@Innsie

Team CHRISTINA

Mign
Terry-Pva-Baines
Haz(c)-STerling-Hendo-Silva
Kun(v/c)-Giroud-Vardy

Panty-Boyd-Wolly-Hutton

No hits.

*puts in ball box...

Close of play, Ireland v South Africa, Ireland win by 46 runs

Journo: Hi Geoff, I’m here with a surprisingly upbeat Eunuch de Jelliers of the South Africa cricket team. Eunuch, last time we spoke you couldn’t really come to terms with being beaten by Ireland. Has that sunk in yet?

EJ: What’s sunk in for me is that you guys obsess about the small stuff. The Proteas are destined for ultimate victory. It's no big deal that we hit a little bump in the ointment. Did Napoleon win every battle on the way to dominating Europe? Of course not. We care about the end result. ProteaFire!

Journo: So you’re inclined to see this as nothing more than a blip?

EJ: A blup? No, it’s part of the dramatic story of South Africa’s World Cup triumph. Life gives us lemons and we, uh, y'know, do tequila shots with 'em. What doesn’t kill us leaves us, er, with a big chubby that . . .

Journo: Yes, yes, well, I see that you’re looking for the positives in this setback. What would you say are the positives, keeping in mind that we’ve already covered the implications of your not being killed by a cricket match?

EJ: Well, with the pressure off, we were able to try out a few things against Ireland that are going to come as a complete surprise to the West Indies. We know who we represent!

Journo: Hmm, unless, of course, they watch tape of the match. And, forgive me, but these new things you tried out don’t appear to have worked very well against Ireland . . .

EJ: They worked! It’s just that, uh, they just worked in a really subtle way that you can’t understand because you don’t really “get” South Africa cricket. When we were in the hot-tub later we could totally tell that it worked. ProteaFire!

Journo: Okaaay . . . so let’s talk about that slogan. One of the Ireland players suggested that the Protea Fire might not be a metaphor of triumph, but of flaming out, and ending in ashes. Do you have a response to that?

EJ: What, like that's a bad thing? Ashes are a good thing in cricket. England and Australia fight over them constantly. Plus, ash is an excellent fertiliser, and makes things grow, so, y’know, I’m OK with being ashes. And fire of course. Ashes AND fire. See the point is first it’s fire, then it’s ashes. It’s the circle of life. And anyway, what do Ireland know about fire? Have you ever tried to burn a potato? It just hisses a lot and shrivels up. Pathetic. We know who we represent!

Journo: Quite. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Whom, in fact, do you represent?

EJ: South Africa of course. Protea Fire!

Journo: Well, I thought so, but why do you feel the need to reassure us all that you are aware of that fact? Is there a worry that you're not clear on what country you play for?

EJ: That's just stupid! Of course WE know. They wrote it on our uniforms after that one time, so we don't have any problems with that. We're just making sure our fans know that we're out here for them. We know who we represent!

Journo: So, then, it's the people of South Africa that are confused? They're not really clear on what, in fact, is the point of you? Help me out because . . .

EJ: What's the point of the West Indies? They're not even Indians! They're not even a country! Do they know who they represent? I bet they check the writing on their uniforms every time they . . .

Journo: OK, I didn't mean to stir anything up, so we should probably . . .

EJ: And what kind of fire do they have? Sugar cane just collapses into a pile of sticky goop, and offshore banks don't burn for beans! What could they possibly burn that would offer . . .

Journo: I'm afraid we must leave that question to the imaginations of our viewers, as we've no more time . . .

EJ: Look, Babylon is no basis for a fire--it's been dead and gone for, like, really long and, I mean, talk about ashes, there's probably no fertilising properties left in . . .

Journo: Geoff, that's Eunuch de Jelliers of South Africa cricket, back to . . .

EJ: Protea Fire! We represent an actual country! And we definitely know who they are!

With 1 hour to go, I've received only 5 team sheets.

Some serious last minute discussion going around.

Team Bangldesh line-up v England

Valar
Ludo
Pepin
Bubz(c)
Triggerlips
SeanTBN
TommyTour
Super Zlatan
Sidharth
Hasselbaink
Rupert the Horse

Pine

SW6
Captain Shirokov
Nate
Corkyote

Ireland team to send Pakistan packing:

HVT (C)
Reedy
Roscola
Timtastic03
Pompeyfan
Kuqi Monster
N.A.B.I.L
iCon
Lucy
Jaffalicious!
Irish Madridista

Just be thankful you don't have to face these:

Saniul
Siva Mohan
Little Lukin
Numb

Who will score more this week?

1. Sterling
2. Ramsey

Cheers

PENS DOWN

Giroud, Ramsey and Sanchez is the three for the DGW.

Can't be getting Bellerin as United must score versus arsenal 🙂

Bonz
Teddy(wk)
Grievez
Eunuch Jelly
Yash
Adam West
Ginkapo(C)
Thomass
Hooperman
JWF
Elninorules

Schmeic
Terry - Azp - Skrtel
Haz - Sterling - Hendo - Silva
Kun - Kane - Vardy

1FT 6.0 itb

A) Vardy > Giroud
B) Hendo > arsenal mid
C) save, and why?

All team sheets accounted for.

100% submission rate in the group stages. Great job everyone 🙂

Ramsey is not rising tonight is he ?

Windies presser:

This week is dedicated to Absinthe.

That is all.

There was a cool wind. It was unusual in the desert used to the intense burning heat which had bleached the scorched bones surrounding them.

A group of comrades banded together, unknown, unwanted, cast adrift in this sea of sand with only the camels for company. Our leader was lost. Lost somewhere we did not know. Driven by despair by the defeat by Pakistan he had wandered into the desert almost unknown witnessed solely by Moin. Moin I commanded How dare you let our captain walk into the desert unprotected, unfriended and alone. You have abandoned your station and will immediately be disciplined.

It was at this point I felt it. It was a low deep rumbling and a strong warming in my loins and I knew. I knew we were bound strongly with bonds which could be never be broken and I knew I had to do one thing and thing was simple, just dig.

So we dug and dug and dug. Until it seemed the sand surrounding us almost blacked out the sky and then we found it. The fabled scroll which contained the fabled secrets of the Arabian desert. BabyB cracked the seal open, sneezing as forgotten dust was released from its ancient seal.

It was a list as ancient as time itself designed for one thing only. To bring India to its knees and upset the odds. It was time.......It read

BsloeBadger
Cheeseoid
Jawain
SCAB
Holmes
Punty
Turtlepower
Lambey
Davies
Diva
BabyB

I knew not what it meant. But I knew the scroll held great power, power not meant for the realms of men so I threw it up on the campfire where it was engulfed. I silently gazed sullenly at the desert floor and then I heard it. The roar in my head as it grew and grew gathering momentum bringing with it the sure fire knowledge that today was our day and India had beware. Our captain was gone but he would return. Our pride was dented but it would rise up with the power of the desert and cast our enemies.

There was peace in the desert along with the knowledge that our enemies must shake before us.

We waited for our leader to return

Schmeichel
Terry skrtle ivanovic
Hazard sterling Henderson Ramsey
Giroud Aguero (c) Kane

Hammer, fonte pva albrighton

Good to go lads?

*Epic Legend by Mark Petrie plays*

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApHrgY4_5mw

Everything is a blur. Smoke fills my nostrils and scratches the back of my throat. My ears are ringing and my body aches. Sprinting through the streets to avoid my captors, panic begins to set in. I whizz through the side streets and back alleys in desperation, knocking over pots and pans, even small children that get in my way. As I scramble up the cobbled streets to the Merchant District, my pursuers are not far behind. 12 men in that cursed Green and White chase me through the city. I must flee.

The battle is lost. In fact, the war may be lost. Our capital has been taken and 4Vets sits high above the clouds in the Burj Khalifa. Our army is in tatters, unable to hold back the sheer numbers of the Pakistani invaders. Brave Jawain fought maniacally by my side, cutting through the ranks. He held them off long enough for me to escape and that is what I did. I turned my back on my city, my people and fled like a cowardly dog. I told myself it was logical. That I was doing the right thing, setting myself up best to take them down later, like getting in Giroud over N’Doye. Truth be told, I was afraid. As much as I held to these ideals, it was fear that gripped me then and forced my legs to run.

I dart down a narrow alley way, past some broken pots of Moreno and false gold from Cambiasso. In the distance I see the East Gate. If I can reach the stables there and a fresh horse from the Emirate lines, the pursuers will never catch me. My hope is short –lived however. The alley way is dark and gloomy and I failed to see what hid in the shadows.

A blow to the back of the head put me to my knees. Maniacal laughter erupted from behind and before I turned my head, I knew who had dealt the blow. It was the Hunter, S Thompson ‘There is no such thing as paranoia. Your worst fears can come true at any moment.’
He spoke non-chalantly
‘You are not my worst fears’ I spat ‘ It was luck that won you this battle. A plethora of wildcards and you barely contained us.’
‘Luck is a very thin wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it.’ He said as he kicked me in the ribs.

‘Well, it’s a good thing my luck hasn’t run out then’ I smiled, as from behind the pots sprung Cheeseoid, battered and bloody from the days fighting but no less ferocious than at the start of day. He bundled over the startled hunter and in the confusion, led me down a secret alley way and down into the sewers.

The stench was unbearable. Foul odours of Schlupps and Sturridge wafted through the air. ‘What now, Cheese?’ I muffled with my hand covering my nose. ‘We will die in this Labyrinth if we don’t get out soon.’
Cheeseoid pulled another scroll from his robes. For a moment, I glanced that cursed teamsheet again and felt a pang of guilt again upon reading the names. Moin, Davies, BabyB. Brave men I had let to their doom.
‘Here my Lord’ said Cheeseoid. ‘An abandoned sewerage system that leads out past the East Gate. From there we can head North and regroup’

Regroup? Ever the optimist, Cheeseoid always felt we would be dealt the right hand, even if the cards were stacked against us.
‘Lead on, my friend.’ I said, placing an arm on his tired shoulder ‘Lead on’

*******************************************************************************

*******************************************************************************

It was dark in the tunnels beneath the city and it was darker still when we emerged from our hiding. A moonless night, where the stars were hidden behind the clouds. We quickly made our way north away from the city, deep into the desert where no Pakistani would dare follow us. There we hid in a secret bunker, built long ago to withstand the Van Persie Captains, ravaging Ronaldos and Assou Ekottos. Cheeseoid pulled open the great wooden door and the sands billowed around our ankles as the giant hinge creaked. The store was barren, nothing but an empty Bread Bin. No matter. The shelter would suffice to keep us out of the harsh desert sun. Then at night we could make our way forward.

As I lay down to rest, Cheeseoid was already fast asleep. Exhausted from his exertions of the day, but he never once complained. My mind again drifted to thoughts of those I had left behind to die. Scab, Lambey, Costainho. They deserved so much more from their leader than a cowardly cur, who turned his tail and ran. Eventually the event sof the day took its toll on my weary body and I fell into a deep slumber.

My mind was spinning. Visions and thoughts dancing across my mind like flames crackling atop a dry pyre. Proteas on fire, Shadows in the West, green oranges and that cursed crescent moon. Suddenly a Giant Lion lept from the flames. Its fur shone in a sleek sapphire blue. It looked me straight in the eyes and for a moment my heart skipped a beat. Then it roared.

*****************************************************************************************

****************************************************************************
I awoke with a start. The lion was gone and I was alone in the darkness. ‘It was just a dream’ I said to myself.
‘Oh it’ s not a dream’ spoke a voice above me. ‘not a dream as such’
I craned my neck upwards. There fluttering above my head was a tiny green fairy.
‘If it is not a dream, then what is it?’ I asked.
‘Its more of a zone’ said the fairy, wafting in front of my eyes.
‘It’s pretty dead here’ I stated.

‘It is a place for the dead, but it can be so much more if you are willing to see’
With that the darkness disappeared. A great white light flashed and I found myself flying high above the clouds, like an eagle riding the currents. I flew and flew and flew. Across vast oceans and over the highest mountains. I past the ancient palaces of Sri Lanka slowly being rebuilt after the earthquake of 52. I crossed the great Trans-Tasman and the giant Sporting Penile sculptures of New Zealand. The Statue of Selma, the Monastery of Mark, the great business of the Dog. I saw the M*ppets rampage and the Lips trigger. I saw Little Lukins and Gargamels. I saw the world for what it was. One giant shining community. The whole world glimmered as it spun below me.

But in all that shimmering light was a dark stain in the East. Storm clouds rolled and the seas swelled. Here the earth was not warm and inviting. It was cold and dark, feeding from fear and hate. I forced myself towards it. I must confront my fear once and for all.

As I drew closer I could see the Kingdom of India lay in disarray. Its people were miserable, cold and hungry barely surviving on the streets. Blisters covered their hands and feet from being overworked. Their backs criss-crossed with the scars from the lashes of countless whips. Here I found the Granville. Chained up and forced to work as slaves. Ketsu beggars littered the alleyways and Guy Demels Shaved heads festered in the gutters. What kind of a King would leave his own people in such suffering?

I knew where I must go. I flew as fast as I could to the Palace to confront my foe when suddenly it all vanished and there again floated the green fairy.
‘Why did you show me this?’ I asked him
‘I showed you nothing.’ He replied ‘ The information was all there. You took from it what you wanted to see. What you needed to see’
‘You said this is a place for the dead. Am I dead?’
‘No’
‘Then I must go back. I have to stop this.’
‘Then go’
‘What of you, sprite?’

‘This is a place for the dead’ he said once more ‘But that doesn’t mean that it is a bad place’ And suddenly he was gone and I was alone again in the darkness, or so I thought. Cheeseoid mumbled to himself and rustled to life.
As we clambered out of the bunker Cheeseoid started on the path to the North. ‘Come on my Lord’ he yawned ‘This way leads to the North’
‘I am not going North, old friend’ I said

‘Where then?’ he said bemused.
‘East’ I said ‘Into the Lion’s Den’

*The Lion Sleeps Tonight by The Tokens plays*

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WtxPdkzmk_4

Where is team Kiwi?

😕

Team NZ XI:

Innsie
Walsh
Christina
Ryan
Sporting
Beric
Zan Keroski
Grubs
Zasa
EpicFail
NickOfOz

Cheering the team on from the bench:

Gloria K
Milanista
SAB
Desertbug

This is a big game for our lot so we've spent a lot of time deciding on the bench. A win here secures our place in the knockouts, so we'll be going all out. In saying that, good luck Scotland - may the best team win.

Sand peppered my goggles, while behind the headscarf protecting my face I was beaming from ear to ear as we raced across the desert. A man who had suffered agonizingly close defeat at the hands of Pakistan should not have been grinning so much, but I was having great fun. The Gaffer’s plan was working.

After the Pakistan match, the Gaffer had taken me aside and told me his idea.

“The team played well,” he said. “Pakistan had more than twice the wildcards we did, but we almost beat them. The team need to go into the next match in high spirits. I had our camels shipped over this week. I need you to collect them and bring them out to the team. We’ll rendezvous in the desert on Saturday morning.”

After he gave me some directions, I slipped away. I rejoined the team in the desert the following morning with caravans of camels for each player.

The captain was scribbling furiously on a parchment with his quill when I arrived with the camels. He looked at me with wild eyes and said: “Have you seen Badger? He’s gone! Moin saw him go and did nothing! Can you believe that?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine Captain,” I replied. “He asked me to bring the camels and said he’d meet us out in the desert.”

I don’t think the captain properly heard me; there was despair in his eyes. He stalked out, shouting at Moin.

A short time later he came back and told us to dig, so we dug. On Friday night, we found a scroll. After studying it, the captain threw it on the fire and was quiet. Then he lifted his head. I could see pride returning to his eyes.

Early the following morning we awoke to the sound of a Chinook helicopter hovering overhead. The Gaffer’s was waving to us from the back door while the pilot lowered a crate to the desert floor. We broke the crate open and inside were 15 glistening golden chariots with big desert wheels. We rolled them out into the sand. The Gaffer abseiled down to us with a huge grin. “Let’s go racing!”

We let out a collective “Hurrah!” and rushed to hook our camels up to the chariots.

So here we now were, wind whipping at our clothes, sand flying in our faces and grins plastered to our faces as we raced each other across the Outback letting out whoops of joy. Punty shouted he was going to try doing a doughnut and we laughed.

Suddenly, I became aware of a dull drone behind us. It rapidly grew louder. Something hit me and I tumbled out the back of the chariot. To my left and my right my team mates were all similarly eating sand. Behind each chariot a parachute billowed as a plane pulled away overhead.

In my chariot a cloaked blue figure was hurriedly cutting the parachute cords. As the parachute fell away, I saw Toy Keane, Team UAE’s ginger cat, who had been riding with me in the chariot. He was going nuts and kicked some of my possessions out of the back. He hissed at the cloaked figure and jumped out.

I walked up to Toy Keane and picked up the bag he had kicked out. Inside were several flasks of water and, bizarrely, a cat whistle I had picked up in a Sydney bazaar as a fun trinket with which to tease Toy Keane. I tucked the whistle in my belt as I walked over to the rest of the team. As I shared the water flasks around my team mates, we expressed our disbelief at what had happened.

We resolved to follow the tracks of our chariots, wherever that may take us. After several hours trekking we saw a settlement on the horizon. We could see people swarming in and out of the town likes ants at their nest.

There was a palpable buzz as we got closer. A man riding a large truck with a fiddler and drummer playing from the back was shouting “Benteke, Benteke, get Benteke”. As it passed I pulled my bandwagonometer from the pistol holster I kept it in. It buzzed rapidly, but quickly moved out of the red Bojan zone, past the orange Young zone and into the greener colours.

We were near the town gate now. Above the gate, one word had been spray painted on a wooden panel that had originally been engraved with the symbols #FFSCWC. The spray painted word was “Bantertown”.

Inside the gate was a security post and beside it a sign: Check your RMTs at the door.

“What’s your debating skill?” asked the guard. The sign on his counter read “Billy”.

“We just came to recover our camels and chariots, which were stolen from us,” I replied.

“If you have no debating skills, you cannot enter. This is Bantertown. No banter, no enter.”

“We can advocate,” I said. “Let me in and I’ll make a compelling case why we should get our camels and chariots back.”

“Wait here,” said Billy. He disappeared for a minute then came back. “Come with me.”

We followed him into a large oval teeming with people. There was an iron dome in the middle and above it, slightly to one side, was a large tent hanging by wires from towers around the oval. The tent cast a shadow on the ground that reminded me of the Azteca Stadium in the 1986 World Cup.

We were taken to an open-top cable car gondola. To the side, two men stood facing each other either side of a metal bar.

“Ryan, Champ,” shouted Billy. “Which team will win the FFS Cricket World Cup?”

One of the men shouted “New Zealand” as he pushed the metal bar up and into the face of the other. “Australia,” came the reply as the other man rammed the bar back down the other way. “New Zealand” said the first, as the bar went back up. “Australia!” The bar went back down. I became aware that the cable car was rising into the sky. Ryan and Champ kept shouting and shoving the bar at each other as the gondola rose towards the tent. From a higher vantage point I saw the metal bar between them was attached to the winch winding the cable car upwards.

At the top, we could hear the sound of a lone saxophone playing a sweet, mellow tune inside the tent. Billy pulled back the curtain and showed us inside. At the back of the room a beautiful woman was sitting on the edge of a chaise longue playing sax. A man in the middle of the room turned to her and said: “Thank you Salma.” Salma lowered the sax and lay back to rest.

The man in the middle turned to us. “Billy tells me you can advocate, is that true?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m ENR and I run Bantertown. I have answered your question, now answer mine.”

“We can,” I answered. “We can also tell you magical tales from the Outback.”

“Hah! I have no need for the tellers of tales. There’s plenty of them here. But I know who you are: You’re Team UAE. You’re the best at telling tales – multiple Jose awards attest to that. Actually it’s that tale-telling that has caused my problems. So now I need advocates. Can you advocate?”

“We can. Who do you want to convince?”

ENR pulled a periscope around and asked us to look into it. We took turns. Looking through the glass, I could see what looked like a huge, underground coffee shop. At a table down there sat a man typing furiously at a keyboard. I was about to move out of the way to let Costainho take a look, when I spotted something at the back of the room. Was it? It couldn’t be, could it? Was that really the last of the V8 Interceptors, glinting darkly in the gloom at the back of a coffee shop? The man at the table looked up, scooped the foam off the top of his cappuccino and threw it. The foam landed on the other end of the periscope and the image was lost.

“It's called Starbucks,” said Billy. “It's where Bantertown gets its energy.”

“Coffee?” asked Davies.

“Wifi,” said Billy. “The website, the spreadsheet, the live scorecard - all need to be updated over the internet. The internet comes from Wifi. Starbucks has it.”

“Look around,” said ENR. “All this we built. Where there were RMTs, now there's banter. Where there were dull international breaks, now there's entertainment. It's the Fantasy Football Scout Cricket World Cup and I'll do anything to protect it. Today it's necessary to advocate. What do you say?”

“What’s in it for us?” I asked.

“I'll re-equip you... chariots, camels.”

“Why us, can’t you do it?”

“We are dealing with subtleties here. I said we would stop using the Jose Mourinho Presser poll; You guys were walking away with the award every week so we thought it was boring. Now, however, it looks like you’re going out…”

Toy Keane bristled, Cheeseoid and the rest of Team UAE looked ready to fight, but ENR didn’t flinch.

“Now it looks like you’re going out,” ENR continued, “we want it back. That man down there, Pratik, he doesn’t want to update it. I need you to convince him otherwise. I can’t be seen to publicly argue against my own position, so I need someone else to advocate for it.”

“We’ll advocate for it,” I said, “but not because we’re going out. We’re UAE, we’re not out of this cup. We’ll fight to the bitter end. You ain’t seen nothing yet!”

"And when the poll is restored, well win it," the Gaffer said. “You have our answer. Take us back down.”

To the now familiar shouts of “Australia!” and “New Zealand!” from Ryan and Champ, we made our way back down. The sky seemed to be darkening, but we could still see out over the oval. On the far side I saw our camels – they were about to be auctioned! The rest of the team saw it too. As soon as the gondola landed, we leapt out and sprinted across the oval.

“Those are our camels. They were stolen from us,” shouted Mr. Grv.

The seller had his back to us. As he turned, I saw the figure was the same shade of blue as the creature I had last seen in the back of my chariot. Now I was face to face with him. He had a mane of blue fur surrounding a noble face. It was Blue Lion.

“These are the property of Team India,” he roared. “We found them abandoned on the road into town.”

“They were not abandoned,” said Mr. Grv, “you took them from us!”

Blue Lion reared up and his team rushed to his side. The two factions squared off: India and UAE.

Billy’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere as he shouted up to the rapidly darkening sky: “Listen to the law! ENR, there are two teams in dispute.”

“You know the law,” boomed ENR from the side of the tent. “Two teams enter, one team leaves... Thunderdome!”

ENR jumped in a cradle, Salma climbed in beside him and they descended on a zip line to the domed iron cage at the heart of the oval. Behind them in the sky, the sun was almost completely hidden by the moon.

On the ground, moderators hustled the two teams into the dome, where we were strapped into pads and given bats, a ball, stumps and bails. I realised the dome was there to stop people damaging the pitch.

The crowd went quiet as ENR and Salma landed. ENR stood and shouted: “Welcome to another edition of Thunderdome!”

The crowd roared then, from the one side, Zasa called out: “Two teams enter, one team leaves.”

As the moon fully eclipsed the sun and darkness descended, the chant took hold in the crowd, gathering power and energy with every repetition.

“Two teams enter, one team leaves.”

“Two teams enter! One team leaves!”

“TWO TEAMS ENTER! ONE TEAM LEAVES!”

And that was how it began...

Even as I look now there are empty columns on the Sri Lacticos spreadsheet. It's fair to say the training camp for our final group game hasn't gone as well as we had hoped but we're confident after humiliating Bangladesh that we can do the same this week!

Starting XI:

Jonty
Spencer
GreenWindmill
Tom Fenley (no 52 point hit!)
Kings of Lyon
Beavis
Doolittle
Athletico Timbo
Wild Rover
Demi
Dufflinks

The strong bench:

andy85wsm
D1sable
Mark
In like Flynn

Good luck Sri Lanka!

Who's in charge of the Scottish PR?

This is getting embarrassing.

Scottish team news
in airport and only got 30 min free WiFi
down to last few minutes
Ok team is
beeeeeeeeep

http://pbs.twimg.com/media/B-ckNqhCAAAzyOw.jpg

Indian team to kick some Sheikh Ass in Thunderdome.

La Roja
The Fantasy Freak
Zombie
Never Trust Bony
Granville
Billy Ketsu
Blue of Leicester
Gargamel
Ziegler1988
Meerlight
Bend it like Bennett

And rounding up more abandoned Camels are:-

TokyoRed
Guy Demel's Shaved Head
Aliminator
Pundit of Punts

“TWO TEAMS ENTER! ONE TEAM LEAVES!”

I haven't heard people spout this much bollox (team uae) since I stopped going to Glastonbury. What is going on?

Badger emerged from his battle pavilion with the furosity of an angry pole cat.

"line-up" he barked

The stench from the Indian latrine stung my nostrils. It had clearly been a spicy curry last night,but we knew that would not be the only thing stinging their bottoms this day.

" This is no time for our normal sleepy weasel formation." He said

"prepare for Angry Stoat!"

An exciting murmur spread through the ranks

"On my word. Unleash hell!"

I think i slept off reading this book. Just dreamt that a Badger was barking orders at a Cheese block. Ya right!

http://culturecheesemag.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/Stinky-Cheese-Man-bookcover-399x500.jpg

UPDATED

http://preciselyme.com/fpl/cwc