E.I. Addio, Our Man In The Stands With Nothing Better To Do: A shameless rip-off of/homage to Private Eye’s legendary football reporter.
El Himno: The Argentine National Anthem, Himno Nacional Argentino, in all its stop-start, melodramatic, tear-jerking operatic beauty.
Enormous Egos Writing Cheques Your 5000-odd Supporters Aren’t Arsed Cashing: Unlikely to use this one again, but it had to do with Saracen’s stupid idea of playing Biarritz in Capetown to ‘expand the brand’. What a bunch of wankers.
Enormous Tans: England. See Dwarf-tossing [above].
Faulty Conclusions Drawn From Misunderstanding Basic Statistics: Worth getting in our excuses early. Some people have a bee in their bonnet about ‘statistics’ in rugby – as though every time they’re brought up it’s as a means to justify something meaningless. Meh. The use of statistics in rugby isn’t particularly advanced – for the most part, all they are is the collected information of things that actually happened.
For example, it has become received wisdom from people who watched the game all of once that Sean O’Brien and Stephen Ferris were totally shut down by the Welsh backrow; luckily, the excellent The Stats Don’t Lie section of the NZ Herald established that O’Brien was actually the top ball carrier in the match with 23 runs for a gain of 81 metres. On the other hand, we made eighteen  handling errors in comparison with Wales’ seven . Where did that figure in most hacks’ analysis?
Fergburger Farrelly: Hugh Farrelly. Space-filler pieces about burger joints in New Zealand? Phenomenal. More of this, please. Is it a think-piece about a mid-level team struggling to come to terms with their own limitations in the harsh face of stardom?
Flamin’ Gullah: Australian, often one who has recently made a mistake. Over the RWC11 period, that was pretty much Quade Cooper. Thank you Alf Stewart, cultural ambassador of Summer Bay.
Fleshlumpeater: Bakkies Botha, the biggest and baddest of the Bad Giants [see above].
Flinty Robinson: Andy Robinson. He was a tough little gouger of a player and he’s a tough little gouger of a coach. A very good coach in the Mole’s opinion.
“Football – Association or Rugger?”: Apparently a genuine question put forward by an elderly judge to a famous Premiership footballer who wound up in the dock within the last decade or so. Can’t remember exactly who it was, but have the suspicion that I read it in Private Eye. I think that’s a priceless question for so many reasons: the fact that he clearly had no idea who the chap was, the fact that he equated ‘football’ with two codes of the same game, as if it was the late nineteenth century, the latent favouritism shown to ‘rugger’ by using the old nick-name … what’s not to love?
Fork On Blackboard Accent: Bronson Clancy’s bray. You can hear the pig under his arm.
Fugee-la: Wycliff Palu. Wycliff Jean. They have the same name, and it’s pretty awesome.