Official NZRFU Auckland Blues 2019 Preview.

Why get your hopes up?

New coach?

So what.

New players?

Who cares.

90% of the Blues squad are still the dregs that no other franchise fucken wanted anyway.

Nonu and SBW in the midfield? Well, whoop-de-fucken-do, break out the motherfucking bunting. Colour my crotch the caliphate incarnate. I would wager BOTH of my left nads that the doddery duo won’t manage 2 whole halves of rugby playing together during the whole fucken season. And if they do, after 20 minutes they will be brain-knackered. Hyopoxia sets in, help, we’re stranded on the Hillary fuckin Step here, hello, is anyone there, fucking radio for help, fuuuuuuuck, turnstile city. Nonu’s been literally walking around Toulon’s midfield in sunny sperm-stained retirement home France for fucken years. SBW is an old league player who still has fuck-all rugby instincts despite Hansen blowing plumes of smoke down W’s one-eye on the reg

Pulu at halfback? Sure, he will ring your fucking bell on defense. But on attack? Handbrake City. Pop: the Blues backline.

On the bright side, the Blues do have a fantasy spank bank of loosies in Blake Gibson, Papali’i and Akira. That’s the good news. And it’s always good news in pre-season. EVERY year the Blues look kick-arse on paper. Yet who remembers the kick-arse outfit of, say, 2015? Not many.

Yep, every season the Blues promise the world on paper, schoolboy star wingers shoehorned in alllll along the backline, and every year they trot out and proceed to play like the Onehunga Under-5’s Crippled Children Burn Clinic Fucken Hospice Care Unit.

Plus the inevitable injuries. If I gave half a proper fuck I would tally up previous campaigns pre-season “starters on paper” and see how many of the cunts actually started games at the tail-end of the season. I’d wager fuck-all. 2 of the 3 loosie spank bankers will succumb to season-ending injuries, probably when they collide reaching for the last piece of cake at the fucken buffet table on the eve of the first fucken game of the season. That will leave Akira to play every minute of the season, leading all the stats for all super rugby players, shattering all Blues training records including running a 4-minute mile as well as successfully bench-pressing the goddamn sun, and Hansen will still pick some Landers cunt who’s been nutting out the same damn crossword puzzle while parked on the fucken bench all fucking season.

Another weird bright side though; 1st 5. The usual wft position for the Blues, is actually looking shockingly healthy. Otere Black, Perofuture and Plummer. That’s fucking THREE 1st 5’s who theoretically should be able to cope with the 1st 5 position at Soup Rugby level. Bugger me. This is great! SURELY all 3 won’t get fucking injured.

SURELY.

Joan Collins emergency 1st 5 by round 3.

The usual summer trickle of pre-season training clips are coming through now. The lads panting away running up some hill in Cornwall Park. Or bashing away at each other in some jiu jitsu kung fu bollocks. All good and well. It’s when the actual rugby ball gets introduced to proceedings that it all instantly turns to shit.

“The fuck is this?
“Dunno.
“Haha, it looks funny.
“What a stupid shape.
“It’s not quite round…
“…yet it’s not quite flat.
“What do you even call that thing?
“I can’t catch something shaped like that.
“Me neither.
“Can’t we just do more wrestling?
“Yeah, I was good at that.
“Me too.
“Seems a bit mean-spirited, throwing an object shaped like that to someone and expecting them to catch it.
“Could be embarrassing.
“It scares me.
“Yeah, maybe just leave it on the ground.
“I hate it.
“Me too.
“Just kick it away.
“Away!”

Blues 2019 Schedule:

H v Cantabs. please God please let the Cantabs AB’s pack still be at the fucken beach pleeeeeassse
A v Shawks. wft straight on the road already? FFS. Blues don’t travel well. L.
A v Jags. oh god then straight off around the world for ANOTHER rugby match? which sadistic cunt put this fucking schedule together? FUCK YOU PICHOT
H v Sunwolves. now we’re talkin. The 0-3 Blues take on their wooden spoon rivals. First win of the season right here baby!
H v Landers. oh shit we always lose to these pricks. They’re one of those “properly coached rugby teams” that I’ve read about and also seen on the telly.
H v Stormfront. L. Even these shittily-travelling boks will be too much for our injury-ravaged 1-and-5 B-team.
H v NSFW. god I hate losing to these pricks. I hope Tom Carter falls down a well. All the wells.
A v Chiffs. things heating up in NZ conference means the Chiffs will be on FIRE. L.
A v Landers. ffs, these bastards again. Thanks Pichot, thanks a fucken lot.
A v Bumbreeze. that empty frozen concrete shithole stadium in Canberra. ffs do I have to watch?
H v Canes. NO WAY Nonu plays in this one. Canes to run riot. 54-7.
H v Chiffs. ffs, them again? Their laughter ringing in Blues ears from 3 weeks ago has barely even fucking subsided.
A v Cantabs. The annual horror show. Dark. Cold. Wet. And that’s just my gruds. The runaway red-and-black combine harvester reaping their annual grisly bounty.
H v Bulls. last home game of the season but we’re 1 and 26, who gives a fuck. Bulls from their “mummy, mummy can we pleeeasse go to the playoffs, pleeease, MUMMY I WANT TO GO TO THE PLAYOFFS RIGHT NOW MUMMY” conference with everything to play for. L.
A v Reds. heyyy arent these wankers just as shit as us? This could be the go!
A v Canes. way to rub it in Pichot you fucking shitheel.

Thank fuck that’s over.

Rugby Refs vs Soccer Refs

 

After viewing some of the diveball world cup then going back to watching international rugby today, it’s so easy to see why rugby is failing hard as a spectacle.

First whinge point: rugby goalkickers taking 3 excruciating interminable minutes over every fucking penalty shot. Ref, 30 seconds max for these cunts, then ping em. As a former 1st 5 it shits me blind. It’s not hard to kick penalties, the gap between the posts is wide as fuck yet some of these unnatural laborious cunts are taking the piss. eg, take Japan’s Tamura, an innately dogshit goalkicker. Elaborate windup and cockfluff and chest pout and big screen hair-check and subsequent hair adjustment flick, then a few toe-jabs and some elaborate Jonny Wilkinson tai-chi wank with his arms, then 3 minutes of breathing exercises before he eventually wanders in to kick the fucker. The whole damn stadium is expected to just sit there entranced at this vainglorious rigmarole. Yes, rugby hates their fans. “Fuck he must be good if he’s taking this long, Jonny Wilkinson and Dan Carter didnt even take this long” the fans murmur. Eventually Tamura remembers why he’s there and then proceeds to wander in and heroically shank yet another piss-easy chance wide of the posts, a la Goromaru style.

In contrast to rugby, soccer flowwws along, the ref has fuck-all to do really, you dont even notice the prick let alone know every single fucken thing about him as we do with miked-up rugby refs, their every waking thought broadcast live, we know their every quirk, every foible and mannerism, every trait and tic. They are one of the stars and they not so much officiate the match as imperiously and omnisciently adjudicate over it. In comparison, in soccer the ref is basically the 23rd guy on the pitch. In rugby he’s #1. Soccer goal goes in and it’s an explosion, boom, players and fans go berko. Celebrations break out. Where’s the ref? Fuck knows, who cares, it’s all about the players, the sport, and the fans. Great release. The entire focal point of the sport has just been attained. This is the moment. What a moment. Were you there?

Compare that with rugby these days when a try is scored, fans immediately start to whoop but BAM, down comes the inevitable stiffy killing double-tweet cockpunch from ref that shatters you out of the moment as well as bombing you right out of the entire try-scoring narrative, yes, the purpose of the entire fucking sport and hello, the reason why you’re there in the first fucking place. Instead of exultance, everyone, players and fans, just quietly sags and droops. Not unlike their stiffies. Players proceed to stand around with hands on hips. Checking the big screen. Having a drink. Maybe time for a quick massage. Maybe even time to wander up to the concourse for a quick pie.

The game has stopped. It’s at a standstill. This could go on for minutes. No one fucken knows. The fans? Fuck the fans. They were ready to erupt and yet now they’re left there with their dicks in their hands unable to shower their love jazz all over the show. Those fan cunts are dead fucken last on the modern rugby agenda. They can wait for as long as it takes, fuck them. By now the thrilling try-scoring moment, the tapestry framing the entire purpose of the sport, is becoming a fading memory, minutes have gone by, the thrilling moment has been reduced to a phantom limb in limbo, as if it were Shroedingers Cat, neither dead or alive, cruelly banished to an uncertain realm of memory while TMO George Ayoub tries to keep his grot browser from going up on the big screen.

For fucks sake soccer, do not go down the video ref path. Goalline technology is all you need.

Time drags on for a bit. Still no decision. Fans just stand there confused as they surreptitiously wipe the sad wee drops of smeggy precum on the fan in front of them. “WHY have they structured our entire sport to self-defeatingly and repeatedly clang the bride’s skull on the eaves as the player whisks the mad ho over the threshold at the peak moment of ecstasy?” the more verbose fans may ruminate.

Yes, the ref’s indulgence in indecision at the expense of the fan has stymied the actual main point of the entire fucking experience. The thrill is gone.

Oops, the try is not given. The players have had a nice long rest. Well refreshed now. The fans, um, fuck the fans, the stadium is only 10% full anyway. Crikey, I wonder why. Refs can now restart the atmosphere-drained match and get on with the business of setting up yet another potential premature ejaculation moment.

Or, eventually, the 4 officials may actually give the try. But, thrill-wise, the moment is lost. Hey, go fuck yourself everyone, no momentous orgasmic celebration for you as there is with every single wendyball goal. A few dozen fans cheer for the TMO decision but fuck you it’s just not the same now. Watching a refs arm go up 4 minutes after the fact, hey go fuck yourself buddy, it’s just not the same here 4 minutes later, we’re not here to see you, you fucken cunt. Enjoying TMO-awarded tries in rugby is like trying to whack it to the credits of a fucken porno vid.

 

NZ vs France 2nd test 2018.

The All Blacks were absolutely gassed at the end of that 26-13 win, a brave, brave effort from New Zealand seeing as they were down to 14 men.

OH WAIT.

What a gutless cacophony of horseshit. Sam Cane got subbed off and it all went very much pear-shaped. The Luke Whitelock’s and Scott Barrett’s and FFSFifita’s were found wanting. ALB and Crotty might be glue guys but that also seems to involve being zero impact guys. Owen Franks huffs and puffs his way to another unimpeachable 30 minutes of whoop-de-fucking-doo. NZ missed at least 17 tackles. Against 14 men for 70 minutes. GO FUCK YOURSELVES. **UNACCEPTABLE**

NZ won the match but the entire team failed the test.

The 12th minute red card for France should have been green light jailbreak a-go-go for NZ, it’s 50 points or bust, my motherfuckers. Instead the stupid hapless shits incredibly somehow conspired to LOSE the 2nd half by a score of 5-7. Playing 14 men. Oh, you say, it’s a brave effort seeing as they were playing in Paris, home territory for the Fre THE FUCKING TEST MATCH WAS PLAYED IN MOTHERFUCKING WELLINGTON.

That is not a goddamn vintage AB forward pack. Truck up to next years World Cup with those useless fuck forwards and it’ll be an ignominous quarter-final motherfucking exit.

Some of those NZ forwards seem to love the idea of being All Blacks without actually mucking in and doing the shit required. All the media hoopla and bumsmoke attention, oh my God I am an All Black, check me out everyone. If you don’t want to clean out at rucks to secure possession, please find an alternative source of employment and get the fuck off my TV. What, did you think no one was watching? The whole fucking country’s watching, you stupid shits.

 

**BREAKING NEWS** Auckland Prison **JAILBREAK**

In a stunning development, the 23 replacement guards sent by the Auckland Blues to Paremoremoremo Prison to fill in for the “sick” regular guards have overnight failed to tackle a single inmate and now all 6,233 inmates are believed to have escaped.

“Not surprised at all” commented local rugby coach Tana Umaga. Following Umaga’s recommendation, all 23 substitute guards have now been incarcerated in the maximum security facility to replace the escaped inmates. “Thank fuck.” remarked Umaga. “Last we’ve heard of those hopeless wankers. The useless fuckwits will probably all drown on the shower floor trying to pick up the fucken soap in the morning. No way they’ll be able to catch it, that’s for sure. It’s not all doom and gloom though, this development does free up 23 spots in the Auckland Blues squad. So if any of the 6,233 escaped inmates are reading this, there’s a squad spot available for you. Any one of you psychos will do. Can’t do any worse than the 23 fat unco dozey children we’ve had here so far this season.”

“Haha, I think I just saw 2 of the substitute guards accidentally tackle each other then start crying.”
“Let’s break in again and then break out again. That was just too easy.”

 

Auckland Blues vs Rebels RD 16 2018.

Cripple shitfight in the handicapped stall. Faeces everywhere. Wheelchairs at 3 paces and off they went. Clang, clang, clang, gahh, shit all over my hands now, I’ve dropped the fucken thing. Again.

1st half, Akira Ioane charges down a kick en route to a Blues try for Terence and Philip. You don’t see new All Black Dick Frizzle doing that for the Highlanders. Charging down kicks, putting himself about. He’s too busy puzzling out crosswords on the Landers bench, probably using his brand new shiny AB jersey to cushion his precious little cotton-wooled arse from the fucken splinters.

Pulu did well to hold up a certain try but the ponderous fucker is such a handbrake on attack. Guys, let me just stand around at the back of the ruck with the ball sitting there and let the other team draw up a detailed schematic on how to fucken stop us.

Rebels actually looked good going forward in this one. But, as the game wore on it must’ve gradually dawned on them that woah, these useless shits don’t even practice or anything, holy fucking shit, all we have to do is try hard and hold onto the stupid ball and we win. They got nothing. And that is pretty much how the bog-standard Melbourne Rebels beat these clueless dipshit Auckland Blues today by a score of 20-10 in order to secure just their second ever win in NZ.

Blues not even the 5th best team in NZ right now. Cantabs NPC side would clean up this lot. Christchurch Boys High might even give them a fright

The proud Blues have historically always looked likely in broken field play. They no longer even have that. They have nothing. No luck, no skills, no nous, no kickers, no runners, no nappies, no panties, no gruds, no coaching, no happiness and no future.

Somehow the useless pricks have not won a single match all season at Fortress Eden Park. They’ve successfully managed to turn New Zealand’s impenetrable rugby stronghold into an empty and silent black hole where dreams go to die.