The first rule of Punchy Punchy Club is: You do not talk about Punchy Punchy Club. Except on blogs. And Twitter. And, y’know – on facebook, and on the ‘phone, and to people at work around the watercooler, making sure to say things like “Oh my god, did you see him in his undies” and the like. But other than that, shush.
The second rule of Punchy Punchy Club is: You must play the Jungle Juice Drinking Game. Every time anyone says the word ‘jungle’, have a shot. Trust me, you’ll be half stonkered by the first ad break.
The third rule of Punchy Punchy Club is: Get the fuck on with it. What? Oh. Right. Sorry.
The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That.
If The Contender was a woman, she would be vomiting awesome instructive soundbites all over my ears. I AM LEARNING SO MUCH FROM THIS SHOW.
• Celebrating his win last week, Sonni announces: “I’m not loud only with my mouth, I can be loud with my fists too. I am like you know, your worst nightmare. I am the Jungle Boy”. Firstly: they must be the loudest goddamn fists on the planet. Secondly: DRINK!
• Sonni summarises his fight by saying: “I was expecting mountain. I was expecting lion. I was expecting silverback gorilla. But there is none of them here”. It’s Homebush, Sonni. It’s not Jumanji.
• After meeting Sugar Ray Leonard, Kariz tells us that “If boxing was a woman, I would have proposed to it tonight to marry me”. That is one honeymoon that I want a ticket to, people.
There are two challenges this week:
1. Trying to understand a single word that Sonni says to Sugar Ray Leonard; and
2. Trying not to get the images of the drunk boxers in the back of the Hummer tattooed onto the inside of my eyelids so that I can look at them whenever I want to.
Sometimes, a picture is worth a thousand words, especially when the picture is anything like these, and especially when the words are slurred beyond all recognition:
This week’s episode is so full of style it’s like a fashion goiter on a fashionable fat lady. Except much, much less disgusting.
• Charlotte takes the lads shopping at Industrie (at least I think it’s at Industrie – I might have been more sure if I’d seen the logo juuuust once more), and I can finally relax. Dawson. In heels. In a shop full of clothes, giving people fashion advice. It’s so good to see you back in your natural habitat, lady. Don’t ever confuse me again. It’s also great to see you taking your styling responsibilities so seriously, particularly in the chafing-prevention area:
No, Victor. That bum is for people without pants.
• Despite hoping for a pink suit, Sonni ends up looking like a Black Eyed Pea.
The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring.
I’m pretty sure that the gene that controls the urge to punch people in the face is located on the same chromosome as the gene that controls cute kids. It’s the chromosome that perches right on the nose of the fastest swimming sperm. BOXERS’ KIDS ARE SO CUTE, Y’ALL.
KOs and OKs
• Ben withdraws from the competition with a sore neck, and the very thought of pretty-boy Ben withdrawing from anything makes a thousand Eastern Suburbs girls cry.* It also makes Ben cry, because clearly his eyes are not desert. Nader is mildly surprised at Ben’s decision, saying he’d fight with broken hands or broken legs. NOBLE LIKE A FOX.
• Every single boxer falls head over heels in love with Sugar Ray Leonard. Sonni borrows heavily from Daniel Amalm’s thesaurus when he says “It was like a dream to me. It wasn’t even like a dream, it was like a vision’. Josh puts it best though, when he says “I’m not gay, I’m far from it, but like um, he’s handsome and young, and articulate how smart he is”. No YOU’RE articulate. No, YOU are. Israel tells us that Sugar Ray put a cracker up his arse. Not really that far from gay for you then, Issy.
• I was distracted when Garth mentioned that his ex-wife’s nickname was ‘Boo’. I just thought he’d accidentally left the last ‘B’ off his chest tattoo.
• Nader can’t eat or drink during the day because of Ramadan, yet he still trains like a hard man, until he’s all sweaty and veiny and bulging and... woah. Sorry. Headrush. NOBLE.
Garth trains for his fight against Issy by dancing. He dances as well as any ex-footballer I’ve seen. The massive cut above his eye just adds to the romance.
Issy trains for his fight by listening to the Trainer Who Talks Like He’s Drunk tell him to punch Garth right in the ‘cut’. Unfortunately, when you talk like you’re drunk, that’s a much, much more shocking sentence.
Issy punches Garth in the cut thirty-four times.
Garth punches Issy once, right on the dial, in slow-motion. Issy hits the canvas like a sack of spitty spuds. I say this knowing full well that six weeks ago, I’d never seen a boxing match in my life, and that I was much more interested in shoes, but: IT WAS MOTHER-FREAKING AWESOME. I’ll leave my Prissy Girl membership card at the door on my way out.
Issy laments his loss, saying “If I’da seen it coming, I woulda ducked”. Sweetie, Captain Obvious called, and he wants his t-shirt back.
What?! No shower scene this week?! My darling producers, please take note: those of us with estrogen sit through fifty-nine minutes of this show purely so that we can see one minute of a pert naked arse with water on it.
Oh, well. We’ll have to make do with a shot of Nader looking the hotness instead.
Nader, your face will substitute for a pert, wet arse anyday. Wait. That didn’t come out right.
*I’m talking about vaginas. You got that, right?