by Paul Waite
3 Nov 2004
In a Darwinesque turn of events, a new species of rugby player has been discovered this week by a team of intrepid scientists presently studying the Lions in Deepest Wellington.
“It was totally unexpected”, Dr. David Flubberthing announced at a hushed and expectant media briefing at Te Papa yesterday. “We’ve been studying The Lions for years, in an attempt to find a genetic or sociopathic reason for their inability to win anything, and to be honest, we never expected we’d discover a brand new species”.
Flubberthing then unveiled a shocking picture of a male Lion wearing human female eye makeup.
“Notice the poofy hairdo”, instructed Flubberthing, brandishing an alarmingly long pointer and waving it dangerously close to a cameraman unwise enough to be taking pictures of it.
“This is completely normal for this family of Lions, who sometimes spend hours on their hair in daily pre- and post-game grooming sessions in preference to any serious rugby training”.
“BUT!” he added, bringing the stick down on the desk with a loud thwack and inadvertently destroying three small mp3 recording devices, then swinging it with all the deft martial artistry of Jackie Chan to point at the picture, “What isn’t usual is all this fudgepacker eye-liner shit right here!!”
All eyes at the conference were drawn along the still-quivering stick to the Mata Hari-like appearance engendered by the pictured Lion, looking like a right bloody nancy-boy, it has to be said.
“We call it ‘Homo Lookatus’ !”, Flubberthing announced, spreading his arms wide as if for applause but only receiving a “fuck!” from the sound engineer whose eye he had just put out.
“Of course, in this particular case, the name is understandably often just shortened to ‘Homo’ but, as scientists, we would prefer the full name to be used since it conveys the nature of this animal’s primitive drives to be noticed no matter how talentless it is”, he droned.
“Using the full title also stops us from confusing them with Gays who, unlike Homo Lookatus rugby players who take the field in ladies gears thinking it’s a cool thing to do, are deserving of some measure of respect.”
Turning to a model of what looked like a miniscule walnut in a glass jar full of water or Lion Red (it’s hard to tell which, frankly) the good Doctor adopted a lecturing pose.
“This thing here is a model of the brain of a typical Lion, reconstructed from many many MRI, X-ray and stethoscope scans and a bit of yelling ‘hello is anyone at home’ in their ears”, he expounded.
“As you can see it’s about as big as that of a hydro-encephalic field-mouse”, he added, wiggling a finger in one ear and then carefully examining the tip of it.
“Naturally we have tested the Homo Lookatus to get a comparison, but unfortunately we couldn’t locate brain matter anywhere, leading us to the inevitable conclusion that this animal probably has its brains somewhere located up its rectum, which was the only place we couldn’t bring ourselves to look.”
At this point the Press Conference erupted into a barrage of questions, causing the Doctor to reel backwards, trip over his chair and look extremely silly.
“What kind of eyeliner was it and where can we get it?”, demanded a reporter from the Silly Teens Who WIll Buy Any Mag With Glossy Pics Of Richer But Equally Talentless Teens In It Magazine.
“Fuck knows”, replied Flubberthing, getting up with a grimace on his face. “Who’s grimace is this?” he asked, taking it off and handing it to an assistant.
“Will this Homo Lookatus be playing rugby for the All Blacks?” asked an aghast Phil Stifford of the Canterbury Rugby Collective (CRC), bathing everyone in front of him in a fine spray of spittle.
“Well he never played any rugby as such for the Lions, so I doubt it” retorted the injured Doctor, settling his sore behind gingerly onto the lap of a female reporter from Women’s Weakly.
“Aside from the eye makeup, this new species has all of the traits of a Lion of standard bloodstock”, he amplified. “He holds onto the ball too long, has the small and completely predictable repetoire of moves required by such a tiny cerebrum, and tends to lose all important games”.
“Henry Greyhame has picked him to go on tour – so what’s he going to be doing if not playing rugby?” asked Melody Moonstruck, as she helped herself to another large slice of Steve Walsh beefcake.
“Finding the soap in the showers I expect”, answered the huffy Doctor, who was growing visibly bored with the line of questioning.
At this point the news conference broke up, as a large ape-like creature ran in, leapt onto the table scattering microphones everywhere and proceeded to jump up and down grunting what sounded like “nonnoo-nonnoo”.
It’s all too much to deal with.
Here’s an idea for all you rugby players out there with this kind of outlook – let’s all concentrate on playing the game well, and not on how beautiful we look, eh? you poofy bloody self-absorbed bunch of chuckle-heads.by