The saying that putting a chimpanzee in control of a keyboard will eventually lead to the primate producing a novel is a ludicrous and ridiculous stretch of imagination, but that a chimp, or chump, could very well churn out something execrable and therefore worthy of the very low standards of RNZ and Stuff is entirely possible; and here’s proof:

Our inter-evolutionary champ claims that among other nonsense, the All Blacks need an un-pale coach for reasons: Dumb – saying of [the Folau furore] that it…

“provides an interesting illustration of how badly things can go wrong when management of one colour tell staff of another what they can and can’t do or say or think.”

And dumber,

“How much better might those guys play if they felt truly valued or included in team culture?” And dumber again: “We once looked upon Umaga’s ascension to the All Blacks’ captaincy as a watershed, but 14 years on from his retirement, not a lot’s changed. The players at most levels of the game are still brown and the authority figures are still white.”

Only the navel-gazing, Onan-worshipping, victimhood dilettantes of RNZ and Stuff could describe Folau’s case as anything at all to do with skin colour. The suggestion that the melanin-rich might have held something back on the playing fields as some form of rebuke to their white masters, is utterly contemptuous and a huge insult to every proud Polynesian that ever pulled on the black jersey.

To describe Umanga’s elevation to captaincy as a “watershed” – a moment in history – beggars belief and raises the question, who the hell is this idiot tinkler, and how rugby-ignorant are they that can describe Umaga’s moment as a ‘watershed’ but appear to never have heard of Randell, Norton or Shelford? The writer’s name, I’m very certain, must be Lucy. It simply must be.

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idbkiwi
Living in Wellington idbkiwi is self-employed in a non-governmental role which suits his masochistic tendencies. He watches very little television, preferring to read or research, but still subscribes to the daily paper despite his distillation of dismay and disappointment at the very low standards of the modern press on every opening of the awful rag. He is married, to an obviously very unfortunate woman, and has a family who allegedly loves him despite his right-wing nut-job views on life and the meaning of. He believes laughter is the best medicine for whatever ails you, closely, very closely, followed by wine. He hopes to reach retirement, both alive and eventually.