Who will contest the final of the 2003 World Cup? It’s only eight months away — let’s speculate!
Australia will win their pool unless Ireland knock them off, which I don’t think will happen in Australia much though I would dearly love to see it (revenge for 1991! Now that was a bit of luck eh?)
France will win theirs, New Zealand will win theirs and the big question is who will win Pool C based right here in Perth? England or South Africa? You’d be pretty brave to say South Africa right now although who knows what the Tri Nations will bring.
Quarter final 1 in Melbourne, New Zealand v South Africa. Ah well, anything can happen in a knock out tournament as we know only too well, eh Kiwis? But going on recent history, and unless there are miraculous improvements in the Tri Nations, the Japies will be manoeuvring a fairly sizeable blind mullet up a steep incline with a small twig to win this one. And if it turns out to be England, well, no big deal. England aren’t due for another win over New Zealand for ten years and this team will not be the Development XV.
Quarter final 2 in Brsbane, Australia v Scotland. Easy peasy, you jammy Aussie wankers.
Quarter final 3 in Smelly Melly on Sunday, France v Ireland. Well, I for one will be praying to St Patrick and every other non-French saint I can think of for victory to the noble Celtic warriors of my ancestry and miserable, painful defeat for the unwashed eaters of frogs. But France will probably win just to piss me off.
Quarter final four in Brizzy, England v Wales. Well, we all know what happened there. Same result if South Africa scrapes into this game. I think.
First semi, in Sydney, the centre of God’s universe (providing God was a shirtlifter, and hey, you don’t hear much about Mrs God, do you? Maybe he was) -
New Zealand v Australia. Who’d pick it? The Tri Nations might give us a clearer indication that Australia is not the team it once was, not that it ever was much of a team, and it also might show that the All Blacks are the team they once were, which will be a nice change considering they’ve not been much of a team either recently. Naturally I’ll be expecting New Zealand to win but who knows. We’ll probably get some pommy fuckwit with a whistle who gives Australia two tries they didn’t really score and a penalty in injury time, but that will only be because Australia has ‘the winning way’ and certainly nothing to do with luck.
Second semi, still in Sydney (“a latte in that little al fresco down Oxford Street Crispin? Can I push your stool in, ducks?”) -
France (or Ireland) v England (or South Africa). Hey, imagine if it’s Ireland v England. Wouldn’t that be fun? Or Ireland v South Arica. An Irish-New Zealand final! Sublime! A New Zealand-South Africa final! History revisited! But it’ll probably be France v England, a replay of the two games they will play in August in preparation. And my money’s on those filthy heathen French. Hard, fast grounds in Sydney, fine weather, yes, I can see the French scoring a bag of tries and a SH ref not giving an endless string of penalties for Wilko’s trusty left boot.
And so we come to our France-New Zealand final. And here we know that karma has brought us to our just and well-deserved win. A fifty point thrashing of the smelly garlic munchers, plus a big punch up in injury time where three of the Froggy forwards are stretchered off, with two more red-carded for good measure.
The skies part and God (not the shirt-lifting Australian God, but a manly, Kiwi God with a checked bush shirt and a DB in his left hand) shines a beam of divine light down on Taine as he lifts the cup heavenward and the mighty warriors in black raise their triumphant fists in victorious salute as their title is announced for all the world to hear … “The World Champion All Blacks!”
Winning the world cup really only makes them world cup holders but they’ll be so good they’ll get the hypothetical accolade to go with it. And no one else has deserved that since the All Blacks last won in 1987.
Up in the stands O’Neill has an aplopexy and shits his intestines all over Vernon Pugh in his wheelchair, accidentally sending the crocked Welsh git hurtling down the stairs into a nearby dumpster of rotting condoms left over from the Mardi Gras, where he drowns in faggot semen.
And the world is a perfect place.