Friday, August 25, 2006

Cobras humble Marquad (FULL match report)

contribution by Jordan Biederman-Pam

It seems as if the actual report of the Purple Cobras’ game against Marquard, or the Leo Marquard Lions if we are to call a spade a spade, pales in insignificance to the abomination that followed until the late (and not-so-late for some) hours of the fateful (and not so…etc) of Wednesday 16 August 2006. Hey Ho, lets go..


Just to give those who didn’t catch a glimpse of the evening’s spectacle game an idea of what we were dealing with, (no Anton, I’m not referring to the move you tried to pull on that gravel from your English lecture), here are the parameters of the multinomial equation that equalled what was to be an absolute belter of a game, including seven tries, one less conversions, a couple of big hits, a massive prop and unfortunately, no streaker. (Phil’s bar run later in the evening sadly, does not count. Sorry phil.) Anyways, where were we.. With a north-westerly wind pumping across the green mile harder than something Halle Berry could whip up to deter a bunch of mutants, Capitano Tom ‘Whyte’ Brukman (now hereto referred as El Capi) made the brave (and possibly regretful) decision to receive kickoff into the stiff breeze. Cobras 0, Cape Town North-Wester 5.


Up went the kick, and from then it was cracker-jacker stuff for the first five – the sort you find only in a really racy Anthony Keidis autobiography (or some porno blog on uctpurplecobras.blogspot.com) - with lineouts being won against the throw by resident offside parking executive member, Alex ‘captain crash’ Franzen and Dugald ‘who’s your father’ MacDonald. But more on that a little later. Anyways, real fire and brimstone, balls to the wall, end to end, helter skelter, take-things-overboard-why-don’t-you stuff. You get the picture. Somewhere in those first five, Cobra’s managed to win four opposition lineouts, run it up the field, set up good ball and somehow squander easy try-scoring opportunities quicker than Fenton-Wells manages on blonde UCT girls. First up, Byron ‘Kelleher’ Golddust (or whatever pseudo-jewish surname begets him) decided that a five man blindside over lap was just playing silly buggers and felt that a chip kick into the box (not that box, Anton) was on. Little did he take into account the Marquard ‘my second name’s Dan Carter’ fullback and his fuckoff boot that set up play a couple of meters outside the Cobras 22. North-Wester 10, Cobra’s 0.


After a couple of minutes of some B-grade horror flick defending and some barging runs from the opposition hooker who deserves a mention purely because he apologised to me after running me over full stick, (Pete ‘tyrell’ Weekly, you’re a Cobra at heart and don’t you know it) the Marquadians (right word?) had somehow scored right next to the poles through their tower of strength in the tight-loose. The try reminded me of some dude called ‘Rae, Rae for Scotland, SURELY! Oh they’ll be cheering down in Glasgow for that one until next year’ (Mclaren, Bill; 19foetsek, 101 Greatest Tries; available at the Brukman household, speak to Tony.) So there you have it, seven love to "MA-KWAD" as they say in the classics. Rolls off the tongue like a cane and coke first thing. Wind, fuckoff. Cobras 0, Makwad 7.


This is getting long but I’m enjoying myself so scroll down if you want the final straw, I mean score.

[Graeme: Due to Jordan's slighly overzealous writing the rest of the article can be found here. Read it it's worth it but make sure you're comfortable. Any contributions to the Cobras site can be sent to me at graemejts@hotmail.com. That includes you Phil]

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Preparation for the Semis

Hey chaps Divot has thought ahead and asked if you guys can give him R50 for beer before the semis. This works out to about 15 cases of beer which will be needed if we want to top last Wednesday's massacre.


Monday, August 21, 2006

Right to Reply

“Bad morning boss?” “They usually follow good nights Dwight.”


Contribution by Phil Voget


Anton, while I am touched and indeed honoured by your article, I must touch on a certain grey area which I feel needs to be made clear. With regards to how little you say I drank, not wanting to sound like a reprobate, in the words of White Goodman, that is pure poppycock! It was quite a respectable amount! One thing I have (memories are clearly not something I retained) is documented evidence on my camera, and it’s pretty certain I was forced into an unusually large amount of alcoholic consumption, compounded by 6 straight canes bought by a very charitable fellow from Birmingham named Smithy. Some may remember him as the shark man from Fenton-Wells’ 20th. Anyway, I just want to take this opportunity to thank the likes of Dean Smorenburg for his assistance over the night, you are a true champ, Byron Goldberg and Warren Butler for their exertions on my behalf, and everyone else who was involved. Much appreciated, and although not remembered, it is not forgotten if ya know what I mean! Will Donkin, you are a hero. Biggest respect goes to a former Cobra, Strat Laskarides for pulling through in a big way for his mate on Thursday morning, I love you man! Til next time livin’ the dream!

Fines, rof.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Phil Voget: Man of Chunder


contribution by Anton Taylor

Phil Voget: Man of Chunder



When the time comes for a man to leave his teenage years behind him, and join the ranks of adults as he turns 20, it is an important moment. It is a time when one should respect the fact that you are no longer a child, and should behave like a man. It is a time when a child’s way of partying should be abandoned, and you should party like a fully-grown man. On Wednesday the 16th of August, Phillip John Voget did just this. In a phenomenal session of binge drinking, Phil managed to drink himself into one of the most paralytic states that I have ever seen a human being. He surpassed alcoholic greats such as the le Roux brothers to reach a new plateau of drunkenness, which I personally found truly inspiring.

After playing a solid game for us, Phil thought he’d join the team for a few beers after the game, as is customary in the Cobra camp. Needless to say, as the birthday boy, he was asked to down a few beers, but there was nothing extraordinary about the amount that we put down his throat (in terms of beer, that is. Hee hee). It seems that Mr Voget may have been hiding a one-can-man syndrome all this time, as nobody can understand how he could have got so spectacularly wrecked.
But whatever the amount of liquor was that went into him, it was admirable of him to have persevered and carried on drinking until he honestly couldn’t even raise his hand to his mouth.
The video footage and pictures on the site do more than I ever could in explaining how absolutely motherless this oke was, so please do yourselves a favour and have a look…
All I can say is that there was chunder. A lot of it.
Apparently Phil was finally hauled off to Kopano, where he collapsed into an empty bed. The boys wanted to take Phil home, but he was so fucked that he didn’t even know his own name, let alone where he lived.

All thought that the debacle was over once Phil had been put into bed, but we were wrong. At 5 30 in the morning yours truly was awoken by a mangled Phil crying on the phone and wanting to know where he was. As I hadn’t been present when they took Phil home, I couldn’t help him, and listened to his fanatic cries of madness and ranting before telling him to go back to sleep. As much as I would have loved to track down Phil and help him out, there was more chance of peace in the Middle East than there was of me, still recovering from the 12 or so beers, driving around all the residences in UCT looking for some drunkard who didn’t know where he was. Apparently he also called about thirty other people, and finally Stratos Laskarides, from Claredon, traced Phil to Kopano and picked him up.

Apparently Phil made a full recovery, and is raring to repeat his antics as soon as possible. I am sure that I speak for all Cobras in saying that we can’t wait to see him in action again.


Slap slap hiss!


Alice in Chunder-Land (Cobras crush Marquad (26 - 21))


contribution by Anton Taylor



Why does one wrap a hamster up in masking tape? So it doesn’t explode when you fuck it.

On Wednesday the 16th of July, UCT rugby bared witness to one of the bigger massacres of the year. However, although things were undeniably rough on the field, the true savagery occurred only afterwards, in the change rooms and bar of the clubhouse.

On Wednesday the Purple Cobras found themselves up against the res side Leo Marquad. As I have just moved into Marquad this semester, I was somewhat concerned that my allegiance with my beloved Cobras would get me in trouble with my new living partners.
Obviously I knew before the game that the Cobras would win, and I was rather scared that later in the night, after having felt the power of the Purple Cobras, fifteen enraged Marquad players, desperate for revenge, would furiously burst into my room and ram their cocks into every orifice in my body, possibly even cutting holes in my abdomen and legs to allow for more action. Thankfully however, fifteen enraged players did not furiously burst into my room, and the four that did were very gentle.

It must be said that we went into the game in a rather arrogant state of mind, but when one considers that the majority of the team hails from Bishops, it comes as no surprise that we are accustomed to thinking that we’re better than others.
Unfortunately, this backfired a bit, and we soon found ourselves two tries down to a deceptively powerful Marquad side.

It was Dean Smorenburg, returning from illness, who broke the deadlock with an awesome little ‘one-two-step’ over the try line.
Although the Marquadians put up a strong fight, our boys carried on building up momentum, and pretty soon they started to look like me on a Thursday at Tiger, scoring four times before the night was over. The final score was 26 – 21 to us, as we came from behind (hee hee) to claim victory.


Brad Milne was the standout player of the night, scoring two epic tries and constantly threatening to break the line. As usual, captain Tom Brukman was awesome and simultaneously sexy, scoring an impressive try in the second half off a solo effort from the 22m.


Dugald ‘Poodle’ Maconald once again played a cracker of a game on the flank, busting out with some impressive breaks throughout the match.
At the beginning of the year ‘Poodle’ was not a big name in rugby, but in the past six months he has been rising through the rugby world faster than Michael Jackson’s cock in a pre-school. He has also managed to (miraculously?) hook up with some rather hot bitches of late. Personally I’m fucking sick of his success and hope this bullshit doesn’t last much longer.
But although there were many players not mentioned who shone out on Wednesday night, one man stood out above all others: Phil Voget. I think it would be unfair of me to describe this Cobras stalwart’s actions in the same bracket as the other Cobras, so I have written an entirely separate article just on his unbelievably amazing exploits on the night.

As I have said, although our performance on the field that night was impressive, it paled in comparison to the debaucherous post-match exploits which took place in the UCT visitors’ change rooms. Things started off neatly, with my cousin Costa Goules hooking us up with three cases of Castle from SAB. Huge respect must go to him for organising the booze. Obviously there were a few down-downs and songs etc, but things were still relatively calm. However, the three cases of beer were soon gone, and senior players began rallying around to collect funds for the next case. Phil chipped in R120 for a few sixers of cobra, his birthday treat to the team. Exactly how many cases were bought is unknown to me, but I think that many of us still owe about thirty Rand to Richard Ditmer.

It is a well-known fact that upon consuming a couple, Divot becomes an alcohol philanthropist, handing out drinks for his mates with a heart-warming abundance. When faced with the sight of his fellow teammates low on their booze, this great man whipped out his card and swiped for a shit-load of bruskis. I personally still have to repay Divot, and it would be great if all of you that owe him some bucks get it to him ASAP. Shot bud.
Things soon began to spiral out of control, with numerous boat races taking place within the change room. Apparently I lost to Ackerman in a down-down, but personally I rate the okes thought I was getting a bit too sure of my downing skills and fabricated an Acorn victory in the hopes of crushing my spirit. It worked.
A notable match-up occurred when the Matrics of 2005 took on the Matrics of 2006 in an epic seven-man battle of the boat race. After two rounds it was tied one-all, but a monumental piece of teamwork allowed the more youthful 2005’s to take victory and then dance in a frenzied high of testosterone for at least ten minutes. Byron Goldberg, meanwhile, was in his element, hitting as many of his beloved strawpedoes as possible and getting as naked as he could.



Tensions rose when opposition team Soco Thoco moved into the change room, having just lost 12-0 to a heavily loaded Barbarians side. Needless to say, by the time these guy moved in we were certainly on our way to chunder-land, and we soon began chanting against them. Various chants were parlayed across the change room, but the Cobras would always find victory by singing ’12-10’ or ‘We’ve got points, yes we do’, or some other cry which reminded them that it was us who won when the two teams played. At one stage things looked like they might go pear-shaped as beers began flying across the change-room, but pretty soon the Soco boys realised that considering we had three cases of empty beer bottles on us for ammunition, a battle wouldn’t be wise. Soco captain Dale Owen very gentlemanly came over as a sign of peace, and pretty soon the two teams were getting mangled as one, chanting ‘Fuck the ‘Nadoes’ together. Obviously, the only way to settle things was with a down-off, but to be honest the result was lost on me, as all I can remember from that point was crawling onto the tackling bags for a nice little tactical chunder.

The thing which most impressed me about the night was the way in which nearly all the Cobras got so spectacularly wrecked. By the end of the night the toilets were exploding with puke, and I believe that at least twelve Cobras blew chunks that night. Even an opposition player from Marquad, Oli Braithwaite, joined us in getting absolutely mother-fucked. Brad Milne’s parents were forced to come and pick up their son, and found him passed out on the bonnet his car. It was honestly some of the most fun I’ve had without the use of Tik, and it was in general agreement that we should have more nights like that.

All in all, it was an epic night which not only cemented our position in the semi’s, but also led to a fucking monstrous jol which all loved. In two weeks time we find ourselves most probably against the powerful Barbarians. If I manage to organise my time between my internet porn addiction and writing for the website we should have some interesting features coming up on the site very soon, so please keep an eye open boys.
Till next time,

Slap Slap hissssss.


Purple Cobras


Thursday, August 17, 2006

Phil Voget

Phil Voget
On His 20th Birthday

For those who missed it.



Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Cobra Questionaire

This is a questionaire sent to all the teams by the internal league website. Anton took the liberty of answering it in the Cobra spirit and he thought you should be the first to know.

Questions:

1. Name & Sponsor? The Purple Cobras (No sponsor)
2. Captain? Tom Brukman/ Jordan Biederman-Pam
3. Motto? 'We’re Better Than You, And We Know It!’ Warcry: Slap slap hiss!
4. Years in the League and position finished? This is our first year.
5. Why is the team famous on the field? For our distinct brand of running rugby, which encourages creative and inspirational playing.
6. Why is the team in/famous off the field? For bending it like nobody else regularly after games. It is not an uncommon sight to see a Cobra lying unconscious outside Sohbar on a Wednesday night.
7. Who do you see as your biggest rivals? The Nadoes.
8. Which team do you hate the most? The Turtles. In the animal kingdom they are the sworn enemy of the Cobra.
9. How will 2006 pan out? Will you make the play-offs? We’re confident of making the semis, and hope to make the finals.
10. Reasons why 2006 has been so good/so bad? As a newly formed team of youngsters who originally were desperate to be in the B league, we have reached previously impossible heights and developed into a strong group of friends. Also, we’ve found a legitimate reason to get trashed off our faces every Wednesday.
11. The player Jack White would most likely pick from your squad as an end of year Europe tour bolter? David ‘Bones’ Bonneli.
12. Would you rather be sponsored by House of Rasputin or Teazers? Starkers. It’s a lot cheaper for a lap dance + extras.
13. If Internal League changed from rugby union to rugby league would you still play? Yes.
14. If it changed to touch rugby would you still play? No.
15. If it changed to touch who would win? The Rhinos.
16. Penalty on the 10m out in front: do you kick for poles or lineout? Lineout. Fortune favours the brave. The brave favour the Cobras.
17. Which is your favourite ref?
18. Do you complain about the referee after every game? No, we pay him.
19. Should there be an age limit on who can play Internal League? No, otherwise the ‘Nadoes would have no team.
20. When you grow up do you want to be a Nadoe? No, I like women.
21. Have you ever engaged in a sexual act with a Cobra? Next question.
22. Do you have a website? Yes. uctpurplecobras.blogspot.com

Monday, August 14, 2006

"Hit Of The Week"



2 Cents Worth - Phil Voget


I find this to be a big lag, the internal league reporter's take on the now infamous event which took place between Will Donkin and 'That Big Fucker'.



"Hit of the Week: This is one for the record books. As stated last week this award is very rare but for the same person to get it in two consecutive weeks is borderline hot Carinus girl aka unheard of. The hit was executed by, you guessed it, Dan Watson on the hapless Cobra left wing who looks like a dark haired Peter Crouch. Ol Crouchy shepherded the big rig into touch and then fell on top of him in the mud, and for his troubles got a steroid fuelled rage hit to the nose. Not quite the sporting behaviour we expect on the green mile…"

Friday, August 11, 2006

Cobras destroy Ubumbo (14 - 0)

contribution by Anton Taylor

Following a disappointing defeat last week at the hands of the ‘Nadoes, the Purple Cobras were this week raring to bounce back against Ubumbo and prove that the spirit of White Goodman (Praise Be on Him) lives on within us.

Leading up to the game the Cobras had been in a bit of a tricky situation, as several members had been ruled out due to injury. While Tim Thorton had sustained a leg injury the week before, Dill Macevoy had on Monday continued to highlight his amazing talent for mishandling motor vehicles by wiping out on his scooter and grazing an impressive amount of skin off his body.
Graeme Steen was also out, due to the late tackle that he received from that ‘Nadoes doos last week.
Team manager/coach Jordan Biederman-Pam also didn’t make it, as he was suffering from chicken pox, which he got from his girlfriend. Although Jordan had never had chickenpox before, and was therefore hectically at risk of contracting the illness, the horny little blighter couldn’t keep his hands off his girl, and will no doubt soon be regretting his actions as his face becomes covered with hideous sores.
Commendably, the plague didn’t stop Jordan from turning up at the game to run things from the side. Although potentially a highly contagious, living breeding ground for this filthy disease, he kindly came up to pat us all on the back and shake our hands after the game.
It was nice of him.
However, despite our player shortage, a few calls were made and we managed to acquire the talent of some Bishops’ Matrics; Matt Handley, Roland Evans, and Scotty Rogers. Furthermore, we also managed to pick up old ‘Bosch scrumhalf Kyle Wickens.

The conditions were wet, cold, and muddy - much like most of Nick Fenton-Wells’s girlfriends’ guavas. Needless to say, this is never a place a man would want to be, especially when coming up against fifteen rather aggressive chaps in the mood for a scrap, and there was a fair amount of tension in the air.

The game started off tighter than a newboy’s ass, with neither side prepared to give an inch away. Throughout a first half dominated by the Cobras, the physicality of the game was intense, with our boys hitting it up the field like warriors.

It was only after half time that the deadlock was broken. After relentlessly bashing it up field in numerous rucks and scrums, Damian Stander picked the ball up off a scrum and bounced a few men out the way to score under the poles. Warren Butler converted to make it 7 – 0.

Following the try was a 20 minute period in which neither team managed to get any points on the board. Brad Milne came close to scoring but unfortunately knocked on just as he was about to touch down.

Despite prior fears that the game would be a bit of a boxing match, things didn’t get too out of hand, although one of the Ubumbo players does deserve a special mention for being an absolute fucking cunt. I’m not going to mention his name, but the player was notable for being very big. Very big.
One can only imagine how insanely insecure this individual would have had to been to feel it necessary to niggle with young men in general at least 50 kilograms lighter than him.
But then again, any guy who pumps his body with more chemicals than Floyd Landis and grows as big as a house must surely be compensating for some other deficiency in his life…
A beautiful moment occurred late in the second half, when William Donkin, most likely weighing in at the same as this guy’s leg, lomped him out of field.
To see this Neanderthal getting pushed out of bounds by somebody a quarter of his size was truly glorious.
Obviously aware of how pathetic he looked, the wanker tried to make up for his kakness by viciously and needlessly punching Will twice in the face.
After the game, while walking behind him, I heard him saying how he ‘could have definitely scored a try’, but because he was angry with Donkin for some previous encounter, he thought it best to ‘drag him out of field and give him a klap’. I’m sure. After this, I heard his friend saying that ‘next time he should hit the ou between the eyes.’ This is a true story.
Personally, I suspect that the only thing this closet homo would want to hit a guy between the eyes with would be a big blob of his gay cum. Fucking queer.

Despite this rather unsavoury incident, the PC’s carried on with the pressure until the final whistle, ending the game off in majestic fashion.
After seeing a huge gap behind the opposition, Butler kicked a beauty of a punt into the corner of the field. Most of us were expecting the Ubumbo fullback to gather the ball and kick it away.
But then again, most of us had failed to see a purple coloured streak of lightning flying down the field that was Chris Gibson. The inescapable pressure created by Gibbo bearing down on him crushed the poor Ubumban’s spirit, and he somehow managed to slip about three times, allowing for Gibson to pick the ball up and score a superb try in the corner. Butler then converted an insane kick from the sideline to end the game at 14 – 0. All in all, it was an impressive victory for our boys, who really showed their toughness out there. A special mention must go to the last minute subs that I mentioned earlier, who proved themselves in their first ever appearance for us.


Luke Watson was seen watching the game, and considering his recent bad luck with Jake White, we thought that perhaps we should offer him a Cobras contract, paying him with a case of beers. However upon learning that he didn’t drink we lost all desire to associate the Purple Cobras franchise with him.

It was heartwarming to know that four dedicated Cobras members; Warren Butler, Ian Armstrong, Nick Fenton and Richard Ditmer were reportedly seen bending it at Sohbar after the game. Apparently these four reprobates were the last to leave the established, with Ian Armstrong having drunk himself into a coma. For a change.

Next week we find ourselves pitted against the res team Leo Marquad.
They are a rather strong side, and will surely serve as appropriate cannon fodder as a warm up for our semi-finals.
See you then!



Thursday, August 10, 2006

Cobras humble Marquad

It seems as if the actual report of the Purple Cobras’ game against Marquard, or the Leo Marquard Lions if we are to call a spade a spade, pales in insignificance to the abomination that followed until the late (and not-so-late for some) hours of the fateful (and not so…etc) of Wednesday 16 August 2006. Hey Ho, lets go..

Just to give those who didn’t catch a glimpse of the evening’s spectacle game an idea of what we were dealing with, (no Anton, I’m not referring to the move you tried to pull on that gravel from your English lecture), here are the parameters of the multinomial equation that equalled what was to be an absolute belter of a game, including seven tries, one less conversions, a couple of big hits, a massive prop and unfortunately, no streaker. (Phil’s bar run later in the evening sadly, does not count. Sorry phil.) Anyways, where were we.. With a north-westerly wind pumping across the green mile harder than something Halle Berry could whip up to deter a bunch of mutants, Capitano Tom ‘Whyte’ Brukman (now hereto referred as El Capi) made the brave (and possibly regretful) decision to receive kickoff into the stiff breeze. Cobras 0, Cape Town North-Wester 5.

Up went the kick, and from then it was cracker-jacker stuff for the first five – the sort you find only in a really racy Anthony Keidis autobiography (or some porno blog on uctpurplecobras.blogspot.com) - with lineouts being won against the throw by resident offside parking executive member, Alex ‘captain crash’ Franzen and Dugald ‘who’s your father’ MacDonald. But more on that a little later. Anyways, real fire and brimstone, balls to the wall, end to end, helter skelter, take-things-overboard-why-don’t-you stuff. You get the picture. Somewhere in those first five, Cobra’s managed to win four opposition lineouts, run it up the field, set up good ball and somehow squander easy try-scoring opportunities quicker than Fenton-Wells manages on blonde UCT girls. First up, Byron ‘Kelleher’ Golddust (or whatever pseudo-jewish surname begets him) decided that a five man blindside over lap was just playing silly buggers and felt that a chip kick into the box (not that box, Anton) was on. Little did he take into account the Marquard ‘my second name’s Dan Carter’ fullback and his fuckoff boot that set up play a couple of meters outside the Cobras 22. North-Wester 10, Cobra’s 0.

After a couple of minutes of some B-grade horror flick defending and some barging runs from the opposition hooker who deserves a mention purely because he apologised to me after running me over full stick, (Pete ‘tyrell’ Weekly, you’re a Cobra at heart and don’t you know it) the Marquadians (right word?) had somehow scored right next to the poles through their tower of strength in the tight-loose. The try reminded me of some dude called ‘Rae, Rae for Scotland, SURELY! Oh they’ll be cheering down in Glasgow for that one until next year’ (Mclaren, Bill; 19foetsek, 101 Greatest Tries; available at the Brukman household, speak to Tony.) So there you have it, seven love to “MA-KWAD” as they say in the classics. Rolls off the tongue like a cane and coke first thing. Wind, fuckoff. Cobras 0, Makwad 7.

This is getting long but I’m enjoying myself so scroll down if you want the final straw, I mean score. Otherwise, two minutes later, after a couple more piss-poor efforts at tying up defensive holes bigger than Taylor’s after his stint in Marquad, the Cobras were reeling at fourteen squat. This time, illegitimate child of the UCT A1’s (tribunal to follow) and one-time leg-press Champion of the World, Andresz ‘not-shevchenko-although-I-look-a-bit-like-him’ surname untraceable had forced over another and swear words were flying out of Dittmer’s mouth faster than he can light a kop after a construction exam. Fast. You know the score, the wind was still a factor.

Nevertheless, Warren ‘wozby’ Butler sent his second kickoff into the Green Mile floodlights with a couple of ice molecules for good measure and this time it was ‘BF’ G van der Rhede who was taking no prisoners and layed into an IRB rule-bending tackle on some misfortunate MK cousin. ‘Walk it off’ as the say it the classics. A bit of to-and-froing and some decent forward play allowed for a scrummage centre-field on the MK 22 meter line. Just enough space for the MK right winger to nail sleazy greasy Deano Smorgasbord into touch on the nearside. Or so he thought. First it was Whyte Brukman’s sound rugby brain that started the manoeuvre with a tactically odd pick’n’go blindside against the wheel of a perfectly dealt-with left shoulder delivered by ours truly, he’s on OUR side, Nick ‘Pick ‘n Pay’ Corn. Somehow Commando Bones got the ball through the hands and Ricky ‘Meek’ Ditty managed to resist the urge to chip kick into the corner as he had previously done, and offloaded to Smorenburg in what some might call a precarious position. From then on it was like watching coursing. What’s coursing? Hare coursing. They set two lurches, their dogs before you ask, on a hare. And the hare has to outrun the dogs. So what if it doesn’t? Well the big rabbit gets fucked, doesn’t it! Proper fucked? Yeah Tommy, before ‘Ze Germans’ get there. (Snatch) Deano ‘Hare’ Smorenburg and the Purple Cobras 5, Leo ‘Ze Germans’ Marquard, 0. overall score, 14-5 to Marquard.

My journalistic license is expiring faster than Kenrick Brown’s parking disc for upper campus so I’m gonna try get a move on, but before that, the next sequence of events will surely have you itching to hear more (very self-gratuitous I know but so are most amateur bloggers). Macdonald and Andrew ‘undercover’ Flanagel embarked on some enterprising loose forward play but not before Chris ‘insert your own nickname he has so many’ Gibson could drop in his usual two cents worth of left and right kung-fu sidestepping to keep the Marquadians in a constant state of emergency. Actually huge mix, he wasn’t on the field yet, but rocks. It was like being at Heathrow a couple of weeks back, save for the possible explosions. Knife-edge stuff. Anyways, Hooter goes. Penalty on the Cobra’s ten meter line, Brukman at the helm as per. Tap n’ go is the call, again blindside just to be childish. Through the hands it goes in true Cobras style to stand in flanker-cum-fullback Nick ‘da-na-na naa na-na naa naa’ Stan-DER who bolts down the far touchline faster than his brother could ever imagine to do and offloads a neat inside pass to ever-present newborn-wing of the right side faith, Bradley Milne (no relation to the nuggety golfer who enjoys a bat and a poke), who then literally glides over as the elongated man tends to do for a try that made Ernie Els’s swing look like mine. Which is not that bad, but highly mediocre I might add. Butler calls for the tee and its Cobras 12 Marquard 14 going into the break. Now I must go for a quick shmack break before I get too long-winded. By the way, the wind is STILL a factor. Score.

The half time team talk was more colourful than a grade three classroom wall as Costa ‘yellow streak’ Ghioules-lash provided entertainment both aesthetically and verbally. As a matter of custom, the decision was made to keep off the subs until five minutes into the second half, although Craig Stack was straining at the leash harder than he was at last year’s vort just to get a run on and he was still busy ashing what ever he had in his hand so it seemed like he wasn’t quite ready to enter the fray. Nonetheless, a couple of swear words were exchanged much like a Sonny and Ricko fight scene but not quite to that extent, and it was back to the drawing board as Scotty ‘low gravity center’ Rogers and Hannes ‘nobody knows my first name’ Handley were feeling a lot fresher than the likes of Dittmer, MacDonald and myself and whoever else shares a special relationship with a cousin called Peter Stuyvesant.

After Nick Stander eventually managed to get his right boot on and do the lace up which took all of five minutes as he hadn’t quite been taught essentials such as that by whoever does such a thing (Westwood? Mrs. Stander?), Buttsy sent another frightfully high drop kick into the Marquard landing zone. Hell, even the girls watching from the top of fuller managed to catch a good Butcher’s hook at the pig skin and that which was written on it before it got dealt with by the ground. In a moment of sheer poetry, both forward packs watched as the ball graciously bounced between them and landed behind the advancing Cobra’s pack. It was as if the Cobras had just been lobbed by the mother of all Federer lobs and Wimbledon would be back in the Swiss alps once again. Fast-forward a few minutes and G van der Rhede proved why he is unable to pass while running as well as guard his face from a cheap shot in rucks as the soldier had to take a blood-bin soon in. One wasn’t quite sure if it was the Chinese he dealt with just before the game that sent him packing or his girlfriend watching on the sidelines. The jury is still out as they say in the classics. Nonetheless, with a less co-ordinated pack now on for the cobras at the entrance of Phil Voget esquire (or did he get a doctorate for his post-match performance?), Corn Ackwan decided he needed to get the backline firing in order to make up for a deficiency in the tight. As the pass reached him he looked more shocked than he did when he woke up in Beatty’s garden all those years back and the astonished gape across his chevy chase told all. The ball dealt him with some severe Lifebuoy-soap syndrome and it was like watching corn trying to cut something out of the herd at the base camp of Kilimanjaro. He’ll tell you he did but either way, it wasn’t pretty. Knock-on, marquard ball. Chin up, Corn.

Pretty soon it was time for the backline to prove they had one up on the forwards, or maybe that was what was running through Butler’s head as he tapped and went on the Marquard twenty-two and barrel-chested his way to the five meter line, only to be bundled into touch by one of the marquard forwards around his size. However, Buttsy was determined to show he could roll with the punches and with the instruction to myself and Drill-Sarge Bones along the lines of, “Bones go wide, Jordan come on a dummy switch, watch me bounce this first-five into the queue at Tiger next week”, he preceded to shrug off tackles much like Richard Bands on King Carlos at Eden Park a couple years back, only to trump the former-bok by offloading at the sight of the tryline to fellow playmaker and soon to be departing captain courageous Thomas Simon Howard Brukman son of Tony. It was poetry in motion as Brukman envisaged a waterpolo pool in front of him as some kind of mirage and swallow(or should I say seal) dived over for what was, well, a classic. One could almost hear the feint wurring of the radio that John Dittmer brought along for commentary companionship on the game crackling something along the lines of ‘Brukman, he surely must score, just the tryline to beat’ in a thick, Scottish Borders accent. Bill Mclaren, you beauty. Cobras are back in the game, tails in the air at 19-14, but the game is still in the balance.

Forgive me for sparing a few insignificant details like the fifteenth break around the fringes by their massive prop. The rest reads like a karma-sutra guide to sex. Or a TV guide. Or an eco’s textbook, whichever way you look at it, there is something for everone. Fifteen minutes to go. Position: corn’s one leg at a frigid angle sticking out of a…ruck. Flanagan’s hand’s stealing a ball swifter than a…nubile teenager at soBhar. At fifteen minutes into the half, Graeme Steen (from Walker, Texas Ranger and that dude from Lord of the Rings) gives a frightfully good performance as he delivers a cameo pass to Butler (Dawson’s Creek; 40 Days, 40 Nights) who sends a typically Tarantino-esque speculator pass to Biderman-Pam (The Wedding Singer, Happy Gilmore). Pam deals with the pass much like George from Seinfeld. He has a double dip, blames his mom and offloads his shit onto a curly-haired guy with a sense of Humour, Dittmer (as played by Seinfeld himself). Seinfeld, I mean Dittmer, wraps up the set with a bolt for the line and releases to the wing which, ceteris paribus, leaves only for the unemployment rate, Y, Output, I, or Tito Mboweni, TM, to fuck things up for Brad Milne who raises the interest rate and thereby increases his supply of Booze and Money by scoring in the corner for an inch-perfect try that tends to zero when the Cobras are greater than and not equal to Marquard. On the Y-axis you have the Cobras on 26 points and on the X-Axis, Marquard, on 14 in the short run equilibrium.

Then, send in the clowns. Stack and Clarkson on for Bones and B-Pam as the freckled brigade tries to outdo their greasy Italian and Jewish precursors. Armstrong goes on a cracking run and offloads to Zoid trotting back from another offside position, who in turn attempts a speculator to try outdo Butler but only succeeds in granting the opposition fullback a chance to expose the bear family clinging to Dittmer’s back and the effect of the Kop he dealt with during the conversion interval.

Matt Kemp finally blows the game in what was a display of reffing that Tappe could learn from on video, apart from a few hands-in occurrences. Its all smiles and cheers as the Cobra’s finish off their round-robin games with a flourish, bouncing back from a Nadoes drilling to squeeze home against Ubumbo Spears and then the Marquard Lions to the tune of 14-0 and 26-19 respectively. Many thanks to SAB, Costa Ghioules, The baby Cobras from ‘skoppe and the UCT rugby club facilites for what was an evening to be remembered long into the future. Eat your heart out, Phil Voget.

Forever blowing bubbles. lets get fuckin mental!

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Round 6 Standings

A Good Effort


Phil Voget - Mastering The Art of The Rant
Here's the official match report by the fella from the internal league site. Not too bad for a change... Although we have no idea about what he's on about in the last part, I mean how can you talk about Tessa that way? I would put my own report in, just due to the huge fat rake on my left ass cheek sustained in the match I can't sit for too long, so it will have to wait! Otherwise, the newsletter should continue from next week, so you can look forward to more witty repartee.

"The big game of the night was always going to be the top of the table show down between the two remaining unbeaten sides in the A league, which was also the contest for the Sobhar Shield. Well they were both unbeaten until the Nadoes showed their superiority to comfortably beat the Purple Cobras 35-0. The score line does no justice to the Cobras loss as they kept in it everywhere else but on the scoreboard right up until the crusader-esque last 15min performance of the Nadoes. You can’t beat experience.
The score at half time should have been 0-0, except the Nadoes had magic in their line-up. The magic came in the form of the mercurial feet and brain of flyhalf Paddy Fitzgerald. He scored an amazing solo effort cutting through the defence like Dan Carter going through a green wall and then had the deftest of touches to reward a killer running angle for the blind side wing to score. Paddy 14 Cobras 0. Pressure and experience meant the Nadoes cruised the second half for another impressive victory.There are only 3 Rounds left before the play offs and the fat lady has certainly not begun to sing, although she was present there last night. She came dressed in white to support her young Cobra (snake?) loose forward Nic Fenton-Wells."

Bangs and Bruises aside (you can identify all the members of the squad on campus today by the limps), it was a flippin' mighty effort, and if they hadn't had such amazingly good players who probably shouldn't even be allowed in the internal league, such as Paddy Fitzgerald and that wanker who sharpens his studs and has an insatiable need to rake at every opposition jersey, it would have been closer. Justice was certainly done when their wannabe Butch James of old shoulder barged Graham Steen in a decidedly unsportsmanlike manner and got a yellow for his manly effort. Anyway, we must keep our heads held high, and go in with a vengeance next week against Ubumbo.

Cheers lads, see you on Sundee for some touch!