I considered including some photos of Piggy and the Ox here, but I couldn't find any photos of the only thing Mark Riddell's ever done that I actually approve of, which was that incredible try celebration where he leaped into the stands and took a seat and casually applauded HIS OWN TRY. Youtube it, bitches.
More importantly, I don't particularly want pictures of crusty men I don't much like fouling up my blog, what with it being pure as the driven snow and all, so I've opted instead to post pictures of Pete Doherty.
The Roosters signing Riddell confused me from the get-go. The Roosters are a confusing organisation in general, really. I know they rate buying over breeding and that Politis and Noyce and the rest of the Rooster fat-cats would climb over their own mothers to get a big name signing but Piggy had practically been put out to pasture over in England, what the hell did they want with a flabby goose of his kind when they could steal *ahem* I mean lure basically anyone they wanted to their esteemed club? (I'd insert a smug 'except Josh Dugan' crack here but I have no faith in the assurances from either party that there is nothing going on in terms of offers and courtings for 2013 and as such I try not to think about it because it pains me beyond belief and I have enough problems as it is).
Matt Orford, despite proving to be, along with Timana Tahu for the Panthers, probably the NRL's worst off-season buy, looked good on paper at least. The Raiders had a gaping hole in their halves and how were they to know that Joey Johns' specialist halves coaching was going to pay off and that all Joshy McCrone's chickens were finally going to come home to roost in 2011? Some would argue that it's the coach's responsibility to foresee such developments but us Raiders fans know not to expect too much from David Furner. He has enough on his plate this year just trying to get his head around the newfangled idea that his forward pack needs to be going forward, cut the bitch some slack.
Anyway, Orford's signing proved educational if nothing else, because a costly lesson was quickly learnt; namely, that 'on paper' and 'in person' are two monumentally different things that are as far apart as, say, Tori Spelling's misshapen tits. As such, Orford proved to be a monumental fizzer. Some - me, at least, and probably those people who keyed his Audi after another diabolical performance - would even go so far as to call him a fucking liability. Watching Orford play early in the year made me realise that I had hitherto not known what a truly terrible kicking game looked like. I guess I could thank the Ox for the educational element he provided for me, but I would have preferred to have learnt how bad someone could be while watching the Rabbitohs or some other such team that I can't stand, rather than, you know, the team that I love savagely, so it's safe to say that a fruit basket will not be forthcoming. Unless he announces his retirement. And even then I'd still be more likely to send him a lump of calcified dog shit or something.