hear the hookacumbi
Meet my tipatina
Love her hold her tightly
Wanna see her swaying
In New Orleans nightly
You know I wanna be there
Drinking in the morning
Holler in the evening
Dr. Jazz Dr. Jazz
Bake my jelly roll
You quicken my pulse
You make my rhythm slow
Rhythm from the jungle
Big chief rocking
I follow the voodoo king
That’s what the fez he sing
How long must it be
How long must I wait
Till Highway 49 takes me to your gate
I eat a bowl of gumbo
That creole child will serve
Sit on the verandah
Happy in a dixie world
Maybe on Sunday
Head for Baton Rouge
Dancing with the cajun
Twist away my blues
Then a drop of rain
A trickle in my eye
I look up and smile
At the rhythm that never, never dies