VIXENS BOWL OVER MONKEYS!

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Hell Hath no Fury!

Come this April, sightings of groups of malicious women with fiery tempers will become ever more common with the commencement of the new Trans-Tasman netball competition – the ANZ Championship.

That’s the only conclusion the Situation could come up with after receiving a list of competing teams that seems to have been drawn up by hot shot Establishment-dwelling Alfie from the bank’s Acquisitions department.

Alongside such life-affirming names as the Central Pulse [always engaged in pulsating encounters against merely pulsing others] sits the Melbourne Vixens. If any further proof was required that netball is a sport played by spurned, scorned and potentially mentally damaged women, this is surely it dear readers.

Watch the fireworks when the Melbourne team travels to the Newcastle Entertainment Centre [apparently it’s Newspeak] in round five to take on their bitter rivals from NSW, the Sydney Slappers.

Stand with mouth agape, as the Vixens scratch and claw the sluts that stole their once previously loyal men folk. The Situation hears Alex Fevola will be Melbourne’s guest of honour while Sydney will have cricket babe Lara Bingle giving pre-game instructions on what to wear, or how little, during post-match celebrations.

The Vixens will have a crack medical team to deal with any diseases contracted from playing the Slappers, just as they will have when they host the sickly, sweaty diarrhea-ridden bunch from the West Coast Fever in Melbourne in round nine.

Heard the One About the Monkey?

Hayden Son of Christ drove off in a Ford. Not just a Ford but a Ranger! What would Richie Benaud say had he not been made into a statue [Damn you Earth!]? Cricketers should be driving station wagons. Bland, ‘aspirational’ station wagons.

Ricky retired after too many buckets of the Colonel’s golden crispy chicken. It was the same with Mr Cricket. Both of them left clutching ever-growing guts to make Arjuna Ranatunga proud. Stick to the Maccas, bozos. They at least have a few salad options.

G. Christ somehow managed to get a Sony Ericsson mobile phone handset to finally navigate his flaps. Yes, after vanquishing those vile and treacherous Indians, he couldn’t wait to call wife and newborn child [he always seems to have another kid – ‘Gilly: My  Life as the Most Virile keeper that was…’] to tell them in fine detail of Harbhajan’s sexual assault of the arse that belongs to Bollywood hunk Brett Leesala.

Unfortunately Australia’s [or, do we mean Telstra’s] Next G Network failed just when he was about to get to the juicy bit of when Harbhajan called another kid in class a monkey, and little Ricky forgot about all the times he and his mates teased strange looking kids and dobbed him in to teacher.

The Situation has met Andrew Symonds once; in a sparsely filled bar favoured by fashionistas, wankers and pretenders. On offering him a ‘congratulations for winning back the Ashes mate’, he turned his back and pretended not to hear… [A wanker and a pretender!]

Rejected by girls, animals and poles and now a bloody Australian cricketer?! It was almost too much to bear for our already fragile ego.

Yet from this one and only encounter with Symonds, we at the Situation are prepared to make the most conclusive judgement in the Australian media on his possible relation to our simian cousins - To us, Symonds looks more like one dumb Aussie than a monkey, friend to pirates everywhere.

Can you imagine him on the shoulder of a pirate? C’mon, it would just look silly. Almost as silly as an Indian cricketer calling someone with a skin tone lighter than his, a ‘monkey.’ That’s just absurd. And racist.

Photo by: Archangeli