I usually run match days with military precision; hearty breakfast, daily papers for silly previews and predictions and a reorganising of the fridge to accommodate a few tins of beer or twenty. And with all but one of the brats being dispatched to various friends houses to minimise distractions (I always keep one to fetch the beer) the day is as close to perfect as it can get before you know the final score.

Saturday, however, starting with the minor irritation of getting shell in my scrambled eggs, highlighted some serious flaws in the regime.

In trying to save a rain forest or two, that and I was too lazy to go to the shop, I decided to browse the net for my rugby fix. It was in this lazily altruistic mood that I discovered that one of my little darlings had cracked the screen on my laptop and I was bereft of the world wide web. Of course, “it was the fairies that did it”, so, having to invent cruel and unusual punishments to extract a confession from one of them, I overlooked the fact that I didn’t have any beer in the house never mind the fridge. Disaster  – and that’s before the kick -off!

Pff – not a happy bunny! To compound it further our performance was… well… what can I say? Not a lot, as this is a family friendly site and a long line of expletives would not be that insightful, helpful or in the best of taste. Dismissing it as a ‘friendly’, as my delusional father tried to do, is not comforting – there’s no such thing as a friendly in rugby!We’re doomed I tell you, DOOMED!

Maybe a slight over-reaction but it had been a bad day. And one that got even worse when it came to my attention that many dedicated rugby followers were being forced to work! What a sad state of affairs. Cruel and evil bosses were denying them the fundamental right of all rugby fans everywhere to congregate, in the name of the greatest sport of all time, consume copious amounts of liquid refreshment and chant at TV screens – preferably ones that are showing the match.



This cannot be allowed to continue and having followed the fortunes of Pastafarian Man, Niko Alm, I am convinced that Ulsterfarian Man would attract a substantial number of believers. Our ceremonial headgear is much more creative and symbolic than a colander and we all know it wasn’t the Flying Spaghetti Monster who created the world while inebriated, it was Sparky. Our hallowed leader and one true being, who deigns to walk among us lesser mortals and teach us the way of the scrum.

All believers are asked to contribute to our theological teachings and as soon as we finish writing the 15 (a holy number in the world of all things rugby!) commandments we will distribute them to all employers, the Court of Human Rights, the Supreme Court and…

…and just to get us started I would recommend that we include:

‘Thou shalt not covet the opposing team’s asses (too blatantly) – it’s bad for morale!’

And before I get sexist jibes – our lads’ derrieres aren’t too bad either!

Rest easy my children – Sparky will save you from this cruel servitude to the infidel boss man!


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