NFL: God supports the Colts, hates the Patriots.

After one of the greatest comebacks in sports history (USA only) the Indianapolis Colts beat arch rival and perennial winner New England Patriots 38-34 in the AFC Championship game to clinch a berth in the really Super Bowl. At one point they were 18 points behind and looked to be getting a serious humping. They took the lead for the first time with less than a minute on the clock, having spent the previous six hours of the game losing and/or standing around waiting for TV ad breaks to finish.

And the key to their success? Good old God. Said Head Coach Tony Dungy, “We just have to thank the Lord. He did it in such a way that no one would believe it”. The Big Guy, it seems, is a Colts fan. Or at least he hates the Patriots. Viewing figures for the NFL continue to rise so it’s no wonder that God watches games but many are surprised to find that He supports the team from Indianapolis. Jerry Jones, owner of ‘America’s Team’, the Dallas Cowboys, was shocked, “I had always figured that He would be a fan of America’s Team. I mean, we are in Texas, His country, and we do have the hottest cheerleaders in the world (USA) and you’ve gotta know that God likes a piece of ass. Although His not being a fan would explain Romo’s fumble costing us the game against Seattle – it was His fault, the bastard!”

One reason given by some analysts for God being a Colt fan is that owner Jim Irsay really kisses His Ass, “There’s a lot of glory up here with this trophy (AFC Championship). As the humble leader of this organization, we’re giving all the glory to God”. And according to Dungy God really is a bit of a glory hunter, “The Lord tested us a lot this year, but He set this up to get all the glory.”

Bill Belichick, Head Coach of the Patriots, was understandably irritated by the biblical turn of events. “God wasn’t on their team sheet so it annoys the hell out of me that he should suit up and play. I mean, we were dicking all over them until he decides to play.”

A number of religious organisations feel that God doesn’t even care about football, let alone have a favourite team. Pastor Edward Gannet of Eastbuttfucky, Ohio, stated that “to suggest that God watches football games is plainly ridiculous. You only have to listen to any speech from the President to know that God is working overtime helping Bush so He is hardly going to have time to worry about sport”.

Many ordinary, fat-assed Americans have also disagreed that God is a Colts fan. A typical reaction was that of 29 year old Corey Bill Hilly who, while digesting a kilo of chocolate mumbled, “Gawd don’t give no fuck bout football. That just stoopid talkin. He too busy kickin Iraqi ass in Afghanistania”.

Even so, other NFL teams will have taken note of the Colts success and will be hoping to persuade God to switch allegiance in the off season. The only exception to that rule is well known Devil worshipper and owner of the Washington Redskins, Dan Snyder. “I’m sticking with Satan,” said the reptilian Snyder. He’s made me millions and now he’s going to win me a Super Bowl. And if he doesn’t fucking well deliver soon I’m demanding my soul back”.

God was unavailable for comment.

Darts: The Dream at Frimley Green.

Combine the greatest game in the world (darts) with the greatest arena in the world* (Lakeside, Frimley Green) and the greatest competition in the world** (the British Darts Organisation World Championship) and add in the two greatest athletes in the world*** (Martin ‘Wolfie’ Adams verus Phil ‘Nixie’ Nixon) and the result is the greatest sporting contest ever. In the history of the world. Ever****.

Wolfie Adams, looking like a pale Cassius Clay in his prime, raced out to a 6-0 lead and appeared set to confirm his number one seeding with a comprehensive victory. "I was kicking his arse," said Wolfie. But he didn’t count on the incredible strength of mind and body shown by rank outsider Nixie Nixon. Throwing caution to the wind and, at last, darts to the board, 58 year old Nixie, with the menacing prowl of a rampant Mike Tyson and the clear thinking of a young Aristotle, rocketed back into the match.

Suddenly winning like it was going out of fashion, Nixie found himself back on level terms at 6-6. "Having got my arse kicked for 6 games I started kicking his arse," said Nixie. Wolfie, 56 years young and sporting a magnificent collection of sovereign rings, looked stricken. His arm, hitherto as strong as tempered steel, began to wobble like a footballer’s bottom lip. Under the most intense pressure ever faced by any one individual since a young Jesus H. Christ found himself in the possession of a coat of many colours, Wolfie looked down and out. But, just as Christ rose to the occasion and wore the technicolour dreamcoat against all style logic, Wolfie reared up like a lithe salmon swimming upstream, dodging outstretched bear paws.

Mrs Wolfie, the delightful, leopard skin clad Sharon, could watch no longer and ran to the ladies cloakroom in distress; "I couldn’t take it no more," she said. "That fat noddy husband of mine was throwing it away and I couldn’t watch so I went and hid in the shitter." But Wolfie, his astounding conditioning coming to the fore, drove onward. Unbending. Unbowed. This was athleticism. This was valour.

Coming only a few days after the untimely withdrawal of former champion and national superstar Andy ‘The Viking’ Fordham, who unexpectedly collapsed after a routine training session of 43 pints and 10 burgers, this final was just the tonic the nation needed. Fordham, after emergency hair of the dog and sweat absorption treatment, is expected to recover in due course. Indeed, sources close to the 83 stone superstar suggest that he is already building up to 20 pints a morning. However, national concern for The Viking turned to unbelievable tension across the country with hundreds tuning in as news spread of Nixie’s great comeback from Valhalla itself.

The atmosphere at Lakeside was electric as a host of celebrities and beautiful people chewed their nails, watched from behind their hands and knocked back 15 pints per person on average. Salt and vinegar crisps were sold out within minutes of the first dart being lobbed and you could literally have cut the atmosphere with a knife after most had digested their food. It was like a Beatles concert with a special guest appearance from Elvis thrown in. Screaming women moistened at the sight of these darting gods and drunken men began to question their sexuality in the face of such unvarnished testosterone.

Against all odds and logic, showing more courage than any winner of the Victoria Cross, Wolfie took the decider and the championship. 7-6. He had done it. A dream fulfilled. For Nixie the pain of defeat but surely there will come a time when he will look back and feel nothing but pride at being part of history.

The Rumble in The Jungle, The Thriller in Manilla and now the Dream at Frimley Green. Wolfie a Titan, Nixie a Colossus. Zeus and Apollo. Hannibal and Scipio. Jason and the Argonauts. Jamie and the Magic Torch. The irresistible object and the immoveable force. Two perfectly matched athletes at the peak of their powers, two superhuman sportsmen in the zone. What drama. What spectacle. What darts.

*excluding The Circus Tavern, Purfleet.
**excluding the Professional Darts Corporation which has all the best players.
***excluding Phil ‘The Power’ Taylor and Raymond ‘Barney’ Barneveld of the PDC.
****excluding the PDC final at The Circus Tavern between Phil ‘The Power ‘Taylor and Raymond ‘Barney’ Barneveld.

Cricket: Brett Lee sings, Australian cricket dies a little inside.

All of of the fine work done by the Australian cricket team in crushing the gumptionless England and regaining the Ashes has been undone. Brett Lee, previously known as a fast buffet chucker has shamed himself, his family, his friends and his country.

Think Chesney Hawks in a curry house.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c3CeAKdDPQ

Cricket: England get within 77 runs of giving the Aussies a walloping. Take that you Aussie drongo!

The England cricket team is celebrating its finest result of the winter, raising hopes of an improved performance in the upcoming VD one day series. Having arrived in Australia confident of defending the Ashes that they famously won in 2005, England have been seriously twatted by their hosts in the test series, losing every game by a massive margin.

Hopes were raised that England might turn things around in the Twenty:20 game as the Aussies, seemingly taking the piss, picked some unknowns from the crowd to spearhead their bowling attack while resting all of the first choice bowlers. Gone were Bollywood singer/songwriter Brett Lee, trundling legend Glenn McGrath and his clone Stuart Clark and up stepped Sydney dock worker Ben Hilfenthing, Tasmanian pest controller Cameron White and unemployed bum scratcher Nathan Bracken.

The Aussies, who are still mourning the death of crocodile hunter and pervert Shane Warne, almost saw this bold selection blow up in their repugnant faces as England got within a mere 77 runs of victory, by far the closest that they have come to winning on tour.

“It was a magnificent effort from the boys,” smiled ginger fielder Paul Collingwood MBE. “We could taste victory and really felt that we were competitive again out there. This is a warning to those Australian bastards that we are coming back into form at just the right time with the all important VD series coming up”.

Racist coach Duncan Fletcher MBE was ecstatic at the improvement from his team and even raised an eyebrow in classic Roger Moore style, such was his wobbly jowled delight. “I was happy to see the team play so well and get so close to winning. I thought that the selection was spot on and preparation was perfect and that was reflected out there on the field. This is by far the closest that we have come to winning to date and we will get even closer before this series is over”.

Aussie skipper and irritating turd Ricky Ponting AA was pleased to see his side beat England yet again and showed typical Australian grace and humility in victory; “Jeez those blokes are shit but. Even fucking Cameron White took a wicket. Cameron Fucking White!”

Australia, a country completely lacking in any subtlety or refinement, has been disappointed at the spineless showings of the feeble England team. This is the first game that has not finished early and the Aussie selectors may have to consider further changes in policy to ensure a competitive VD series. “Mate, by picking some club players to bowl we have gone some way to bridging the gap between the two sides and ensuring a more competitive series but,” said chairman of selectors John Howard. “We are considering picking some schoolboys or maybe even a couple of sheilas to open the batting. That way, we’ll still win but at least England will go the distance.”

With crippled skipper Michael Vaughan MBE once again taking the reigns and Steve Harmison MBE putting in his best performance yet from his nan’s house, England are hoping that this narrow loss will signal a turn in fortune after one of the worst tours in living memory. Said Vaughany MBE, “I was delighted with the lads. Encouragingly, Jimmy Anderson bettered his test form and actually went for less runs and Jon Lewis really added a spark to the fielding. With young Paul Nixon giving a master class in the sweep and reverse sweep, I can confidently say that we can get even closer to winning over the upcoming weeks. And, God willing, Ashley will be back to oil the stumps soon. God I miss him”.

Rugby: Out with the old and in with the really old for England.

New England rugby coach Brian Ashton has looked back to the future to breathe new life into the beleaguered national team by selecting proven players from yesteryear. Out go forward looking selection plans and in come 43 year old South African Mike Catt, 38 year old God-botherer Jason Robinson, 39 year old fat thug Steve Thompson and washed up 42 year old rugby league star Andy Farrell. Even more of a surprise has been the selection of 78 year old simpleton and former Question of Sport team captain Billy Beaumont. Many have questioned this selection but Ashton is adamant that Billy can still perform as well as any second row in England; “Bill’s experience of performing at the highest level while captain, under the fierce pressure of a studio audience and tough questioning from David Colemanballs, makes him an ideal choice to anchor the side”.

Perhaps the most exciting news of all for fans of the dismal England team is the recall of broken dullard Johnny Wilkinson. Little Johnny, kicking machine, world cup hero and the most boring person on the planet apart from Michael Owen and possibly Alan Shearer, last turned out for Wycombe under 13s and played 14 minutes before suffering a season ending burst scrotum injury. Although Johnny is likely to spend most of the year on crutches he is still thought to be a better option at the pivotal fly half position than anything else England has. Says Johnny, “I’ve worked out a way of holding both of my crutches in the same hand and freeing up my left leg to kick the ball. While I haven’t been able to tackle since 2003 because both of my shoulders have turned to dust I am still as sure a tackler as Charlie Hodgson (feeble accountant and Wilkinson understudy before suffering a season ending injury to his hair). I am confident that I can do a job for England.”

England, with more registered rugby players than the rest of world rugby has people, hasn’t won a game since unexpectedly grinding out victory in the 2003 world cup. They can’t even beat shitty Scotland, a country that hasn’t produced a world class athlete since Jocky Wilson. The RFU, the governing body of the English game that former captain and Princess Di porker Will Carling dubbed, “57 complete cunts”, are banking on gruff northern misery Ashton repairing the damage done by former coach and long time imbecile Andy ‘Pandy’ Robinson. Ashton has previous experience as a national coach with Ireland, where he was a complete and utter failure.

Sir Clive Sinclair, coach of the world cup winning team and a big head who can’t resist poking his nose in where it is not wanted was cautious over the Ashton appointment. Said Sir Clive, “I would have chosen a winner and a knight of the realm. After unprecedented success in rugby, then football with Southampton FC and now as CEO and Executive King of Elite Performance Management for Olympic Stuff, I would have chosen myself. Remember, I wrote the book on winning. Literally. I called it Winning. It’s about winning. And me.”

A leaked RFU document details ambitious plans for the England team over the next 5 years. Called “Stopping the Shame” the document lists two key targets; 1. To stop other countries laughing at how shit England are. 2. To beat the Wops by 2009 and be competitive with the Jocks by 2011.

Ashton would make no comment on the secret plans but did express his excitement at the upcoming squad sessions; “I can’t wait to see what position we should play Andy Farrell and the prospect of seeing Billy Beaumont rocketing down the field, ball in hand, with his twinkle toed sidestep and lightening acceleration still there from the 50’s, eeeeeee, it’s going to be right great.”