So England are still a disgrace. Yes, that’s right, a f***ing disgrace. “OOOh whoopee-do! Jonny’s back again” you’ll hear various BBC pundits purr while chewing on a portion of the Geordie cripples’ destended rectum, but let me be the first of many to once again say he was ****. Yes, that’s right, ****! Now I’m well known as a fan of not keeping a player on the books for longer then they deserve, but Wilkinson is beginning to take the (arse) biscuit. Durex boy has always been over-rated, but never more then over the last 4Â½ years when he cannot even complete a season without another operation or a spell in rehab. The ferret-faced cheese-weasel since 2002 has lost everything he ever possessed resembling pace, strength & vision, whilst in the first place he never could tackle legally nor keep a cool head while on the back foot. Now that Mike Catt (not my cat) is no longer in the England line-up to wipe his arse every time he shits all over the future of English rugby, Wilkinson has become a panicking, bumbling fool. Anyone who describes own performance against Italy (when it as bad as that) as “Fantastic” must have taken one too many blows to the head and has lost the plot. Anyone with a heart would have mercy and take him out through the back gate of Twickenham with a handful of sugar cubes to put a bolt through his brain. That’s not all, as one man has eclipsed the media fuelled hilarious presence of Wilkinson more then Vanessa Feltz’ arse would on a newborn Chi Wawa puppy… Ian Balshaw began his England career around the turn of the Millennium and has been pretty much a constant ever since. When I say constant, I mean consistent. And when I say consistent, I mean he resembles a big steaming puddle of diarrhoea. Against Wales, Baths’ favourite son was involved in one shape or another in every decent bit of Welsh play, be it shying away from defending, running the ball back towards his own goal line or simply staring at the cock of a man in row Z instead of kicking away a clearance. The great Jessie. Against the Italians, well let’s not go there. Despite all the efforts put in and apparently turning a corner to reach the World Cup final in 2007, England are once again the laughing stock of world rugby by keeping top the well kept traditions and commandments of the RFU. These are as follows; 1. Thou shalt only select players of the clubs best conformist to RFU money making ideals. 2. Thou shalt only play for England if you have previously played for England. 3. Thou shalt not distribute the ball among your backs nor run with the ball. 4. Thou shalt believe in Rob Andrew and his championship winning management ability. 5. Thou shalt not care for the well being of your club as international standard players can be picked out of fresh air. 6. Thou shalt not become national champions by winning the Premiership. 7. Thou shalt not overspend your wage cap unless you are of the holy trinity. 8. Thou shalt not compete in a domestic cup competition above the 2nd tier. Hardly what I call fair. So now in a desperate attempt to think of something different then the bile that comes from Twickenham. On the domestic front, it’s happy days. Well, not if you’re an up and coming club with aspirations of one day reaching the top flight this season as the one and only promotion slot has already all but been taken by Northampton. That plucky, lowly ND1 side who toppled both the English champions and European champion in the past 12 months are all but home and dry being technically 15 points clear with only 32-40 points available to the only real rivals left, within the next 3 weeks the season could well be over. TOO f***ING RIGHT IT IS. Northampton are one of the biggest sides in the country, no, world, with some of the biggest names and best players in the world, yet they’ve spent a season in the sodding National League. Maybe I’m arrogant to say we fully deserved to win the league, but it’s a fact. They cocked up last year with some **** recruitments brought in to cover injured players and paid the price. So many NL1 side fans bleat is “Oh, they have a parachute payment, that’s why they’re top”. No, they’re top because they are 100 times better then your side will ever be, knobhead. It’s not “real rugby” just because it’s not in the top flight and I’m not a glory hunter just because my local side, who’s ground from I live less then a 5 minute walk, are former European Champions. If I hear one more idiot from the south west of England or Yorkshire say the contrary to me again… Pitty really, because apart from those knobheads there’s been some good people travelling. While for some people a day out to Franklins Gardens will be the biggest thing in their sporting lives, to me it was an excuse to stand on the terrace, drinking over priced beer while watching Chris Ashton scoring tries for fun. The sooner normality is resumed and I can watch Saints rip Saracens to pieces again, the better. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it Prestwick. Saracens suck. Yeah!