I THINK THESE TWO GUYS LOOK ALIKE - AM I BLIND?

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                                                           JACK WHITEHALL - comedian 

ISCO - Real Madrid footballer

Sports stars say the funniest things - more laughs from the past

A few more tales to make you giggle, picked up from fellow sports journalists and Press box chatter during my time as a Fleet Street sub-editor, reporter and columnist...

Myth and Jones: Oleg Blokhin skinned Joey 

GEORGIA AND THE DRAGON: Wales had just lost 3-0 to the USSR in a World Cup qualifier, yet full-back Joey Jones was in jovial mood despite being given the runaround by supreme Soviet Oleg Blokhin in front of 80,000 fans at Tbilisi. The Liverpool joker wisecracked: "If anyone's got a picture of Blockhead, I'd like to see what the bugger looks like. All I have seen is his f***ing back! It's no wonder he's so fast, his mother and father were Olympic sprinters. My mum's a cleaner and my dad's a hospital porter so what bloody chance have I got?''

ALL BITE AND NO BARK: Scotland’s beleaguered manager Ally MacLeod was facing the world’s press after the disastrous events of the 1978 World Cup finals in Argentina. His struggling side had been humbled by Iran…and one of Ally’s star players had been sent home for taking drugs. As miserable MacLeod began his summing up, an equally forlorn mongrel wandered over and sat at his feet. ‘’Aye,’’ said MacLeod, ‘’they’ll all be waiting to get at me when I get home. Right now, I probably don’t have a friend in the world - apart from this little dog.’’ With that, he bent down to stroke the bedraggled animal…and it bit him.

TROUBLE AND SQUEAK: Radio commentator Peter Lorenzo, busy interviewing England’s World Cup heroes after the 1966 Wembley victory over West Germany, was unimpressed by Alan Ball’s response to his opening question. The little midfielder piped out his answer in that distinctive squeaky voice that was to become so familiar, only for a clearly unconvinced Lorenzo to retort: ‘’Come on Alan, I know you don’t really talk like that.’’

HORSES FOR CURSES: Owner-trainer Bryn Thomas was in no mood to face the stewards after his well-fancied horse had run a stinker at Hereford. The big former Cardiff rugby forward was discussing what had gone wrong with top jockey John Francome when he was summoned to explain the horse’s failure. Stomping angrily into the stewards’ room to face his three inquisitors, the fiery farmer demanded to know why they were wasting his time. ‘’I haven’t got a clue why it ran so badly,’’ he blasted, ‘’and I’m in a hurry to get home.’’ Discreetly, in view of the Welshman’s daunting physical presence and bombastic mood, one of the stewards explained that even the Queen’s horses were inquired into from time to time. ‘’I know that,’’ fumed Bryn. ‘’But when she gets home afterwards she hasn’t got to milk 70 f***ing cows.’’

CHAMP-PAIN CHARLIE: World-title contender Chuck Wepner was so sure he‘d take Muhammad Ali‘s world heavyweight crown that he made his wife a promise before the big fight in Richfield, Ohio. ‘’Go out and buy yourself a new negligee, baby,’’ ordered cocky Chuck, ‘’Tonight you’ll be sleeping with the champion.’’Wepner, for all his bravery, duly went the way of all flesh and was stopped by Ali - albeit in the final round. Mrs Wepner, unimpressed, was more concerned about Ali’s whereabouts. ‘’Does the champ come to me…or do I go to him?’’ she asked her battered husband.

THE DRAFTY COCKNEY: England darts stars Eric Bristow and John Lowe were practising in Edinburgh before the World Cup competition. In the next bay, obscured by a partition, was Scotland’s top player Jocky Wilson - a fierce rival of Crafty Cockney Bristow. Suddenly one of Eric’s darts ricocheted off the wire…and disappeared under a gap at the bottom of the partition. A couple of seconds later it reappeared - courtesy of Wilson. ‘’If he’d known it was yours he’d have thrown it out there,’’ quipped Lowe, pointing to the large open window behind Bristow. ‘’No chance,’’ retorted Eric the mouth. ‘’He’d have missed.’’

LEVEL BEST: Liverpool captain turned BBC pundit Emlyn Hughes was in no doubt about the quality of football he was expecting to be served up in the World Cup finals. ''I want to see the type of game where teams are winning 4-1 and 3-3,’’ he told Sport of Two radio listeners.

Shanks for the memory and other Fleet Street football funnies

My three decades working for Fleet Street tabloids were littered with press-box anecdotes involving football's most colourful characters . Many of the tales came from Fleet Street colleagues who witnessed them first hand. I suspect one or two of the stories are apocryphal but who cares as long as they make people smile...

LATE NIGHT EXTRA:  Legendary Liverpool manager Bill Shankly was fuming on the night several of his superstars arrived back at their Belgian hotel 45 minutes later than the boss. “Where do you lot think you've been?'' blazed Shanks as international quartet Ron Yeats,  Ian St John,  Roger Hunt  and Ian Callaghan returned from a drinking session well after the boss’s midnight curfew. ”That’s it!’’ he ranted at Yeats, St John and Hunt. ”You’ll never play for Liverpool again – and you can forget about international football as well. You’re finished!.’’ Then, turning to his blue-eyed boy Callaghan, he added: ”And I’m going to tell your missus about you.”

DON'T CRY FOR LEE: Newcastle United manager Gordon Lee wanted a word with chairman Stan Seymour. He marched into the club chief's office, to be told by a secretary: “Mr Seymour is not available. He's gone to see Evita. Lee retorted: “I don't think so. He wouldn't go and watch a foreign player without telling me first.'' When Lee moved on to manage Everton, the Merseyside media soon discovered his geographical knowledge matched his familiarity with Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals. After a dismal showing in a home Cup Winners' Cup leg against Standard Liege, defiant Gordon looked ahead to the return in Belgium and rapped: “Just wait until we get them in Standard!''

EMMY AWARD:  Hard-man Tommy Smith had two pet hates in football - Leeds United striker  Allan Clarke  and his own skipper at Liverpool,  Emlyn Hughes. And not necessarily in that order. When Hughes clashed with Clarke in a goalmouth melee and old squeaky voice Emlyn found himself on the deck with blood pouring from his nose, Smithy showed himself in his true colours. ”Maybe that Clarke’s not such a bad bloke after all,” muttered Tom the compassionate.

CROTCH OF THE DAY:  With manager Jock Stein in hospital, Celtic No.2 Sean Fallon was dealing with press enquiries at Parkhead. When one reporter phoned to enquire about an injury to Scotland full-back  Danny McGrain, Irishman Fallon admitted: ‘’I don’t think he’ll make Saturday’s game. He’s suffering from a Grain stroin.’’

GENTLE-MAN JIM:  It threatened to be a bloody battle. Spurs and Burnley had fought out a particularly vicious FA Cup stalemate and the replay promised to be even more physical. The teams were kicking in before the game when Jimmy Greaves, who was never noted for his ball-winning ability, approached his equally timid-tackling opposite number  Jimmy McIlroy. "Hey Jim, why don’t we mark each other?,’’ said goal-king Greavsie. ‘"Then neither of us will get hurt.’’

TOM AND JURY:  Tommy Docherty was always the first person to poke fun at himself  as with his version of the infamous court case in which he was accused of perjury – and acquitted. "I admitted to the judge I’d lied on oath, but he didn’t believe me,’’  is one of the one-time Manchester United boss’s classic quips. Tongue-in-cheek Tom is also particularly proud of his dubious achievement as manager of Rotherham United. ‘‘I promised the chairman I’d get them out of the Second Division (now the Championship) and I did,’’ he recalls. ‘"I took them into the Third.’’

EIRE RAID WARNING:  League of Ireland champions Shamrock Rovers were convinced they had the answer to mighty Honved of Hungary in the European Cup, The lads from Dublin trailed 2-0 from the away leg, but on the eve of the return manager  Jim McLaughlin  unveiled a unique plan for beating  the magnificent Magyars. ‘’We’ll be concentrating on all-out attack…mixed with caution,’’ he insisted. No prizes for guessing who won the tie 5-1 on aggregate.

BETTER BY CALF:  England legend  Nat Lofthouse  reckoned he was frightened of his own Bolton teammates in his playing days. Well, two of them anyway. Full-backs Roy Hartle  and Tommy Banks had such a fearsome reputation that striker Lofthouse maintained: ‘’When they were playing behind me I used to put shin guards on the back of my calves.’’

BALD REALITY: Rival Midlands bosses Ron Atkinson and Jim Smith decided to travel together to a dinner they were both attending. Their teams had been having mixed fortunes, with Atkinson's West Brom near the top of the old First Division (the Premier League predecessor) and Smith's Birmingham seemingly heading for relegation. They pulled their vehicle into a multi-storey car park near the function venue, left it on the top deck, and got into the lift. Big Ron turned to the Bald Eagle and quipped: “You press the button because it's you who's going down.''

NO WAY TO TREAT A LADY: Peter Withe's whip-round was apparently for the driver taking the Aston Villa players to their pre-season friendly in Dusseldorf. But the man behind the steering wheel received not a single pfennig. Withe invested the money in an inflateable rubber sex doll called Doris, which went on to become part of Villa folklore. The obliging lady was adorned with a No.12 on her back and the name of newlywed Colin Gibson's wife across her torso. She was then left in a suitably compromising position in Gibson's room at the team hotel. Gibbo was not amused – he hacked her to shreds with a pair of scissors.

Five golden golf gems that will have you in stitches...

FLEE OF A KIND: Japan’s top golfer Isao Aoki was much in demand at the Open Championship at Lytham St Annes following his World Matchplay victory the previous year.Unfortunately, his English was not quite as good as his golf, and an interpreter had to be called in to translate his comments to the gathered press corps. Straight-faced and meticulously, the interpreter put each question to Aoki in Japanese, then translated his replies back into English for media consumption.The question-and-answer session was nearing a close when one hack urged the interpreter: ‘‘Would you ask Mr Aoki how he came to drop a shot at the 17th?’’ This time, Aoki himself moved up to the microphone and in Oriental pidgin English announced slowly: ‘‘I flee putt flom flucking flinge of gleen.’’Ignoring the roars of laughter ringing around the press tent, the expressionless interpreter took over again and confirmed: ‘’Mr Aoki says he flee putt flom flucking flinge of gleen.’’

MAXIMUM IMPACT: Lee Trevino, golf’s happy-go-lucky Supermex, even managed to retain his sense of humour after being struck by lightning during the Western Open near Chicago. Along with playing partner Jerry Heard, a shocked Trevino was rushed to hospital following the incident, which left him lying on the 13th green at the Butler National Club, semi-conscious."I could see the next morning’s headline—Supermex Becomes Super-Ex," he joked. As he began to recover in hospital, the chunky little Texan put a call through to his wife. ''How do you feel?’’ asked worried Claudia."Sensational,’’ replied her irrepressible husband. "For the first time in my life I was six-foot-two’’

DRIVEN CRAZY: Golfer Eamonn D’Arcy was looking anything but happy as he took his bearings for an approach shot during the first round of the Madrid Open."What’s the matter, pal?’’ asked his playing partner, as the confused Irishman looked quizzically into the trees alongside the Puerta de la Hiero course."I can’t work out my distance to the green,’’ moaned D’Arcy. "I marked it yesterday against a red car that was parked over there, but the bloody thing has gone.’’On another occasion, D’Arcy was undergoing a press grilling after a particularly successful opening round in the Benson and Hedges Open at Fulford. ‘‘What’s your best finish this year?’’ asked freelance writer Gordon Richardson. "Fifth,’’ replied D’Arcy. "Was that in the German Open?’’ ventured Richardson. "No, I was fourth in that.’’ 

HOLE DON, PLEASE: Golf fanatic Don Revie, keen to keep up with the news from the United States tour, made one of his regular late-night calls to the Daily Express sports desk in Manchester. On this particular evening, the sub-editor who intercepted the call was somewhat the worse for drink—and blissfully unaware of Revie’s eccentric habit of calling in the early hours of the morning. ‘‘Don Revie here,’’ echoed the instantly-recognisable voice of the then-England football manager. ‘‘Could you please give me the latest details from the Greater Greensborough Open in America.’’‘‘What did you say?’’ asked sozzled sub Bryn Davies. ‘‘The Greater Greensborough Open.’’‘‘No, who’s that calling?’’‘‘Don Revie.’’‘‘Aye, and I’m Santa Claus,’’ snapped the Expressman, slamming down the receiver.  

PIN MONEY:  President John F Kennedy was playing golf with Chris Dunphy, chairman of the famous Seminole Club in Florida. At the first hole, the President hit his approach shot to within three feet of the pin—and promptly made it clear he expected the putt to be conceded. ‘‘Have a go, Mr President,’’ said multi-millionaire Dunphy. ‘‘A putt like that builds character.’’ ''OK,’’ sighed JFK, ‘‘but let’s keep moving.  I've got a meeting with the Internal Revenue (tax) director right after this round.’’ ‘‘The putt’s good,’’ said Dunphy instantly. ‘‘Pick it up, sir.’’ 

NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT...CRICKET

EXIT THE DRAGON: Fiery Welsh paceman Greg Thomas was determined to make an impression on the watching England cricket selectors when Viv Richards came out to bat for Somerset against Glamorgan at Taunton.  The red-hot dragon pitched his first delivery yards short—and saw it rear up viciously and whistle past King Viv’s nose. Thomas glared down the wicket, turned away and fired himself up for his second tilt at the West Indian maestro. He stormed past umpire David Lloyd—and down crashed an equally unplayable ball. Again Richards could do nothing but take evasive action as it flew through to the wicketkeeper at head height. Standing menacingly half-way down the wicket, Thomas eyeballed the world’s No.1 batsman and snarled: ‘‘It’s round….and it’s red.’’  With that, he stalked back to his mark before zooming in even more venomously and thumping his next delivery in short yet again. Calmly, Richards swung his bat…and off flew the ball, high over long-on and clean out of the ground. Richards swaggered slowly down the wicket, looked Thomas straight in the eye and sneered: ‘’You know what it looks like. You get it.’’ 

NEW BALL GAME:  England’s cricket team, stranded in Aden on their way to Australia for an Ashes series, were invited to a party by a local dignitary. One of the guests was a sheikh whose proud boast was that he had 81 wives.  When this noble fact was pointed out to Fred Trueman, the fiery Yorkshireman remarked: ‘‘Does he know that with four more he can have a new ball?’’ Later on the same voyage, Britain’s top distance runner Gordon Pirie—a fellow passenger on the Canberra—offered to organise some physical training for the party. "You need some exercises to strengthen your legs,’’ he advised Trueman. '‘Strengthen my legs!’’ blasted Fred. "I bowled 1,000 bloody overs this season and they’ve never let me down yet. It’s not me who needs your f***ing exercises.’' With a cold look over the side of the ship, he added menacingly: ‘‘Can thee swim, lad?’’  

BROADLY SPEAKING:  Hooray Henry Blofeld, plum firmly entrenched in his Old Etonian mouth, was waxing lyrical to BBC Radio Three listeners as Notts went out to bat in the NatWest Trophy final at Lord’s. ‘‘It’s quite remarkable how alike Tim Robinson and Chris Broad are,’’ he observed as the opening pair set about the Essex pace attack. ‘‘Right down to their headguards and arm shields, they look identical. I must admit I have great difficulty telling them apart.’’ It was left to fellow commentator Colin Milburn to clarify the picture for suffering Blowers, silly old thing that he is. ‘‘Actually there is a small difference,’’ pointed out the ex-England opener. ‘‘If you look ever so closely, you might notice that Broad bats left-handed.’’  

LITTLE AND LARGE: Lancashire batsman Clive Lloyd had just reached the wicket, accompanied by his teammate Harry Pilling—barely five-feet tall and as pale-skinned as Big Clive is dusky.  The 6ft 2in West Indian was just taking guard when a voice piped up from deep inside the Old Trafford bar room.‘‘Which one is Clive Lloyd?’’ sniggered the wise guy. ‘‘The one with the glasses,’’ confirmed quick-witted Lancashire off-spinner Jack Simmonds.  

AND FINALLY... Darts commentator Syd Waddell, jabbering away as ever at the Embassy World Championships quarter-final between John Lowe and Bob Anderson, assured TV viewers: "This match is so exciting that the crowd are on the edge of their tenterhooks.’’ 

I'm now off to put my other hat on. Check out www.donnagee.blogspot.com or www.donnapets.blogspot.com

England 26 New Zealand 12: World Rugby champions, did you say?

Forget the All  Blacks, England are the best rugby team in the world. Don't laugh, the evidence could well be indisputable in a couple of weeks time. I am, of course talking about the other code of the game. The one they started up in Huddersfield many years ago ''t'get some dosh for t'players.''

I guess many the Hooray Henry losers who watched New Zealand beat Australia in Saturday's RWC Final still have hangovers after their six-week oval ball of non-qualifying celebration. But earlier this evening I watched a team of white-shirted Englishmen hammer world champions New Zealand in front of a euphoric crowd at Hull's KC Stadium. And there was not a single chariot around, sweet or low.

The occasion was the first of three Test matches between England and New Zealand, who have pinched the mantle of world's best from their Antipodean cousins in recent years. And surprise, surprise, the men in white 'rose' to the occasion as only an English team can (as opposed to 'do').

Oddly enough, the clinching try was scored by Wigan Warriors captain Sean O'Loughlin, whose name sounds more in keeping with a jolly green giant on the Irish after-dinner circuit.  The reality is that O'Loughlin is Wigan born and bred and it's hard enough trying to decipher his accent  in St Helens, let alone in the lah-di-dah corridors of rugger power. Not that he is ever likely to follow Sam Burgess on his international Twick or Tweet merry-go-round. He'd need an interpreter and as far as I know there's nobody on earth who is fluent in both English and High Wiganese.

Sean O'Loughlin...scored  England's clinching try

Now I have to confess that as a true Welsh patriot, I am a rugby union person. I don't have the divided interests of former players like Jonathan Davies, who seems able to switch codes in the commentary box almost at will not you, Carling). Jiffy also seems to rather confused about his nationality at present. A Welsh-speaking Welshman, he was heard this evening to utter the unutterable over a microphone as England celebrated victory against the Kiwis. He called them 'we'.
Shame on you, Jonathan. Next thing you'll be telling me that the late Bill McLaren was from Trimsaran.

At first I thought I was imagining the whole unlikely scenario of England beating the All Blacks.  I was doing my usual early-evening channel-hop and there it was. BBC2, live rugby action with England battering the hell out of a bunch of burly black-shirted Kiwis.

My senile brain gradually absorbed the fact that in recent years England have become pretty much the best in the business when it comes to the 13-man game. My recollection is that Australia ruled the rugby league show for almost as long as the All Blacks have been the most remarkable sports team on earth. Apart from a couple of momentary blips when they crashed to No.2 in the rankings, they have been the best in the business for as long as I can remember.

The first nation to win three World Cups, first to win back-to back-crowns and in Richie McCaw led by a unique warrior who has won 131 of his world-record 148 Test matches. I was in junior school last time Wales beat the All Blacks. We've lost to them perhaps a dozen times since then, and even in the golden era of Gareth Edwards and Barry John, only once come close to repeating the feat.

Now you can bet that the McCaw birds of Kiwi-land will be ruling the roost until the next Worldwide Webb-Ellis is invented.

The big question is whether England are on the verge of putting the rugby league world to whites. 

Scrum off it: TEN hilarious rugby gems for World Cup Final day

During  more than three decades in Fleet Street, I heard more offbeat tales about sports celebrities than I care to remember – many of them first-hand from colleagues who witnessed the event. These 10 anecdotes are just a few  of the funnies I picked up from rugby players and journalists  (both union and league). Whilst I suspect one or two of the anecdotes  may be apocryphal, does it really matter as long as they tickle the laughter buds?

Charlie Faulkner...lines crossed

DON’T CALL US: During their 1978 tour of Australia, the great Welsh team of that era tried all sorts of devious methods to get freebie phone calls through to their wives and loved ones back home. The players resorted to tricks like asking restaurant proprietors if they could use the phone – and then calling the other side of the world when the proprietor thought they were ringing a local number. Prop forward Charlie Faulkner – a not-so-bright member of the legendary Pontypool front row – opted for a different tactic at the reception that followed the first Test match in Brisbane. He picked up the house phone, got through to the hotel switchboard and barked out his home number in

Newport. ‘’To whom do I charge the call?’’ asked the operator. ‘’Err…Mr Dawes. John Dawes,’’ mumbled Charlie, figuring he could get the tour coach to pick up the tab. ‘’Please remain by the phone for a moment, Mr Dawes, and I’ll call you back,’’ came the reply. Charlie replaced the receiver and got back to the business of drowning his sorrows after a rare defeat. By the time the call came through a few minutes later, he was in another world. ‘’Ullo,’’ said Charlie. ‘’I have a call to South Wales for Mr John Dawes,’’ confirmed the operator. Charlie took a quick look around. ‘’He’s not here,’’ he barked – and hung up.

GUMMETH THE HOUR: Cliff Morgan, the rugby maestro who later became a commentator and eventually head of BBC TV sport, vividly recalls his first broadcasting experience. Wales had just beaten Ireland 14-3 in Dublin on their way to the Triple Crown and Grand Slam when BBC radio commentator Sammy Walker asked the great man what he remembered about the match. ‘’My father losing his teeth,’’ said Cliff. ‘’When Ken Jones scored our second try, dad was so excited that his dentures flew out of his mouth into the crowd and he hasn’t seen them since.’’ Some years later, Morgan was recounting the tale to Tony O’Reilly, who played 29 times for his country before becoming a mega-rich international businessman and head of the Heinz empire. O’Reilly, who was renowned for his great wit, feigned surprise at the news. ‘’Your father’s, were they?’’ he said. ‘’That’s amazing. I know the guy in Cork who’s still wearing them.’’ On another occasion, O’Reilly had to make a brief trip to a Dublin hospital after being involved in a minor traffic accident. With medical treatment in Ireland charged on a sliding scale according to income, the nurse who was filling in the details on his behalf asked: ‘’Mr O’Reilly, do you earn more than 10,000 punts (pounds)?’’ Quipped Tony: ‘’Now that depends on whether you are talking about the hour or the day.’’

HEADS WE WIN: Wales coach Clive Rowlands was giving his customary pre-match talk before an all-important international at Cardiff Arms Park. As usual, the players were locked into Room 338 at the nearby Angel Hotel – and the emotive Rowlands was pounding them with reasons why they had to grind the opposition into the dust. By the time he had finished working on their emotions, the wound-up stars were ready to die for their country – literally. ‘’What are you going to do?’’ Rowlands bellowed as the electric atmosphere reached fever pitch. ‘’WIN!’’ yelled the players. ‘’What are we going to do?’’ echoed Clive. ‘’Win, win …WIN!’’ It was all too much for second-row forward Geoff Wheel. The big man from Swansea worked himself into a frenzy and, screaming ‘’Kill, KILL!‘’, he charged at the door to Room 338 – and butted a hole clean through it.

A FATE WORSE THAN BREATH: After four years in the England team, veteran prop Paul Rendall had seen it all. So it was only natural he should want to put new boy Paul Ackford’s mind at ease as they prepared to face Australia at Twickenham. ’’Don’t worry,’’ Rendall assured police inspector Ackford in the changing room before the match. ’’The game will fly by. You’ll find the first half seems like three minutes and the second half four minutes.’’ England went on to produce a dazzling performance and were within five minutes of a memorable victory when Ackford staggered up to Rendall during an injury stoppage. ‘’You’re a f***ing liar!’’ gasped the 6ft 6in second row. ‘’I’ve been out here for four-and-a-half hours and the game’s still not over.‘’

LATE MOMENTS IN SPORT: The British Lions were given a fearful runaround by the Orange Free State outside half during a particularly traumatic 1980 tour match. In the end, Lions centre Ray Gravell could stand no more. As the South African danger man made yet another break, the Welsh tough guy hit him with a fearful tackle long after he had parted with the ball. The referee angrily called the Llanelli star over and proceeded to dish out the severest of reprimands. ‘’That was the latest tackle I’ve ever seen!’’ he stormed. Replied wisecracking Gravell: ‘’Sorry ref, I got there as quickly as I could.’’

STICKY WAGER: It certainly wasn’t the weather that took York Rugby League coach Bill Reilly and Aussie scout Arthur Clues to Batley. The Mount Pleasant ground was anything but pleasant as the wind howled, the rain sheeted down – and the teams made a forlorn attempt to play rugby in a mudbath. With scarcely a minute left to play, neither side had scored a single point. Then Batley, playing up the hill and into the gale, won a penalty way out on the touchline. As their fullback lined up an ambitious pot at goal, Yorkshireman Reilly turned to Clues and wagered: ‘’I bet you a dollar he kicks it.’’ ‘’You’re on,’’ replied Clues. The kicker squelched through his run-up, only to slip in the quagmire at the moment of contact – and the ball trickled just a few inches forward as he plunged onto his back in the mud. ‘’I told you he’d kick it,’’ said Reilly, holding out his hand for his winnings.

ARMS AND THE MAN: There was no question of injured Tommy Martin making his own way off the field. The Leigh and Great Britain second row needed a stretcher after taking a bad knock on his ankle – but the one and only St John Ambulance stretcher was already occupied by another player. As Martin lay writhing on the ground and the fans bayed for the action to restart, desperate officials grabbed an office chair from the clubhouse and dashed on to the pitch with it. Martin was lifted gingerly into the seat, and with one embarrassed committee man either side, the chair was hoisted into the air by its arms. With the crowd roaring their approval, Martin was steered tentatively towards the dressing room . Five seconds later, there was a huge crack and the committee men were left holding a chair arm each as the seat and legs tipped Martin out – straight onto his damaged ankle.

GRIN AT THE DEEP END: To celebrate Leigh’s feat in avoiding relegation, coach Tom Grainey took his strugglers on holiday to Majorca. Some months later, his assistant Colin Clarke was reflecting on the break in the changing room at Hilton Park. ‘’Remember it, lads?’’ he mused. ‘’All that sun and San Miguel…and old Grainey up on the top diving board doing a double somersault with pike?’’ With that, prop forward Derek Pyke chirped up: ‘’Hey, it weren’t me. I were out on a training run.’’

WIGAN’S BIG ‘UN: The groupie girl outside Wigan’s Riverside Club eyed up the town’s new Rugby League hero – and liked what she saw. ‘’Hiya, big boy,’’ she said to burly South African Nick Du Toit, her eyes settling on the most personal part of the 6ft 3in forward’s anatomy. ‘’Tell me, are you built in proportion all over?’’ ‘’Listen, lady,’’ replied Du Toit in his clipped Afrikaans tones. ‘’If I was built in proportion, I’d be 12 foot ten!’’

AN ED FULL OF NOTHING: Tough-guy Eddie Szymala was in the wars again. And after the beefy but intellectually-challenged Barrow forward broke his jaw in a match against Oldham, coach Frank Foster was quick to pay tribute to the wounded hero. ‘’Eddie doesn’t know the meaning of the word fear,’’ Foster told the assembled press. ‘’Mind you, there are a million other words he doesn’t know the meaning of, either.’’

Rugby ref Nigel on top of world as Britannia waves the rules

'Now listen, Christopher. Who's in charge here?' Nigel Owens puts England captain Chris Robshaw in his place

TWICKENHAM will raise a special cheer for the Best of British as the Southern Hemisphere's greatest rivals battle out the 2015 Rugby World Cup Final.

The home nations may have been brushed aside without even troubling the semi-final fixture schedule. But while New Zealand and Australia have been unquestionably the two best sides, hosts England deserve some credit it too. Not so much for their dubious achievement in becoming the first host nation to be knocked out in the pool stages, but for making a more than decent fist of organising a hugely successful programme which enabled fans throughout the country to taste live action at the unlikeliest of venues.

Who will ever forget Japan's unbelievable victory over the mighty Springboks in Brighton, of all places? Or mighty France running out in the unlikely setting of Milton Keynes? Or the eventual finalists lining up for action at Aston Villa and Newcastle United's historic football stadiums?

One thing is for certain. Britain - or to be specific a diminutive Welshman with a penchant for witty one-liners - will wield more influence on tomorrow's result than any individual player. And that includes New Zealand skipper Richie McCaw, the most-capped player in history, who will be making his 148^th appearance in All Black colours. When it comes to rugby refereeing, Nigel Owens is, quite simply, the best. He is also around 5ft 6in of fearlessness – and the bigger the trangressor, the harsher the admonishment he's likely to receive from no-nonsense Nigel.

Take, for instance, Scotland fullback Stuart Hogg's dive against South Africa at St James' Park that would have done any Newcastle United striker proud. ''Try it again and come back in two weeks to play,'' Owens warned red-faced Hogg.

Openly-gay Owens is also happy to make self-deprecating comments about his sexuality. In one match, after a particularly wonky Harlequins lineout, he chided the hooker: '"I’m straighter than that one.”And when he was invited to Buckingham Palace earlier this month, along with players from various countries, he announced on Twitter: ''Well I have met a few Queens in my time - some of you even say I am one. But on the way to Buckingham Palace now to meet the real one.''

And what do tomorrow's mighty combatants think of little Nigel? 


Well, let's just say that the All Blacks like him, while the Wallabies do not exactly bounce with joy over the results of previous matches he has officiated. Which is one reason why I take McCaw's reigning champions to become the first reigning champions to successfully defend the trophy - and also the first to win it three times. The score? Around 20-12...and if I get it all wrong, I'm signing off immediately until 2019.

Scoreline? Around 20-12...and if I get it all wrong, I'm signing off immediately until 2019.

Tennis sensation Nicola Kuhn is 15, blond, superfit - and simply the best

Nicola Kuhn  prepares to receive serve against Yuichi
Sugita on Valencia's 3000-seat  Centre Court

British tennis fans may have a long wait for a successor to root for once Andy Murray passes his sell-by date.

So how about a blond 15-year-old superkid whose truly international pedigree adds instant irresistability to his image as the best young prospect in the game?

Nicola Kuhn is also considerably better looking than misery-mouth Murray - and, unlike the sour-faced Scot, has also been known to smile when he wins.

A multi-cultured European, young Nico is not so much on the ladder to international stardom. He is already halfway there - as the best player on the planet born in the 21st century. And while he will technically be a Junior for three more years, 2016 is likely to be the year of his big breakthrough.

Two weeks ago, the Austrian-born superkid led Germany to the grand final of the Junior Davis Cup, winning an unparallelled 11 successive singles matches in a competition involving 134 nations. In the final against Canada, he comfortably beat Felix Auger-Aliassime, whose rocketing success against senior professionals on the ATP circuit has been grabbing headlines all over the world - not least on Youtube video.

Nico's reward for his achievements this year was a Wild Card entry to last weekend's qualifying competition at  the Valencia Open, n ATP World Tour event won last year by Andy Murray and this year featuring world No.7 David Ferrer and controversial Australian Nick Kyrgios among the seeds.

When he stepped on to the Centre Court for the first time on Saturday, Nico was  just three matches away from a head to head with Ferrer or Kyrgios in the main draw. The sting was that his first opponent was world No.132 Yuichi Sugita, a Japanese Davis Cup veteran and 12 years Nico's senior.

Ultimately, Sugita's subtle experience brought him a 6-2, 6-3 victory that was considerably less comfortable than the scoreline suggests. In fact, he was almost lost for words when he was told after the match that Nico is 15 years old.. "Un-be-lievable,'' he gasped. "Never in my life have I seen a player so young who can play that good. He is a star in the making, for sure.''

Nico's training and playing kit is as colourful as his tennis

So who exactly is Nicola Kuhn and why am I touting him to become one of the game's biggest names? Well, let's just say he looks the complete Tennis Super-hero  package, complemented by a squeeky clean image that is already endearing him to mums and dads as much as teenage fans. 

Nico's roots are fascinatingly complex. Born in Austria, his family moved to the Costa Blanca when he was three months old. His father, Alfred, is German, mum Rita (from whom he inherited his blond complexion) is Russian and they live in a predominantly British urbanisation at Torrevieja. Nico speaks Spanish, German, English and Russian fluently...and if you push him regarding his nationality, he will concede quietly that he feels more Spanish than anything.

Which suggests that a major decision could be in the pipeline over his future tennis loyalties in team competitions like Davis Cup.

By the time he was three, the Kuhn kid was begging his parents for a  tennis racket - and he's been besotted with the game ever since. He also demonstrated almost instantly at Torrevieja Tennis Club that he is a natural, winning local and regional events at every childhood level.

By 2012, even the great Boris Becker was talking about him, describing the 12-year-old prodigy as "a better player than I was at his age.'' 

Nico with his tennis mentor Juan Carlos Ferrero in 2013

It was around that time that another tennis legend, former World No.1 Juan Carlos Ferrero, came into Nico's life. For the past four years, the youngster has been commuting daily between his home in Torrevieja and Ferrero's prestigious Equilite Tennis Academy at Villena, near Valencia. 

The exhausting 208-kilometre round trip to combine tennis practice and academic studies would drain any normal human being. But Nico is a one-off - he supplements the travel torture with an intense  training regime that burns off a cool 5,500 calories a day. 

His tennis advisers at the Equilite, headed by coach Fran Martinez, are determined to keep his feet on the ground, which is why they are not particularly partial to articles like this one eulogising their most valuable young asset.

I understand their logic exactly, but I'm a professional journalist and this is a good story full of positive vibes. So, with apologies to those who want to keep his CV under wraps, I hereby introduce the new 007 of teenage sport to you.

He answers to the name of Blond. Games Blond, that is. You could even try calling him Nico Teen but that's as near as he's ever likely to get to the vices of youth culture.

The last 12 months has seen Nicola rocket more than 1,000 places up the world junior (19 and under) rankings. By the end of this year.he will be in the top 40 - and one of the youngest as well.

However, Nico has already thrown his hat in with the professionals, having won his first ATP ranking point in May this year, two months after his 15th birthday. To understand the significance of that statistic, Rafael Nadal was six months older when he achieved the same feat.

FACTS AND FIGURES: Nicola Kuhn (born March 20, 2000) is a junior tennis player whose run of 11 successive singles victories helped Germany to reach the Final of the 2015 Junior Davis Cup. He was subsequently voted the worldwide tournament's Most Valuable Player.

Kuhn, who won his first ATP ranking point in a Futures tournament at the age of 15 years two months, was brought up in Torrevieja, Spain. His parents, German businessman Alfred Kuhn and his Russian-born wife, Rita, settled in the Costa Blanca when Nicola was three months old.

Nicola showed a keen interest in tennis from the age of three, when he asked his parents to buy him a racket. "I dreamt of being a professional tennis player ever since I can remember,'' he says. At the age of 12, Nicola switched his tennis allegiance from Spain to Germany, whose tennis authorities offered to help with his equipment and travel expenses. He also joined the prestigious Equilite Tennis Academy at Villena, near Valencia, run by former world No.1 Juan Carlos Ferrero, where he was able to supplement his fledglng tennis career with his academic studies.

In February 2014, Kuhn emulated Rafael Nadal (2000) and Andy Murray (2001) by reaching the final of the prestigious Les Petit As under-14 tournament in Tabres, France. He ended the year ranked No.4 on the Tennis Europe 14-and-under Junior Tour rankings, despite playing in only seven tournaments. His individual successes during 2014 included the European Masters title in Calabria, Italy and the Nike International Junior tournament in Bolton, England, He was also a key member of Germany's ITF World Team Championship winning team and their viictorious Tennis Europe Winter Cup trio. Feeling that Nicola would benefit from tougher opposition, Nicola's coach Fran Martinez and support team began to enter 14-year old Nicola into ITF 18-and-under events. Competing against players up to three years older than himself, he won two lower-grade tournaments in Shenzhen, China before his 15th birthday, which he celebrated by reaching the last 16 of his first Grade 1 tournament in Umag, Croatia.

Kuhn's first taste of senior competition saw him win his first ATP ranking point at Lleida in May, 2015, while at Junior level he continued to rack up ranking points and entered the world's Top 100 for the first time. In October, he qualified for his first US Junior Open, losing in the last 32 at Flushing Meadows. A few weeks earlier, he had inspired Germany into the Junior Davis Cup finals with an immaculate singles record in the European qualifying event at Le Touquet.

Competing against the world's top 16 nations, Nicola again won all his individual games to lead his adopted country to the JDC Final in Madrid, where they lost 2-1 to Canada. Kuhn's consolation was that he was voted the tournament's Most Valuable Player and in beating the much-vaunted Félix Auger-Aliassime in straight sets, staked a justifiable claim to be the world's best player born in the 21st century.

In late October, Kuhn reached the quarter-final of the prestigious Osaka Mayor's Cup event in Japan, and achievement which lifted him to No 70 in the ITF Junior rankings,

And finally, Nico meets the woman of his dreams...ME!

Donna Gee

donna773@aol.com

Scotland were robbed so let's play it again, Australia

Rugby refs like Craig Joubert have the toughest job in sport

So Craig Joubert got it wrong - and Australia should have been awarded a scrum rather than the penalty which won them Sunday's Rugby World Cup quarter-final. Personally, I admire the guy for having the bottle to go with his interpretation of that particular situation - unlike the Scotland fan who is rumoured to have launched his bottle in the direction of the South African referee as he fled the field at the final whistle.

Rugby refs have the toughest job in sport. The game has so many rules that even the players don't know them. I remember asking England lock Wade Dooley  how he was going to deal with a new law about lineout jumping back in the early 90s and the big man replying: "I don't understand what it means. I'm just going to keep doing things the same way and see what happens.''

While new technology and TMO officials have become a tremendous asset to referees in recent years, the laws governing scrummaging, rucking and mauling are now so complex that it needs a rugby equivalent of  Judge Judy, Judge Rinder plus the entire International Board to get anywhere near an unarguably correct decision.

And then the verdict comes too late to save the innocent man from the gallows. Or does it?

In the perfect world, Australia's lucky winners would hold their hands up, approach the Scottish Rugby Union and say: "Fair dinkum, Blue. You were robbed so let's play the game again.'' 

That's not going to happen, of course, because this is professional sport and is all about winning, with its millions of financial benefits. Particularly when one is talking about the Rugby World Cup.

At the risk of Scotch bottles flying through my lounge window, dare I suggest that Australia would have scored from the scrum, anyway? 

Sadly, the sight of Southern Hemisphere teams closing out the big games against the Home Nations has become the norm in recent years. Wales, for instance, have lost their last 11 matches against Australia - five of the last six by five points or less. In most of those games, they had been leading until the final moments - just as they were against South Africa in Saturday's quarter-final. Enter Fourie Du Preeze, goodbye Wales. 

Scotland the Brave, Gatland the Grave, Lancaster Bummers and Faint Patrick's Day.

Where's that bottle of Southern Comfort?

Why Rugby is a better game than American football

You guys across the Pond will be furious but here in the real world we have a ball game which leaves your so-called ''football'' for dead.

If you hadn't disappeared into the Bushes (by George, what a presidential play on words), you would realise that FOOTBALL is actually the global game — the one you refer to over there as ''soccer''. I mean, how can you call a game football when the only time anyone kicks the ball is to convert a try or land what you call a ''field goal''?

A try? Well, in the real world that’s the term we use for a touchdown. And by REAL world, I mean the entire planet, not the globe as visualised by folk in that admittedly quite large piece of land between California and New York.

The game I’m talking about, by the way, is called rugby. You may have heard of it. In fact you made a rather pathetic attempt to copy it when you nicked our oval-ball idea in order to invent your own grid-iron game way back when.

In fact, I’m told the intelligent guys among you still play rugby quite a lot at university. And I’m not talking about College Football. Why anyone should care so much about the kids’ version of grid-iron is another mystery to us Brits.

Rugby is just as tough as your game, if not tougher. Only our players don’t dress up as bouncy castles and plonk motorbike crash helmets on their heads. What’s all that about, for heaven’s sake? Apart from anything, it turns the hundreds of players in every team into faceless zombies.

I believe the original distortion of the rules of rugby in the United States was largely due to some guy called Walter Camp (who presumably was a lot more macho than his name). It’s so sad because had you stuck to the REAL game invented by William Webb Ellis at Rugby School in 1823, you guys could have been a real force at rugby.

Maybe even in the same class as the mighty New Zealand All Blacks, the most successful international team of all-time.

You talk about your quarterbacks. Stars like Brett Favre, Peyton Manning and Tom Brady. Well, we have guys called outside-halves, who are the ultimate playmakers and in Dan Carter, the Kiwis have as brilliant a player as the world has ever seen. He also kicks goals from 60-degree angles, rather more subtle than your field-goal experts who merely have to boot them over from in front of the posts.

Dan Carter: The ultimate playmaker

Anyway, you chose to create your own version of the game. Fair enough, even if you did bend every rule that existed to the point that you even allow the ball to be passed FORWARD. How ridiculous can you get?

OK, we did make a bit of a mess of things over here early last century when the political shambles over professionalism saw the game of rugby split into two codes. But they remain very similar—and these days players can switch between rugby league and rugby union with little problem.

To sum up, these are the reasons why American Football is to my mind subservient to rugby (either code).

1. Rugby is a worldwide game, while American Football is played seriously in only a handful of countries. Well, not even that - just the US and Canada, really. The International Rugby Board rankings list 94 nations (the USA is actually 16th, so there’s still hope for America if you come over to the real world). New Zealand is ranked No.1 at rugby union and, since you have a population 100 times as big as theirs, plus considerably fatter sheep, both human and woolly, the sky should be the limit. And the Aussies are traditionally best at rugby league, so you’ve got a chance to bring the cocky so-and-so’s down to earth. 

2. Rugby is all action for 80 minutes. American Football is all inaction for four hours—arguably the slowest game on earth. Jut try turning the TV on at random in the middle of a game. If there are not ads showing and something is actually happening, it’s a miracle. And if anyone says cricket is slower, I’ll let Geoffrey Boycott loose on them (in-joke for the Brits).

3. Rugby players lay into each other like real men, with just the flimsiest of body padding. Grid-iron players are unrecognisable as human beings with all that body armour.

4. Rugby is played by two teams of 15 players (13 in rugby league). Between them, they have expertise in both attack and defence (note correct spelling of defence). Grid-iron players aren’t good enough to attack AND defend, so a squad of immobile 300-pound elephants are programmed to come on and stop the attackers, who are the only guys who can really play the game.

5. Rugby does not need flimsily-dressed cheerleaders to give the male fans some real excitement. We also celebrate the scoring of tries with applause and back-slapping, not lots of ridiculous dancing and high fives.

6. Rugby is played in ALL conditions—on grass, not synthetic turf, as seemingly used by most NFL teams. That stuff is more dangerous than the opposition, for heaven’s sake. I’ve never seen a grid-iron game played in mud and pouring rain, though I am told it does happen on occasion. Now that would be worth watching even for a cynic like me!

7. Finally, and most important, this article is all a bit of fun and not to be taken seriously. I’m a woman who was reared on rugby union (I’m actually from Wales, where rugby is everything). The reality is that the best game is the one that appeals to YOU.

It’s all subjective so whatever your preferences, may the best game win! (Wales is the bit that sticks out to the left of England on the map, by the way).

Now let's get down to things that really matter. Which is better...rugby union or rugby league?

Shower of Scotland? Not Laidlaw's Rugby World Cup heroes

Over to you, Southern Semisphere – the 2015 Rugby World Cup is yours, just as it was in 1987,1991, 1995, 1999, 2007 and 2011. Every time the tournament has been played, that is, with the exception of the lone occasion England’s Jonny Wilkinson dropped in to deny Australia the trophy on their own soil 12 years ago.

But what a bonny fight Scotland’s perceived no-hopers put up before losing 35-34 to a controversial last-minute penalty decision against form team Australia. Written off by everyone bar the Princess Royal and themselves, they seemed to be heading for the last four when Mark Bennett’s interception try under the posts powered skipper Greig Laidlaw and his men into at 34-32 lead amid a feast of tries at Twickenham.

Ironically, the heavens had just opened and rain was bucketing down as Bennett dived in to restore the pride of the Shower of Scotland, last season’s winless Six Nations wooden spoonists.

Perhaps significantly, Bennett was wearing the No.13 shirt and after a last-minute lineout in Scotland’s own 22 went awry, out-of-form Wallabies goalkicker Bernard Foley landed the decisive penalty to complete the quarter-final humiliation of the Northern Hemisphere.

Wales, France and Ireland had all been KO’d over the weekend by South Africa, New Zealand and Argentina respectively. Ireland, like Wales decimated by injuries to key players, took the field at Cardiff's Millennium Stadium as favourites to beat the Pumas. But the South Americans, who have become a genuine world power since joining the Southern Hemisphere championship, stormed into a 17-0 lead in the opening 20 minutes and survived a brave Irish fightback to complete a 43-20 rout.

So who are the real winners and losers of this amazing tournament, whose crowds already top two million? Well, England’s failure to reach the knockout stages has to be top of the losers list. But for me the biggest disappointment has been ITV’s unpredictable match coverage by a hotch-potch of unknown commentators and C list ex-players I’m not talking about the studio panellists but the faceless voices that pipe up with drivel like (pre Australia v Scotland) ''After the break, we’ll have the best of Antipodean ambition and Caledonian courage’’ and (at final whistle) ‘’There will be no Caledonian quickstep on the streets of London tonight’’.

It’s the ultimate embarrassment to see one of these anonymous intruders thrusting a microphone in the face of a squirming losing captain moments after the final whistle and asking: ‘How does it feel to lose in the last minute?'' 
Bloody great, Jimmy - isn't it obvious?

Bill McLaren, rugby misses you. And please come back soon, Auntie Beeb.