Fight Club Jelly Party Time

I don’t get in to every code of football or every form of motor racing. I have my opinions and I have my standards. I feel the same way about wrestling. When I was young and found out WWF Wrestling wasn’t real I felt tricked. Surely a man named Hulk Hogan was in the real business of crushing heads. He was acting. (His reality TV show was actually worse than his acting.)

UFC came along and nobody felt safe, a short stocky Brazilian guy can beat a guy with a beard and tattoos. Reality was way too real. Then I noticed the ring girls, parading around on stage, disappearing before I got scared while watching another psychotic face smashing.

One day while enjoying the last of the jelly cups and watching the ring girls intently, it dawned on me. I needed a ring girl in my cup. She might be lonely so I would need two. And of course they would have to fight. If only I could think of a name for such an arrangement.

On the weekend I went to my first Big Boys Club Bucks Party at the Club House. There it was a giant jelly cup filling up with girls! Whoever ticked the Jelly Wrestling option for this Bucks is a certifiable legend! The girls in the jelly were really going for it; I mean they could fight crazier than the vampire babes in Dusk till Dawn. All the excitement of sport while feeling more than a little randy Macho Man Savage. You can’t experience Jelly Wrestling on your TV, you got to get out and organise it yourself. I know now that the car park out the back of Coles is not a place to do that (cops said). Get down to Shnitz n’ Tits and check it out.

Rugby World Cup Semi Final Sunday Wallabies vs. All Blacks

This Sunday Australia and New Zealand will go to war. The whole population of New Zealand, Queensland, New South Wales and possibly four Victorians will watch the Rugby World Cup (RWC) Semi Final. Being so far away from other continents here are two countries that relish any opportunity to skip over the pond and fight each other in any sport. We all know Australia is mad for any sport where you can get into the Green and Gold, New Zealand is mad for any sport that is rugby. New Zealanders know that if Australia beats them in the RWC they may as well pack up their skinny little continent and head north. But if they win Australia will have to quickly remind everyone that some of us were not that into rugby any way and um have you seen the latest Netball results?

Rugby is a spectacle of gladiatorial proportions. Just like an ancient fighting match I have no idea what the rules are. It looks to me like somebody told thirty guys to line opposite each other, here’s a ball, get it past those guys. And by the way, you can only pass backwards. Err what? While this is basically correct there are a few more rules and scenarios. Rugby has a Maul, as does a victim of a dog attack. As far as I can tell a maul is a dynamically aggressive game of Twister being pushed along a field by some really big guys until somebody’s leg or foot is separated from their body and a brightly coloured referee blows a whistle in delight? All this and more for over an hour! It couldn’t be more dramatic if Tom Hanks were playing.

Drama and Rugby go together like cocaine and waffles. Ever seen the film Invictus when Morgan Freeman plays Nelson Mandela and Matt Damon played Rugby? Sundays match is going to be Rugby X Drama to the power of Maths! Don’t miss it.

Ahhhh, Tit Monday...

It's not that far off now, that glorious day when, heading into work on the bus, or walking to the train, or sitting on the tram, you find yourself suddenly chirpier than you have been in months. You find yourself smiling at strangers again. There is a mild involuntary tumescence in your trousers that comes and goes throughout the morning with the comforting regularity of a heartbeat. And then you get a text around lunchtime from a mate which says: "At last, Tit Monday!" And you instantly understand why you are so happy.

For Tit Monday is that special day in the year when, for the first time, the temperature rises above that magical point which causes girls getting dressed in the morning to decide to show a bit of skin. After months of dull colours and chunky knit, the world's birds suddenly dive into last summer's wardrobe (they've not had chance to buy this season's stuff) and chuck it on without a thought. Your urban landscape is suddenly lightened with acres of naked arm and leg and, after many dark months of burrowing, breasts rising to the surface like moles at dusk. Big breasts in white work shirts straining at the buttons. Small breasts braless in vest tops, the nipples frotted by ribby fabrics. Breasts in summer dresses bouncing in the distance so that they catch your eye before you even notice there is someone wearing them. Breasts nudging out from the crowd at traffic islands, quivering to cross the road... And you know it is nearly summer. For previous generations, the arrival of spring was heralded by the sound of the first cuckoo. For us, it is Tit Monday.

Not that it always falls on a Monday...

Like Easter, Tit Monday is a moveable feast. Last year it fell on a Friday. Friday 29 September, to be precise, when temperatures maxed out at 22.1C after nothing much above 16C all year. It last fell on a Monday in 2004, when temperatures leapt to 22C on 24 April.

And then, of course, there is Tit Monday Night. You see, in early summer, temperatures drop off very dramatically when night falls (Tit Friday 2005 dropped away to a perky 11.8C). But the dollies are not prepared. Slightly stunned by the morning heat, they drag out the summer clothes but forget to bring a cardie (a mistake they will not make again until next year), so that when they're all standing outside All Bar One after work celebrating the arrival of spring, their barely covered nipples have no protection from the cold. It's like a Bring-and-Buy sale where everyone has brought hat pegs. It's like a prog-rock gig where, instead of lighters, everyone is holding up nipples.

So when will Tit Monday fall this year?

Will you be the first to text your mates with the announcement? Do not shoot your bolt too early. There will be false starts. You will smell fresh cut grass and see a couple of early starters and feel compelled to declare Tit Monday. But your more level-headed friends will tell you to hold your horses, keep your powder dry, don't fire until you see the whites of their bra straps.

Mission Impossible 4: Ghost Protocol

It's common knowledge that Tom Cruise is a bit of a prat, but the trailer for Mission Impossible 4 looks awesome! Guns, girls and gexplosions. Bring it!

When we're not organising Australia's best bucks parties, the crew at the Big Boys Club keep busy with what is fast becoming Melbourne's most entertaining night out - Schnitz 'N Tits!

Take some tasty schnitzel (served with chips and salad), and gaggle of gorgeous waitresses who slowly undress over the course of the evening, and the best local and international burlesque performers available, put them in a room and watch the action unfold!

Schnitz 'N Tits runs every month at Miss Libertines in Melbourne. Get your self over to the website and score some tickets before we sell out again!

Schnitz 'N Tits - Melbourne's Best Night Out!

I'm Stuck! I'm Stuck!

As a follow up to our rather manly 'Video Of The Week' on Monday, one of our dear readers sent us in this little gem. Known in the industry as "Fat Kid Craps Pants", this hilarious video shows...a fat kid crapping his pants. Enjoy.

If you've got something you reckon would impress the readers of the Big Boys blog, shoot it through to us and we'll post it on the site!

Following the death of Osama bin Laden, the American government has been going through all of his personal files and documents, and slowly releasing them to the public. The following e-mail gives just a small insight into what day to day life was like for the 'World's Most Wanted Man'.

What a game.

Gentlemen, this game was always going to be tough.

Down two men, and then the unexpected happened: a shooting in Windsor.
Police have cordoned off all areas to Jeff's building.

Phones frantically ringing, Jeff can't access his apartment, can't get clothes, equipment or runners.
He's rattled, running late and stuck in traffic.

All this is adding to an already heightened sense of anxiety and pressure.
Will he make it in time???

It's match time. No Jeff.

Not sure whether Dan is coming, we are 4 men standing on the field, staring down a team of 8 healthy young men.

Strategies into place, we decide we need to make some decisions.
We need someone in goal as we await word on whether Jeff has been detained.

With two seconds to spare until kick off, out of the corner of our eyes, we see Dan running onto the field.

We make a decision - throw Dan to the wolves. He goes into goals... we  give him our blessing and hope he makes it through.
Positions are taken. Bernie & Pete go up front. Rob & Dave at the back.

This is gonna be tough. No Jeff. Taz out. Marty injured.
We take a final look at each other, and stand strong.
You can feel the heart.

The whistle blows.

It was relentless attacking from the younger side.
Quick ball skills, and strong shooting.
But our team was not going to be taken down.
We held strong as a team, cutting them down in defence and running hard.

Dan rising heroically to the occasion, putting doubt into the opposition's eyes and fearlessly doing the best he could in a tough situation.

We're down 2-nil, but we're still not losing heart.
Then all of a sudden, like a hand from the gods, the team seemed to be given a herculean boost of immortality and strength.

Pete and Bernie up front seem to be rattling the defence of the opposition.

Pete shows consistent courage and energy, running hard and running into space.
Bernie is blinding the opposition with strength and skill, not to mention the blinding light from his new white runners.
Like a trojan, Bernie is stoic, untouchable, and stylish, with the signature twists and turns which he has become famous for.
Bernie scores two goals and before we know it, we are 2 all.

The determination is now rising higher, the opposition fighting hard to gain the lead again.

They score again. We are trailing and fighting hard to catch up.

The ball is going at a furious pace, up and down the field.

Our passing is solid, we are making space and creating plays.
Bernie and Pete making some beautiful passes, leaving the opposition in their wake, and seeing Pete score a brilliant goal off a genius pass from Bernie.

The scores keep building, one for one.

It's almost halftime.

Then, out of the corner of our eyes, like a golden light or a shooting star - we see Jeff rush through the doorway.
In jeans and t-shirt, he's not in the sanctioned uniform - we interrupt play to ask the ref if our goalie can come on.

The ref is stern and unmoveable, saying "no man can play in jeans".

Bernie yells: "IN MY BAG!"
Quick - a pair of shorts awaits, along with a t-shirt, old sneakers, gloves and kneepads.
Jeff changes like superman, just in time to join the huddle at half time.

Halftime score 4-5, the opposition in front.

It feels like a battle, holding off the enemy until reinforcements arrived.
With even more determination and renewed heart, we run into the second half, stronger than ever.

The second half starts like a tennis match, balls flying by at a bionic speed.
The famous and untouchable Jeff throw to Bernie is even more accurate than ever, putting fear into the opposition.

Now with a sub, we use it wisely - everybody holding their position strong.
Dan playing exceptionally well, and stopping the unstoppable.
Bernie untouchable, passing the ball off to all running players.
Dave, formidable, holding the back strong, never giving up, and running like the wind.
Dave to the front line as well, scoring a brilliant goal from the half way mark.
Myself at the back, holding position, cutting down the attack, standing ground.
Looking up, as if in some Matrix type special effect in slow motion, seeing the team excel and rise as a team - we were going to fight till the end.

Scores still going one for one, 6 all.

Five minutes to go: we're ahead 7-6.

The younger team using their subs, replenishing themselves, they score - it's 7 all.

We take one final look at each other: we either die here altogether, or we rise and fight to live another day.
Like the swords gleaming on a battlefield strewn with bodies, we give one final thrust of courage.

We score. It's 8-7.

With 30 seconds to go, the opposition wield their swords in anger. They are shocked, angry, and hungry for the win.
The Blue Shadows fight on, with heart, determination, and love for each other and the game.

The whistle blows.
The other team drop to the ground, tears rolling down their faces.
We give a triumphant cry.

This day was ours.