I'm all angry about these modern day so-called rugby players, I know why they have gone all soft - It's because of poncy names. That's what it is.

Remember in the old days, when players chucked round a ball made out of ten pound of clay stitched inside a steel-reinforced leather shell with laces made out of piano wire?


Well, in them days players could only survive the rigors of the game because they were called things like Albert, Arthur, Bert, Gareth, Bill, Dai, Ken, Jack and Tommy. Tough names for tough men, them was.


And what do we have now? Jonah, Oliver, Rory, Gavin, Jamie, Johnny. Tarts' names, they are. Great big puffs. No wonder the ball's like a balloon and socks are made of silk. And pads! In the old days you never saw a Carwyn James or a Tony O’Reilly with puffy little tampons on their shoulders. Shoulder pads in them days was made out of library books, and socks was made of flour bags.


Same with the jerseys. Bloody shirts with holes in now so they can breathe.
Yes, so that little Jody's hairless chest can breathe and doesn't get a chill. Piss off. Ken Jones used to jink round New Zealand's finest wearing a circus tent and shorts cobbled together from the jacket of his de-mob suit. Aye, he did. No wonder players fall over all the time whenever an opponent comes anywhere near them.

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