Well I think any proud son would not react well to foul words about his mom….
But us South Africans tend to take those kind of transgressions very very personally :)
Joe Marler is nice guy actually….on field it was just his tough guy persona….
Well I think any proud son would not react well to foul words about his mom….
But us South Africans tend to take those kind of transgressions very very personally :)
Joe Marler is nice guy actually….on field it was just his tough guy persona….
Suffolk, mum read this article with me.
We both had a good chuckle. She said “if only my son knew how often you ripped me a new one”!
To which we both giggled and began to bang reverse cowgirl on the old sofa.
But yes, Marler is one of my favourite non springboks.
Dave very nice story about Nche - but if my memory is correct I think he had simmilar problems with Beast and Kitshof as well. Big mouth lands you in deep shit. 
Chip don’t you think it’s time to change the channel
Bit fucking boring you idiot
No TV needed in my house son.
Mommy keeps us quite busy most of the time.
Chip don’t you think it’s time to change the channel
Same old boring sordid slop dressed up as humour, never ever a half decent rugby or cricket post in decades.
It’s too fucking stupid to work out that the same old same old has long run its course
Oh well
& ffs. get a new pikcha .....................
& ffs. get a new pikcha .....................
who are you referring to?
Careful Chip
Once aunty went panty Denise get's her implants in twist, the risk of having your eyes scratched out increases.
Watchout, she also throws lipstick.
Oh Denny....
You made me wait so long for some form of communication.
I was starting to think that you'd run away from Oz!
@David, if you're waiting for my come back, you can scrape it off your mum's teeth.
27,948 posts
Great article here from Joe Marler the Harlequin’s prop who’s just retired.
You try not to feel fear, as an international rugby player. Definitely not as a front-row forward. And then you play South Africa, and a scrum gets called, and suddenly it's the scariest thing that's ever hit you.
Here's how it happens. You go to bind up. Then the fight begins in your head. The doubts: these boys are the best in the world, this is going to hurt, if it goes wrong, this is going to go really wrong.
The challenges: yeah they're the best in the world, so this is exactly where I want to be, and if we can get parity or even the upper hand, this could be the most beautiful thing we ever do on a rugby field.
It's not like any other scrum, when you're up against the Boks. Some international teams you can half get away with it, if you're struggling. If you get your engagement wrong you can deck it or try to win a penalty.
Not against this lot. If it goes wrong, they feed you into the mangle. And so it's a powerful feeling to be engulfed by, this intense mixture of scared and excited and fearful. You engage and they push and you try to hold and you think: my entire reputation in rugby will be in tatters if I don't get this right.
You know what I'm like. I've got a reputation for giving it some chat on the pitch. It's sort of true, but only partially: I was rubbish at it. I engaged in it throughout my international career, but I never perfected the art. It just got me in more trouble. I worked something out early on. South Africans can be easy to rile up, because they do take it personally. There's just one major problem: if you're a flat-track bully like me, you soon find out they'll tear you a new one in the process.
That's how it went when I tried it against the best Boks front rowers. Harlequins were playing the Sharks in Durban in the European Cup. Mbongeni Mbonambi and Ox Nche were on fire.
As Ox sent us backwards in the scrum for the third time in three minutes, he started giving me a few choice words. I said something back about something I'd done to a maternal relative of his.
I hadn't done that thing. Of course I hadn't. But I very soon wished I hadn't even pretended to do that thing, because it went down really badly. I'd stirred the beast within, and the beast wanted revenge.
One of their back-rowers came over to me as Ox was giving me the evil eye. 'Joe mate, I know you like a bit of sledging, but mum chat doesn't go down well, particularly with Ox,' he said.
They were kind words of advice but entirely unnecessary. You could have been in the car park and still spotted the form of revenge he wanted to take on me.
A few months later we played the Stormers. After the match we got delayed at Cape Town airport, and decided to have a few beers. The Sharks were travelling back themselves. Some of our South African contingent got invited. I went over with them. I'd forgotten.
Then I spotted Ox at the opposite end of the table. No words. Just eyeballs. Relentless, non-stop eyeballs.
I decided I had to do something about it. So I took a deep breath, walked over and held my hand out. 'Look mate,' I said. 'I'm so sorry. I do these things because I'm not as good at rugby as you, so I try to find other ways to compete.'
What a gent. We shook hands, we bought each other beers, we became quite intoxicated in each other's company. And I will never say those things about a Springbok front row's mother ever again.