This year’s trip to the Cowra Twilight Tens was everything it promised to be for yet another year. We all trundled out there in the usual convoy with the exception of yours truly, Gary “Mozart” Watson and Scotty “Skinhead” Wiltshire, accompanied by a cat named Stinkbum we dropped for a weekend’s leave in Orange. A long story.
No, I’m not going to tell you it.
The three of us arrived in Cowra on the Friday a day earlier happy to enjoy the relative peace compared to Sydney. This is something you never seem to be able to impress upon people who live in the bush. They can’t see the great things about where they live i.e. the quiet, the space, the community, the lack of absolute pricks and the non-existent traffic. And we can’t seem to see the benefits of Sydney; i.e. having plenty to do with your time.
First Schooner...
We soon found out what the opposite of that was like after our first schooner. After a short pub crawl where we met a delightful local Aboriginal man who borrowed several cigarettes and begged us for beer money we managed to find our way to the RSL club. I don’t remember ever facing the West and pledging my remembrance to our fallen diggers wearing shorts and thongs before, but life’s full of surprises like that. I’m surprised our new dependent didn’t ask if he could borrow them too.
Gazza: so shy!Several phlegm-cutters later and after a weak as piss win from the Waratahs we availed ourselves to Eagle-Boys and then to our salubrious digs in The Cowra Hotel.
I’ve never stood by an active volcano before and inhaled the toxic sulphurous fumes from the molten magma in the caldera, but after three blokes have had a night on Carlton Draught and Eagle boys I think I know how everyone within a hundred nautical miles of Krakatoa felt back in 1883. We could have done with a couple of spare toes to fit up a couple of active krakas, if you take my meaning. Paint which has been on walls for years was beginning to bubble under the chemical pressure of the funk.
"Paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrp!" 'scuse me...
After a feed at the Clown (get there at 10:30 am on the dot and they will serve you items from both menus Scott discovered: hello hash-browns on your hamburger) the rest of the crew rocked into town and we met them at the Cora Rugby Club under the same tent we always share with the Cowra crew. They were under strength this year and a few joined us again, including the physical and uncompromising Charlie, the speedy Kane and the irrepressible Jason (aka Mulloes) sporting yet another crazy punk haircut for the day.
“Whatcha gonna do next year” I heard an older supporter ask him later in the day.
“Buggered if I know” was his answer.
I reckon he should shock everyone and turn up with a nice bum-part plastered down with some Brylcreem, with some Revenge of the Nerds glasses. That’d fuck with their heads...
You can look, butcha carnt touch!
The day was hot and dry and the beer was cold and shithouse out of the keg so we stuck to the tinnies of Carlton Draught; great stuff. One of the most exciting and mind boggling sights of the day was witnessing the Doogie Howser of Referees in the form of a young whistler who couldn’t have been older than 12 – possibly even 11. What a novelty it was to see him penalize a player for off side only to be told to go straight to his room and no videogames for you. Hard to take a red card from a bloke who has never even pashed a bird, or had a night on the piss and who has a voice like the bogan chick from Tassie who won Big Brother a few years back on helium.
Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about, you remember her.
Kick-off: Let's GO!The Wolves hit the pitch and put on a strong start with Peter Nash putting on the gas, and not the type lingering in our hotel room. This was the start they needed and after an impressive win it was time to veg out in the tent. Duncan “Dr Evil” McLeod was on the piss from the night before and was keen to suck tinnies. I abstained from too many soups and paced myself. This didn’t stop the Evil One though and he continued to press a tinnie into my hand with more alarming regularity throughout the day.
Chillaxing in the tent: Fats scratches his "Boys"The next result was a little underdone. Without trying to criticize the boys they seemed to wait for something to happen instead of making it happen like they had earlier. “Coach” Wato called me a tool which slid off like Teflon as Fats mocked him for his indiscression. This poor form continued into the next match, but this isn’t to say they didn’t continue to put on good performances. It’s the nature of Tens Rugby, not unlike sevens, only slower; fate can give you a kick to the testes like losing feeling with a simple error which has little impact on a regular game.
Have a go ya mugs...
Fine individual efforts came from Captain Scuba Steve, Matty Philips, Nashy, Claude, Balls and Canadian Terry, the Canuck Ranga who tried to run defence at players not carrying the ball. You couldn’t fault his enthusiasm though as the bloke had only been in the country eight days and had only played rugby once “A long time ago”. In a galaxy far, far away perhaps..? All did well and we certainly got a lot of great help from the Cora boys, especially Kane with his fleet feet.
Troy makes a break...The best man on park for my mind was the ever-reliable Troy “Randy/The Wombat” Williams who was killing it in every facet of his game. He even made a clearing kick from a penalty on one occasion, his Aussie Rules skills coming to the fore.
...and Scores! Well done Wombat-boy!Gaz Watson and I coined a new nick-name for Troy the Boy;
Devon, due to the Ashley & Martin patch on the top of his head looking suspiciously like the end knob on a roll of the processed luncheon meat.
We don’t expect it to take off.
Scotty gets the ball from the field...
Then the field gets Scotty...
Then the fence gets the balls...The lads picked up as the day went on with another win which saw a try from Troy which was pure textbook. The conversion from Macca was great but the icing on the cake was seeing Scott have to trundle about in a field full of cat’s eyes in thongs retrieving the ball, before getting his scrotum caught on the barbed wire fence separating it from the playing fields. Incentive enough for more tries one would have thought.
Good sports one and all...
Ready for the next task
Making the semis for the plate was a real surprise, but not as much as the shock the Campbelltown Rugby Club players and supporters were faced with when the Devonater (Troy) intercepted in front of their posts to score and take the lead. They were shocked as shit and truly didn’t know what to do with themselves. A great deal of woggy gesticulating and gnashing of teeth was taking place on the sideline, and it was more entertaining than the game which was pretty damn good.
Mixing it up with CampbelltownFinally the bubble burst with just a couple of minutes to go when a Lebbo looking bloke with a bad Quade Cooper mullet tore out of the side of a ruck and raced down an undefended wing to score. A shame, but even if it’s the opposition I always dig seeing a front rower score a try. I would have preferred if it was Troy again though I can tell you.
"Win or Lose boys... Those are the two options you have"“Never mind; that’s footy” I thought as the Campbelltown crowd went off like a Hesbula Semtex barbeque and the rest of us could finally crack a tube. The boys hit it with relish and we watched a few more games and enjoyed the presentation. The only dampener was Terry having his wallet stolen which I believe he left outside the stall whilst he had a shower at the club. I understand Canada is a very trusting and honest society if you pay attention to what Michael Moore says but this was pretty low. I bought him a beer and we all vowed to chip in to shout him out for the night.
Back to spectating...I really regretted not piling all the wallets and phones into one bag like I did last year and carrying them around with me, the most annoying fucking ringtones buzzing in my ear throughout the day. Something we will have to remember next time.
Hotel Cowra: Not Quite The Ritz
Scoober holds court on the site of The Sprinkler in his freshly tumble-dried pre shrunk THRC Jersey
What a lovely painting (Barf)We head off into town as Gaz left a trail of freshly drunk but not digested beer behind him like a fire truck with the hose left on, all the way to Scotty’s car. Back in town we availed ourselves to the Hotel Cowra common room, with a fresh Esky full of booze and a few good chuckles before Wato let the sprinkler off. WOOOSH went the sprinkler and down went the target. Molto awkward silencio.
Five mins away from The Sprinkler
Onnit at the Railway Gaz signals for another chardonnay...
Gabbin' it up at the railway... That jersey ain't stretched out any..!
Claudey heads off to the bog...
Gaz and Elle legge'n it to the Townhouse
The Brains-Trust show their smarter sides...
Gassy-Gaz and Scott -The-Bot working on Saturday nights' Methane
Dr Evil Weaving back and forward on his stool at the Townhouse
Fuck-know's what's in those cups; looks like some shit out of Harry Potter
Some of the local (cough) talent. I won't say "Who put the 'COW' in Cowra..." Whoops - I just did...
What a terrific way to get everyone to go out, I thought and we legged it the 400-or-so meters to the Railroad Hotel, who sponsor Cowra Rugby now. Dr Evil, refreshed from the sprinkler took a break for some nuggets from KFC. The Railroad was a pretty cool joint and we had a few out in the cruisey beergarden out back. This was a good opportunity for the lads to meet some other players from other clubs and have a yarn. We then split to hit the Townhouse for a few until later. We had to bale in a hurry, I'm ashamed to admit that Scott had bought an extra schooner in the last shout and I actually poured it out into the dirt as we were all chockers. The Townhouse is the only pub which stays open late we were told, and wouldn't be letting blokes in after 11 pm. The bar staff were shithouse considering they would have made a pretty penny out of the impromptu gathering. It was a pretty low key affair by previous standards and we all wound up back at the hotel for a few from the Esky.
Chillaxing in da crib, Nashy displays what a dry argument looks like
Or so we hoped: because...
The beers…
Weren’t…
There…
Rhys getting some ak-shun from the plush toy; look left Rhys, look left...
Fully sick bro... What dirty bastard did thaaat..?
$%^%^ken thieving %5E&*^s was the general consensus.
Damn. That sucks. Full of ice, and nothing to drink. Either it was some old kooky loon who lives there who flogged them or it was the publican, smartly pinching them to keep us off the piss and rowdy. Too late for that I thought. Then Macca remembered his bottle of whisky in his bag… You beauty. Jim Beam on the Rocks, not bad (we had plenty of ice).
Peter and Ben: aka "Nashy" and "Balls"
Steve returned with an ashen face: Nup. Stolen. This was beginning to look very ordinary indeed, but there was little we could do about it so we made our own fun.
Claude: go and get us a sausage roll mate...
The rest of the night’s pretty hazy-fantazy for me but I do recall Rhys and Claude doing nudie nuns outside the hotel; as Rhys chased a busload of punters over Cowra Bridge starkers, Claude did a run for a sausage roll at the Servo across the river. We chucked our thongs at them and I never did get my left one back (so I stole Rhys’ the next day).
Piss-funny, laaaaaugh-out-loud piss-funny
Shortly thereafter, a Paddy wagon pulled up in the middle of the intersection, and the copper driving leaned out the window and asked us:
“Did you send a mate out for a sausage roll..?”
“Yeah” replied Scuba Steve.
“Well he forgot the sauce..” said the comedy cop. What a good bloke.
Funniest policemen since Axle Foley.
Scuba cacks-out at the hilarious cop...
Mmmm, sausage roll, I thought, and trundled off to the servo for a couple myself (clothes on, I’m sure you’re all relieved to hear). Yum; I was Lee Marvin-starv’n. It was the first solid to pass my lips in about ten hours, except for the golly I hocked up in the Townhouse toilets earlier.
Matty Philips with some spot-on social commentary...
It was only on Claude’s return that we learnt he had been chased like an escaped Japanese POW in 1944 all around the town, at one point even hiding in the river. What a trooper we thought, although I suspect it was just the cops geeing him up judging by the reaction of the police earlier.
The night wore on with some of the local jailbait stopping by for some polite conversation; I’d had enough. They were nice enough girls (nice enough for Claude) but these were people who thought Robbie Williams was a boring old fart; what the fuck would they make of me..? A fat silly father figure I imagine, and not a very positive one at that I suspect.
“Are you the bloke from Family Guy” more than likely; I have the chins for it nowadays.
If only I could pass Troy of as my bone-head son I’d say “Yes”: but he’s way to bright for that (he’s a front rower you understand). Mind you, he does look like Randy Hicky from My Name is Earl…
"Ewwww Toungey-sambos are the worst" ... And is that Macca or a wax statue of him..?
So I retired without saying so (the only way to go) for the evening to the gasworks where Gaz was lying on his back snoring looking like a shot-roo next to the over-turned upright fan, Scotty was marginally quieter on the top bunk with his noxious buttocks hanging over the side of his mattress pointed dangerously in my direction, and the taxing load of 45+ beers weighing heavily on my urethra… But then again, I do like to wake up in the morning, go to the toilet, and then get out of bed. One day I must try and get that the in the correct order.
The Brady-Bunch Reunion left a little to be desired... Cindy turned out to be a total slut
Off in the morning for another drive chaperoning Stinkbum (and his cat, Stinkbum Jr) back to Sydney, where we shitcanned Grasscarting (see last years effort on pageflakes - link front page) this time and dropped Fats off at the busiest Maccas in the world (Lithgow) where he was bitterly disappointed to discover his car which is insured for 4 times it’s value was still in it’s parking space. Oh well, never mind Andrew, there’s always Sydney crime to fix that.
So another Cowra trip came and went and we all learnt a lesson or two, chiefly beer is good but other people seem to think that also, said people will pinch shit if it isn’t tied down, and the Cowra cops are cooler than three Fonzies, which might have something to do with one another.
But all in all it was a good trip.
So until next time, say hello to your mum for me, be excellent to each other, eat your greens, choose life, don’t let the bed bugs bite, rotate your tyres, and remember as Donna and I say, have a musical day.
Coatsie (aka “Le Fleur”)
Beetroots looks a bit Beaten and Rooted...
