Willy’s wee willie
Can you believe it? The sport of rugby league has been dragged into controversy yet again! But there is a difference this time: instead of a heterosexual scandal, this time we have a homosexual scandal.
Well, perhaps it’s not a homo scandal as such but it does involve onanism and it was all-male action. Wait, don’t lose your breakfast just yet, there is a simple explanation. There’s always a simple explanation for every tawdry headline that buffets this game. The people who play it are dickheads. Is that too harsh? Perhaps you’re right. Not all rugby league players are dickheads – just a lot of them.
And that is beginning to really upset a lot of people because we actually like the game. We can’t wait for Friday Night Football and we love our Sunday arvo footy. Cricket in summer is an acceptable alternative but it just takes so long!
Anyway . . . the latest headlines expose Sydney Roosters’ bullocking boofhead, Willie Mason – Man Mountain and Empty Vessel in equal measure. Seems that after Saturday’s game he went for a quick chat at a salubrious hotel near where lots of Sydney toffs live. While he was there, all that Gatorade he drank to replenish lost fluids while he was playing finally made their way into his little collector bag.
So, what does he do? He goes outside and pisses it up against a wall. Just like that. Except there’s a photographer standing there with a full flashlight and captures the whole thing. Well, certain minor parts were hidden from view by Willie’s lovely suit jacket. But there’s no mistaking that sweet look of relief on Willie’s face as his specimen drained away.
What? You think there could be another meaning for that look of relief. You don’t think . . . No! That’s disgusting. Willie’s often called a wanker but surely he wouldn’t . . . Nah. Well, I wouldn’t have thought so but then again . . . I have always thought that crowd yell: ‘Willie, you wally’ had a certain poignancy to it. Well, well, well, who would have thought?
But, no, we can’t prove that so we’d better stick to the facts as they have been reported. Which is that Willie was doing a wee. Now, this is where I get confused. I mean, he’s at a really nice, upmarket pub, okay? Sort of place where the toilets probably don’t even have that earthy, raw pungency you get at a footy ground at half-time. These toilets probably even had hand towels. So, why the need to pop outside and wave your little fella around for all the world to photograph?
Did Willie think he was in the modelling game? Did he think it was his duty to help keep paparazzi away from higher-profile celebrities? Did he think . . . No, wait, I’m being silly here. This is Willie Mason, right? For heaven’s sake, we all know he hasn’t had a sensible thought since he reckoned the Blues were going to win State of Origin some three years ago. Oh, that was just bravado and not a considered assessment of the facts. Yeah, right!
So, why would Willie, all dressed up in his flash suit and tie, feel the need to relieve himself but instead of just going to the loo like any normal person would, he wanders outside into the cool evening air and takes aim at a pub wall? WHY? No doubt the Roosters’ CEO is asking himself the very same question as he lies prostrate on his office floor smashing his head repeatedly into the tatty carpet just in front of his desk where he lines up his superstars every few days or so and reads them The Riot Act about the need to behave sensibly (we won’t even bring the concept of decently into this debate) when in public.
Now, there is ONE thought that occurs to me. Is Big Willie afraid to stand at a urinal in case inquisitive fans or even just a bored fellow whizzer take a peek and see what he’s got ‘down there’? And if he’s afraid to be seen, as it were, what is he afraid of?
There’s one thing I’ve learned about men in my life and it is this: size matters. Yes, having been told this by many women in my life over several decades, I now accept what they say. Not much I can do about it but I accept what they say.
And I know this, too: no man I’ve ever encountered has been concerned about his equipment on the basis that it was too big. In fact, I doubt that any man EVER has considered he had too much of a good thing in that department. Which raises the speculation that Big Willie may just be Wee Willie. But, whatever else can be said about this incident, one thing is definitely for sure. Even if his willy is not wee, his bloody poor excuse for a brain is surely the size of a pea. Dickhead!