The Punchy Punchy Chronicles - THE FINALE

Okay, so this final recap of The Contender will be a little different to my previous efforts. And by that, I mean it will be unmitigated rubbish.

See, normally I sit down with a nutritious meal, a helpful beverage, my laptop and a number of leisurely, quiet hours in front of me. I eat, I drink, I tap, I think, I take sneaky screen grabs.
But last night, I actually went to the Sydney Entertainment Centre to see the fight (thank you, oh benevolent TV types). Let’s see the difference:

Nutritious Meal: FAIL. The mini meat pies in the secret room where drinks were free (I will always find the secret room where the drinks are free) were delicious, and I will be saving the streak of gravy I spilled on my top as a souvenir, but nutritious? No.

Helpful Beverage: WIN. Win plural. Win myself a couple of new kidneys.

Laptop: FAIL. I started scribbling notes on a highly technological piece of paper, but that made it impossible to concentrate on proceedings, and given that I only have two hands - one of which was holding a beer and the other of which was clamped over my mouth with amazement – I figured I should get my manual priorities in order. Just like life.

Leisurely Quiet Hours: Are you f*cking serious?

So. Y’know. Don’t expect much.


The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That

I managed an in-depth interview with all of the Contender boxers who weren’t fighting that night. Well, I spoke to a number of them briefly, including the hosts. Oh, okay, I mumbled a couple of things under my breath and may or may not have been overheard.
Exclusive boxer soundbytes below.

Daniel & Israel: “G’day”.

Josh: “Anyone know where the gents is?”.

Victor: “Blog? What is ‘blog’?”

Les: “Blaaaaaaaah! Chantelle Dawson! Blaaaaaaaah!”

Charlotte Dawson: Something about boob tape.

Sonni: “My man! My woman! I just shake hands with you, man. I have a piece of paper say I not go near the woman. BOOYAKA!! BOO! BOO! BOO! BOOYAKA!”.


Challenged

The challenge was keeping my eye on the boxing ring instead of just checking out everyone in the audience. For a while there it looked like hairdressing would come out in front (the variety!), with multicoloured fingernails coming up the rear (Oh. I see how that sounds now. Ouch), threatening the mastery of That’s Really Quite A Lot Of Tattoos, Sir, but it was seriously too close to call.

Of course, the real winner was Ed Hardy.

“Winner”.


Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fashion

Oh, Nader. You’re a Knight In White Satin with a waxed chest. It may not necessarily be noble, but it totally works.

Oh, Junior. You so sparkly.

Oh, Garth. Nice haircut. Good to see you get some new eye-work, as well.

Aaaaah, Kariz. It will only be a shame if you get modelling work out of this if they insist on putting clothes on you.

OH SONNI. If someone had just told me you’d worn a leopard-skin suit that looked like it had actually been mauled by leopards AND a wooden mask WITH DREADLOCKS, I would have assumed it was a dream. An incredible, jungle-esque, batshit-crazy dream. BUT NO! I have proof. Fuzzy, black-and-white, didn’t-get-the-mask-in-shot, why-are-my-eyes-glowing proof.

The Lion Sleeps Tonight. On Sonni's jacket.

KOs and OKs

Did I blink, or did Nader and Junior’s grudge match only last as long as Bindi Irwin’s Greatest Hits album? See, apparently if there’s a head clash within the first three rounds of the fight, and there’s a crescent moon, a light westerly wind, enough polyester-cotton in the room and the blood drops from one of the boxer’s faces makes a pattern that looks ike a monkey riding a bicycle on the floor of the ring, it’s a technical draw and they stop the fight.

It’s true. I looked it up.

Punchy Punchy

It might have been the contact high from all the (awesome) testosterone in the room, it might have been the culmination of eleven weeks of build-up, or it might have been the way the stadium lighting glittered elegantly off Kariz’s abdominal muscles, but hot damn, I loved this fight. Garth got low and close to counteract Kariz’s reach, Kariz kept up with relentless body-shots in the clinch, and eventu – OH MY GOD, THERE’S TAHNEE FROM AUSTRALIA’S NEXT TOP MODEL. Girl just cannot keep away from blood at a Foxtel finale.

Despite being the underdog (or underbunny, more correctly), Garth emerged victorious, said something about starring in a feature film and winning an Oscar, accepted his gigantic novelty cheque from Charlotte Dawson, and no doubt went out to get irreversibly stonkered.

Nice one, Garfus.


So that’s it! I must say that between the incredible personalities, buff gods and questionable eating habits on the screen, the criminally heated and riotous goings-on on the Contender facebook page, the outstandingly generous and hilarious people I’ve met from the show and those little mini-pizzas with feta and olives on them, it’s been a hell of a ride.
Thanks for reading!

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The Punchy Punchy Chronicles: Volume 10

Wow. Just.... wow. The first fight in this episode of The Contender was, in the words of The Trainer Who Talks Like He’s Drunk, “A rill ballderrer”. To paraphrase Garth and Mr Beardy, though, I’m calling the whole episode “Punches In Bunches”.

However I describe it, though, I have come to one startling and completely unexpected realisation, likely to cause shockwaves in my psyche for decades to come, and change my own outlook and that of my friends and family forever.

I... I’m kind of into boxing now.

There. I said it.


The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That

How am I going to learn about life when this show is over? Who will summarise the complexities of the universe in single, badly constructed sentences? How will I know to add the phrase “and that” to the end of everything I say, and refer to myself as “meself”? This is really going to be distinctly inconvenient. And that.

• When the lads travel to fancy-schmancy restaurant Catalina’s by seaplane, we’re reminded once again of Josh’s discomfort in relation to matters of extreme altitude. Or, as he puts it, “I’m shittin’ meself”. SO SUCCINCT. Victor also pitches in with “My eyes is heppy, but my stomach – very, very unheppy”. I can't believe I have the impulse right now to tell champion boxers to man up. Jeez.

• Before his fight with Garth, Victor impersonates his biceps and says “Watch out, Garth WOOOOOD!”. Impersonates. His biceps. Hot damn, I love this show.

• Regarding his own fight with Kariz, Josh pretty much summarises what it is to be a boxer: “We’ll just put our friendship aside, just for that fifteen minutes or whatever it is, and um… basically punch each other’s head in”. I’d like him to get a job commentating for the Winter Olympics. I can hear him saying “Right, so these blokes on the luge and that, they just put their friendship aside, just for that forty-seven seconds or whatever it is, and um… basically fang down the white skate ramp like the bloody clappers”. MAKE IT HAPPEN, SAMARANCH EQUIVALENT. Make. It. Happen.


Challenged.

This week’s challenge tests the boxers to the ultimate limit, shuddering the core of their very manhood and causing nerves to fray and friendships to strain under its weight.

Yep. It’s ten-pin bowling. Nothing screams brutal testicular force better than shiny balls and two-tone shoes. Victor loses because he’d rather sulk and eat borscht by the sidelines, and Josh wins because he’s a little bit awesome. There is no prize except for the fact that they get to bowl with Anthony Mundine. There is no prize.


Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fashion

• Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Rose Bay Thick-Necked Thug Catwalk Show. First up, we have our models Kariz, Garth, Josh and Victor, looking actually decent in actual clothes that were actually made for actual men. Who knew?

• Just when you think there’s not going to be any ridiculous headwear or outfits that belong in boy bands, in walks Anthony “The Fresh Prince Man” Mundine. Phew. He announces his arrival with “Sup. Champ’s in the house”. Oh, boom, shake shake shake the room, Anthony. Tell me I’m wrong:

Anthony Mundine

The Fresh Prince. ‘Sup.

• In the locker room before his fight, Garth ticks off a mental checklist to make sure he’s got everything. Pictures of loved ones – check. Water - check. Dressing gown – check. Hand strapping – check. Delta Goodrem on the iPod – check. Yep, think that’s everything.

Pants, Garth. You forgot PANTS.

The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring

• Garth’s brother Nathan calls him ‘Garfus’ and kisses him on the cheek. I reckon only someone who flies kites in budgie-smugglers and gigantic cowboy hats could be more wonderful. But that would never happen.

• The glamorous and ubiquitous Svetlana is there with her characteristic fashion sense and her awesome banshee wail. Apparently “AAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!” is Russian for “Your opponent is like a chicken, my darling!”.

• After the Josh and Kariz fight, the ring is completely overrun by tiny, adorable offspring. It’s like a swarm of cute ants teeming all over a left-over Kit Kat, if the ants were dressed in Osh Kosh B’gosh, and if the Kit Kat was covered in sweat and blood, and if this analogy was better.

KOs and OKs

• Can we just talk about the theme music for a second? It’s the most stirring thing since Jamie Oliver did a special about stirring stuff, but with a lot less need for condescending uppity wanker. I FEEL IT IN MY LOINS. I would very much like to hear The Contender music play every time I walk into a meeting or my bedroom. Okay, maybe just meetings. The less my bedroom is associated with rings and fists, the better.

• Wow. We made it to the Semi-Final! We’re one step closer to a new ute. Give yourselves a little clap. In fact, keep giving yourselves a little clap, and don’t stop until the credits roll. All anyone does in this episode (aside from wearing nice shirts and punching bejeezus out of each other) is applaud themselves and bleed.

• We’ve been through a lot over these last ten weeks, we have. Drama, fights, mushrooms, training, Ramadan, skipping ropes, tears, guts, glory and Vaseline. So when Josh is asked what his favourite moment of the whole series has been, his answer is obvious. It’s when Kariz went arse over tit in the sand and his head “popped up like a lamington”. Josh, you are the third best thing that has ever happened to me.

Punchy Punchy


Fight One: Garth and Victor

I’m pretty much speechless, so I’m just going to refer to my notes. Yes, I take notes. Shut up. Selected stream-of-consciousness snippets from my frenzied during-bout tappings:

DING DING. Garth is an absolute fucking madman – punch after punch after punch after punch. JAB JABJABJABJAB. Just massive and unbelievable.
Loads of cuddling, and Garth PICKS VICTOR UP and almost dumps him over the ropes. End of last round, it’s just wrestling and tackling. Victor headbutts Garth. Svetlana goes nuts. It’s frickin’ awesome.
It’s a full-on, claret-everywhere, BRAWL. Garth keeps picking Victor up, Briggs rushes the ring and gives the ref shit, it’s all eighteen different kinds of amazing. Garth rushes Victor again. This is just the BEST shit ever. Garth is a punching machine, yo.
GARTH WINS. Johnny says “You’re the most courageous kid in the world”. I love Johnny. Bye, Victor. You were not like a chicken.

I can’t really put it any better than that. Also, welcome to how my brain works when I’m watching television. My mother will be calling me shortly to let me know exactly which soap I should wash my mouth out with. And yes, my brain puts the word “yo” at the end of things. Again: shut up.

Victor takes his loss well, just whispering the word ‘Poop’ under his breath. And also punching sweet mercy out of the set and shouting in the shower.

Fight Two: Josh and Kariz

Josh explains his attitude towards the fight with “I take everything as a joke, but when I fight, I fight serious”. Perhaps with a nice schooner, Josh.

In turn, Kariz describes his outlook with “I see myself as a predator, and my opponent as prey. I’m just focused on chewing his heart. Having his heart on a plate”. Perhaps with some fava beans and a nice Chianti, Kariz.

Josh puts up a valiant and tough fight, his little man-boobs jiggling with every punch, but Kariz just pips him at the post, stir-frying Josh’s heart and sprinkling it with Hoisin sauce and sesame seeds. Boxing is delicious, y’all.

Later when Josh’s kids come in to the locker room and give their awesome dad a hug, he lets a few tears go. THAT’S EVERYONE. Everyone on this show has now had a bit of a sook. PS: I love everyone on this show.

So. That’s it. Final next week. I’ll be going to see it (See definition under “relentless fame-whore”), so next week’s recap will be:

a) Late, because I plan on hunting Josh down and demanding he come for a beer afterwards;
b) Late, because I plan on hunting Nader down and making him listen while I tell him how noble he is;
c) Sketchy, because I’ll be too excited to write anything down; and
d) Crap, because I won’t be able to see the screen through the tears and snot and stuff.
Other than that, it will be totally, totally awesome.

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The Punchy Punchy Chronicles: Volume 9

When I was a kid, I had a goldfish – for argument’s sake, let’s call him Nade... wait - let’s call him Rosebud. I fed Rosebud every day, and lovingly watched him circle his familiar fishbowl, blissfully shimmying past each plastic castle and piece of lacy pond-weed. He’d look at me calmly with his bulbous, glassy eyes, nodding in his endearingly fishy way as if to reassure me that, even though the whole goldfish-only-have-a-fifteen-second-memory thing is a fallacy, he was more than content to do the repetitive rounds of his watery home as long as we were together. You could almost say that Rosebud was noble.


Then, one morning, as I awoke and wiped the slumber-crust from my drowsy eyes, I looked down at the carpet and saw Rosebud. Dead. Signs of a valiant struggle evident in the splashy shadows surrounding the corpse, outlining his fateful, flipping arc from bowl to floor.


As my face fell and my lids blinked back tears, I scooped him gently in the pages of a Dolly magazine and escorted him to the bathroom, where he again joined the sea, albeit in a slightly more rigid fashion than that in which he had first left it.


I let loose a small cry and muttered these distraught, plaintive words softly under my breath and the sound of flushing:


YOU SELFISH. FUCKING. BASTARD.


Seriously. After all I’ve done for you? *



The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That.


Watching all this boxing has opened my eyes to the beauty and glory that is: The Life Motto. I pretty much want everything that ever comes out of anyone’s mouth on this show printed on a t-shirt (except maybe for the phrase ‘JABJABJABJABJABJAB!’, because that’s just stupid). For example:


• Josh, after winning his fight last week, offers: “I just wanna get a new truck and have a happier life”. PRINT IT ON A T-SHIRT.


• Josh, surveying his physical damage: “Me noggin and me beak’s a bit sore, this ear’s a bit sore, but aaah, nup. No dramas. Still handsome”. PRINT IT ON AN ADMITTEDLY MUCH LARGER T-SHIRT.


• Josh (again) discussing his victory (again): “I’m on cloud 69 at the moment”. GET IT PRINTED ON A PAIR OF UNDIES.


• Victor, celebrating Josh’s win: “Time to drink beer! Time to drink beer!” GET IT TATTOOED ON MY FOREHEAD.



Challenged.


In a rush to fill their My Head Is Exploding quota for the week, producers devise a challenge so complicated I’d need a doctorate degree from Vinnie Barbarino University just to work it out.



The boys have to answer quiz questions by dinging a bell, and each correct answer gets them a shot at an archery target. Each ring on the target represents a different score, and the final winner is the boxer who doesn’t think Rocky Balboa’s wife’s name is ‘Elizabeth’. Victor gets so frustrated he knocks over his little bell-table, Nader suspects that someone has messed with the sights on his bow, and Garth wins pushbikes for everybody. It’s like primary school, only more noble and with a higher percentage of dropped testicles.


Also: damn, that Charlotte Dawson can count, can’t she?




Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fashion.


In keeping with the quiz-style nature of this week’s challenge, I have two pertinent, fashion-related questions for you.


1. Q: When is a skipping rope not a skipping rope?

A: When it’s the least noticeable accessory in a Flashdance-themed training session.

2. Q: When is acid-wash not acid-wash?

A: NEVER. Acid-wash will always be acid-wash. This photo of teenage Nader wearing it will be the only thing that survives in time capsules from the 80s. Rubiks Cubes and Bananarama albums are biodegradable. FACT.

The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring.

In the Nader corner, we have the extended family giving it their open-mouthed all. I’m calling them the Hand Flap Chapter, and expect them to be hoarse in the morning.

In the Kariz corner, we have the Kenyan Boogie Crew, notable for their loudness and their rockin’ co-ordinated dance moves.

KOs and OKs

• This week was so romantic, you guys. The boxers often remark that it’s unusual to associate so closely with one’s opponent before a match. Eating fried mushrooms together. Training together. Playing pool together. And oh, I don’t know – slow-dancing and taking long romantic walks in the forest together. Stuff like that.

• The Trainer Who Talks Like He’s Drunk comments that Nader will want to fight like he’s in a phonebooth, and Kariz will want to fight like he’s in an open paddock. Leave the metaphors to me, Briggs. And P.S: put the crackpipe down.

• By contrast, Mr Beardy tells us that Kariz ‘whacks hard’. Bit personal, don’t you think?

• Because of Ramadan, Nader can’t eat or drink anything during daylight hours, but he still trains like a madman. WAIT – ‘madman’ is almost an anagram of ‘Ramadan’! Coincidence? Er.... yes. Yes, it is. There’s an exception to the Ramadan rule if travel is involved, so Nader goes for a long drive and has some scrambled eggs. Personally, I always go the Bacon & Egg McMuffin option on a roadtrip, but you know – whatever turns your windmill. STILL NOBLE, BUT.

• I’m not entirely convinced that we’ll get to the end of this series without seeing every single boxer cry, and this week it’s Nader’s turn. It’s obviously noble, but still, man. Step Up. Ball Up. Tear Up.

Punchy Punchy.

Things that are hot: Summer. The Desert. Stoves. Fights between Kariz and Nader. Slow motion sweat and grunting never looked so good. Every time the bell rang I thought it was the sound of my underpants approving. Ding ding, my friends.
DING.
DING.

There’s the usual meld of punching, hugging, huffing, dripping and trainer ramble, but the real competition here is between opposing cheer squads and abdominal muscles.

And then... I... I can’t bring myself to report the result. It’s... the screen’s just gone a bit blurry, is all. Suffice to say, apparently dancing cheer squads are marginally more effective than hand-flapping cheer squads, and Nader doesn’t kick the rope on the judge’s side of the ring because he’s overcome with the thrill of success.

I... I can’t believe... no.

*Der. It’s a metaphor.

The Punchy Punchy Chronicles: Volume 8

Y’know, I thought that with Sonni gone, that there might be a distinct lack of personality in the Contender warehouse.

WRONG. HI JOSH.

It's funny - normally I don't like people who have bigger boobs than me. Go figure.


The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That.

• Daniel speaks for all of us when he says “As annoying as Sonni can be, and he can push your patience a little, I think some of the boys are starting to miss him already”. I couldn’t agree more. Also, Sonni – the boys down at the lock-up send hugs.

• Down at Bondi Beach, Garth describes the scenery as “Sun. Sand. Waves. And plenty of talent”. Dear Australian Tourism Commission: GARTH WOODS IS THE NEW LARA BINGLE. He’s also the new Rabs Warren, if his Oscar-worthy impersonation is anything to go by.

• Josh mucks around with the winner board, slotting the semi-finalists’ names into the spaces that he enshishes... envishash... envishered it. How he envishered it. Later, he talks about how his body shape has changed since starting on the Contender. “I used to be a skinny fat bloke before I come in, but now I’m sorta just a... a lean bloke”. The new edition of Daniel Amalm’s thesaurus clearly has a medical section.


Challenged.
• This week’s challenge is a Bondi surf-lifesaving styled flag race, in which the lads have to lie down (perfect so far), wait for a whistle, and then bolt to grab a flag that’s been poked in the sand (haven’t we all). There are not enough flags to go ‘round, so it’s a lot like musical chairs, but with a lot more gusset-grit.

• Kariz has a wee head-first stack in the sand, and Josh describes the event as being the highlight of his year. My highlight of the year is the phrase “When he come up, he looked like a lamington”. Mind you, if all lamingtons looked like Kariz, my local primary school could sell them door-to-door and buy themselves a small European country.

• The winner of the challenge is Charlotte Dawson’s clearly-visible undergarment. And also Garth.

Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fashion.

• These boxing boys sure love their cosmetic surgery. Victor’s eye-lift is healing quite well, to be honest. Worried about the leeches, though.


• Sometimes, girls wear padded bras to make their boobs look bigger. See that’s what padding does. For this reason, I am renaming Daniel’s protective gear here ‘The Robo-Penis’.

• The call-out, where the boxers stand toe-to-toe and try to stare down their opponents, is a critical, tense time. It’s important to look as ruthless, tough and hardcore as possible. Or perhaps like a Halal Hugh Hefner. Your choice, Nader.

Noblest. Pyjamas. Ever.

• Remember when Naomi Campbell stacked on the catwalk? Don’t lie, boxing readers, you do so. I know you lap up fashion industry faux-pas like they’re carbs before a spar. Well, this clip is EXACTLY like that. We’re not just talking like we’re drunk anymore. Oh, and PS: Studio 54 wants their mirror-ball back.

The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring.

“Fucking knock ‘im out, darl” is the best thing any wife, life-partner, mother or offspring has shouted into the ring all series. Thank you Josh’s missus. You have raised the bar.

KOs and OKs

• Does anyone else just want to spend the rest of their lives down the pub with Josh? Nader (quite nobly, to be honest) calls Josh a ‘no frills guy’, which is possibly the understatement of the year. The other boys read the newspaper. Josh reads the catalogue insert. For some reason, this is the most endearing thing I’ve ever seen in a current-affairs-related context, and I’m even including the puppy-trapped-down-a-drain stories after the weather report. The Joshy lopsided grin is like a little ray of bogan sunshine. Awwww.

• Kariz, as shown in the challenge, you are a dirty, stinking cheat. Now come here for a spanking.

• During the call-out, after a long period of staring into each other’s eyes, Daniel puckers up and blows Josh a kiss. My dream of some stand-off man-love with tongue inches ever closer. I’m buying new scented candles and a Kenny G CD just in case.

• If Aussie Joe Bugner were a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, his label would be Batshit Crazy Estate. Victor arm-wrestles the bottle of cabernet sauvignon and wins. Yeah. Metaphor kind of lost its oomph halfway through, huh.

Punchy Punchy.

Okay, so Daniel’s motto is in Gaelic, and it means “fortune follows the brave”.
Josh’s motto is in Bogan, and it means “I haven’t had to worry about me pub”.
This is important.

DING DING and the punchy punchy starts. Punching, tentative cuddles, dancing, cheeky grins, sweat, winks, claret and dribble flash past in a blur of awesome abs and (depending on who you're looking at) comparatively less magnificent man-boobs, and in no time it’s been five rounds, a fair bit of swearing, and the fight’s over.

Daniel puts up a decent fight, but in the end, the guy whose motto alludes to beer consumption wins. JUST LIKE LIFE.

Bye, Daniel. Thank you for the true privilege of seeing you without your shirt on.

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The Punchy Punchy Chronicles: Volume 7

When faced with a difficult choice in the past, like which self-tanner to use, what time to eat my next meal containing chorizo, or which photograph of Clive Owen does the best things for my pants, I’ve always chosen the highly scientific, time-honoured ‘eeny meeny miny mo’ method.

Oh, but not any more. Not. Any. More. You know what I’m talking about.

A quick reminder, too – don’t forget the Jungle Juice Drinking Game. Every time anybody utters the word ‘jungle’, take a shot. If you hear a bonus “booyaka” or “my man”, pop a cocktail umbrella in your glass. I’ll save you a spot next to me in rehab. It’ll be ace.


The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That.

Speaking of which, it’s pretty much the Sonni show as far as quotes go this week. He’s like a philosophy machine fuelled by leopard skin and bananas.

• Before attempting the rock-climbing challenge, Sonni explores all available options for avoiding it. First, he doubts the prize offer with “Monkey climb only when there is banana at top of tree, you know. Without banana, monkey never climb”. When Charlotte assures him that there is in fact,a banana, he tries “I don’t want to be a burglar. I don’t climb walls, I climb tree”. It’s only when Ms Dawson claims that she herself could climb the wall that he gets off his arse and straps it into a harness. Dude. It’s a wall with lumps on it. Get on with it.

• When discussing his family, Sonni mentions that “I miss my mum cuddle”. I swear I totally walked up to my television screen and pinched his cheeks at this point. SONNI NEEDS JUNGLE CUDDLES, YO.


Challenged.

For the challenge this week, the boys have to climb the wall of an indoor rock-climbing gym as quickly as possible. Now, I’ve been to a rock-climbing gym before, and I’m told that apparently, there’s more to do there than just stand on the ground staring up at men’s buttocks getting smaller and smaller in the heightened distance. And there is! You can also watch them coming back down again. It’s really quite a well-rounded sport. So to speak. Cough.

After some initial bitching, moaning, declarations of being scared of heights and other robustly masculine activity, Kariz proves himself as the fastest climber and gets to choose one of three boxes that contain a prize.

Does he flip a coin? No sir, he does not.

Does he engage in some brisk paper, scissors rock action? No sir, he does not.

Does he draw straws, put it to a vote or calculate the statistically most rewarding box? No sir, no sir, no sir,he does not.

Kariz gets out his index finger, points to each box in turn and chants “Picky, Picky, Ponky”.
PICKY.
PICKY.
PONKY.
Do not doubt that this is the best thing you’ve ever heard.


Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fashion.

It never really occurred to me before that boxers might be vain. I always just assumed that with the facial scarring and mashed noses and such that perhaps these gentlemen might dispense with the vagaries of stylish outfitting and cosmetic enhancement. Then I started watching this show.

It’s really hard to tell, but if you look closely, you can see that Garth has the faint, tell-tale signs of an eyelift. Honestly, it takes years off him.

Victor is better at hiding his own eye work, but then gives the game away by pointing right at it.

Sonni looks pretty happy with his facelift, but the stitches are a bit extreme.



The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring.

So blah, blah, Victor’s kids and wife are adorable, yadda, yadda. I’m way too distracted by Sonni’s mate, Luigi The Walking Stereotype. Check him out:

He-a make-a the pizza.

If his mobile phone rings and I don’t hear this, I’m suing for false advertising.

KOs and OKs

• When Sonni comes last in the climbing challenge, he says it’s his job to come ‘Everlast’. SO close to looking clever, Sonni. If only you hadn’t spelt it backwards on your chest.

• You know what makes my heart flutter? Unbridled man-love is what. And if that man-love occurs between Nader the swarthy hirsute gent and Josh the world’s biggest food-spilling boofhead, ALL THE BETTER.

Imagine the noble bogan babies.

• Leopard-skin boxing boots, you complete me. Especially when you’re accompanied by Sonni dancing in front of the mirror in both you and his underwear. Thanks once again.


Punchy Punchy.

Sonni and Victor get in their shiny pyjamas and dance, cuddle, dodge, drink, hop, spit, punc... oh, look. Victor wins, okay? We all knew it was gonna happen. Anyway, by this point in the proceedings the word ‘jungle’ has been used so often that we’re too rat-arsed on hooch to care, right?
Except we do. We DO care. Because we know that the real loser here is fashion.

Fashion, and batshit crazy.

Bye, Jungle Boy. We’ll miss you, you mental, mental, bastard.
No banana for you, my friend.

The Punchy Punchy Chronicles: Volume 6

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Punchy Punchy Club.

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.


Challenged.

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:

Nader doesn’t indulge, as he’s ‘not an alcohol person’. SO NOBLE. But not so good for playing the Jungle Juice Drinking Game.

Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fashion.

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:

• You know what a scene in a changeroom means? MEN WITHOUT PANTS ON. Just for the record, I have no problem with this concept whatsoever. Victor, however, does.

Zis pants are for people without bum.

No, Victor. That bum is for people without pants.

• Despite hoping for a pink suit, Sonni ends up looking like a Black Eyed Pea.

Will I Am Not.

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.

Punchy Punchy.

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?

The Punchy Punchy Chronicles: Volume 5

Good things come in pairs. Twins. Socks. Testicles. Two beers.

This week on The Contender, there’s not one but TWO punchy punchy sessions. Twice the punchy. Twice the sweaty. And almost sixteen times more cuddles. This is really becoming my kind of sport, y’all.


The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That.

For as long as the blokes on The Contender keep saying stuff, I will keep learning lessons about life. FACT.

• When Sonni is late to congratulate Victor on his win, he explains that “I was in the toilet, man. I was too nervous. I had to take a nervous bath”. Twenty-two thousand people all assume he was going to finish that last sentence differently.

• Victor might have to ask Daniel Amalm if he can borrow his thesaurus. Alternatively, he might just keep telling people they are like a chicken. Either/or.

• Garth gets a cut to the eye during sparring, and he self-diagnoses. Now, I’m not down with all the latest medical technology and jargon, but apparently he’s suffering from advanced Claret Everywhere Bust Me Open syndrome.

• When Pradeep goes to tell Mr Beardy and The Trainer Who Talks Like He’s Drunk that he’s quitting the competition, The Trainer Who Talks Like He’s Drunk gives him a little pep talk. “This is what the fight game is about” he says. “It’s about heartbreak. It’s about letdown”. Wow. Way to market the sport, dude.

• Before Sonni fights, he tells us that “When I am in the ring, I remember that I am Sonni, but still, deep inside me, I am the Jungle Boy”. If I have to explain to you why this is eighty-four different kinds of awesome, then you’re off my Christmas card list.


Challenged.

There are no more challenges. Instead, each boxer’s name will now be frozen in dry ice, blessed by a shaman, flown to the top of a mountain and flung from the peak. Whichever two names the trained eagles swoop in and grasp with their outstretched talons will be the fighters for that week.

Actually, for the first time in five weeks, the fighter-choosing is relatively simple. The hardest bit was finding buckets in the right colours at Bunnings.

Kariz is matched with Adrian, and everybody tries to pretend that the eight-foot height difference won’t matter. And no, Adrian, I’m not going to do it yet.

Pradeep is matched with Sonni, and... Pradeep? Hello?


Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Fashion.

Welcome to the Fisty Fashion Festival, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we have an eclectic and unusual collection to show you, and we do hope you enjoy it. Jatz and Cracker Barrel will be served after the show in the vestibule.

In the red corner, we have The Trainer Who Talks Like He’s Drunk in what are clearly women’s glasses.

And in the blue corner, please welcome Ben, in a fetching hat and scarf combination from the Turn-Of-The-Century Paper-Boy collection.



Finally, in the Hypercolour corner, Sonni struts his stuff in off-the-shoulder glamour. What a feeling. Being’s believing. He can have it all, now he’s punchy for his life.



The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring.

Oh look, I don’t know. I can’t tell which wife, girlfriend or casual shag belongs to whom anymore. One thing’s for certain, though: BOXING DADDIES = CUTE KIDS. Dawwww.

KOs and OKs

• Adrian actually speaks in this episode! Hi, Adrian. Welcome to the party. And no, I’m not going to do it yet. You’ll have to wait.

• I’ve totally figured it out. Pradeep has PMT. The mood-swings, the feelings of persecution, the listless demeanour, the cryi –waaaiiit. Crying? I THOUGHT YOUR EYES WERE DESERT, PRADEEP. Let’s have a little comparison, shall we? Let’s see:

Desert.

Not desert.

TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THINGS.

• Ben hurts his neck and has to see a doctor. I reckon his neck’s just tired under the weight of all that hair and all those big words.

• Matt Shirvington and Andrew Ettinghausen are in the audience for fight night. It’s like a Has-Been Hotties convention.

• I’ve just noticed that, in between rounds, the trainers hold the boxers’ belts away from their stomachs. I’m sure officially it’s to help their breathing comfort, but I’m just gonna go right ahead and pretend that it’s to cop a gawk at their junk.

Punchy Punchy.

FIGHT ONE: Kariz & Adrian
Unfortunately I blinked during this fight, and missed most of it. Still, in a surprise comparable to going into the Contender kitchen and finding someone frying mushrooms, Kariz knocks Adrian out.

And yes, Adrian. I’m going to do it now.

ADRIIIIAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNN!

Thank Christ. I’ve been waiting five weeks to bust out that shit.
Also: Your Arse + Blue-Lit Shower Scene = Awesome. Class dismissed.

FIGHT TWO: Pradeep and Sonni
Okay, so the single most important thing about this fight is that Sonni is wearing leopard-print boots. Tell me I’m wrong.

In preparation for the fight, Pradeep does some praying, some jumping around, some mirror-inspection and some shadow-boxing.

Sonni’s preparation technique is almost the same, but with one minor difference. See if you can pick it:

Fight-time, and it seems Sonni likes to cuddle and punch at the same time. And girly-slap. And elbow. And head-butt. So, he may not be that ethical, and he may not be a completely clean fighter, and the ref might have told him not to be stupid, but for god’s sake, people. Leopard-print boots. In the end, the guy who does the most celebratory pelvic-thrusts wins. JUST LIKE LIFE.

There’s not much footage of Pradeep in the shower afterwards, supposedly because they couldn’t find many continuous shots where he wasn’t wailing “The drops of water! They are like needles to my skin! They show me no respect!”.

Unfortunately for me and my pants, Nader hardly features in this episode at all. Being noble is probably just really, really tiring.

.

The Punchy Punchy Chronicles: Volume 4

Boxing.

Is so.

Emotional.

If my eyes weren’t a desert, I guarantee you I’d be crying.

In a competition to find the World’s Most Sensitive Pugilist there would be a three-way tie, what with Junior getting choked up every time he mentions his family, Pradeep’s grand sweeping promises of dramatic Armageddon should he not get his way, and Sonni’s... well, I think Sonni deserves his own section, which I’m going to call...

The Many Moods Of Sonni Michel Angelo.

Sonni can smell drama from fifty feet away, underwater, with his nose missing, but when he reacts, he reacts so subtly that it’s almost impossible to determine exactly what’s going on in his head at any given time. That’s why I’ve decided, because I’m totally here to help you guys, to construct a basic guide to understanding Sonni’s innermost thoughts based on tiny, almost indiscernible nuances in his facial expression. For example:

It’s such a beautiful day. Perfect for going for a walk and picking daisies. No, PEONIES. Peonies are awesome.

OH MY GOD I JUST SAW A BUNNY RABBIT.

Y’know, I really, really like eating apricots.

I can't belive Peter Andre and Jordan broke up.

The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That.

• During the tug-of-war challenge, Ben mentions that he thinks “it’s befitting that it’s just blue on gold”. Dude. ‘Befitting’ has three syllables. If you’re not careful, they’ll revoke your boxing licence.

• Josh believes in being succinct. After listening to Pradeep run through every one of his eighteen separate emotions and submitting neatly typed essays outlining why he feels them so very deeply, Josh just tells the camera: “He’s just a very emotional bloke. He’s gotta get some cement dust and harden up a bit, I think’. That kind of quote is why I want to take this show on a picnic and hand-feed it delicious chicken sandwiches. That and the whole everyone’s-got-their-shirts-off-most-of-the-time thing.

Challenged.

• This week, the challenge is a Tug-Of-War, and the winner is Charlotte Dawson’s jacket.

• Victor, in a Russian accent even better than John Cleese’s in A Fish Called Wanda, looks confused and says ”I never heard this word before. Tug off war. But I saw zer quipment. And I’m understand”. Okay:
a) A rope. You saw a rope.
b) Can someone please ring the Kremlin and tell them that Victor is awesome.

• Men wrap themselves in rope, brace their thighs, flex their ‘ceps, and grunt. I’m pretty kind of deliriously happy with every word in that sentence. You know what makes men’s arms look better than when they’re pulling on a tug-of-war rope? Bringing me breakfast in bed, and nothing. The blue team wins because Victor is like a borscht-powered Jeep.

The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring.

• Both Junior and Victor clearly went wife-shopping at The Bridal Boutique Of Mind-Blowingly Impossible To Ridicule Hotties. You chose well, gentlemen. Svetlana juuust scrapes through as my favourite boxing wag this week, because encouragements shrieked out in Russian with hand gestures are the very latest thing in frenzied amazing.

• Junior, your mother is WORRIED about you. PUT YOUR PANTS ON.

KOs and OKs

• When Nader gets his golden winner’s necklace for beating Les, he says he’s going to give it to his sister, because he loves his sisters. NOBLE.

• I kind of imagine that if Pradeep ever got a splinter in his finger, he would exclaim “THIS IS INJUSTICE! I have a tree that has pierced my finger, and I’m already dead from it and speaking to you from beyond the grave. PS, my awesome buff god says hi”. Let’s have a look at some of the mild, not-overly-histrionic-at-all statements he made this week:

a) Aaaaaargh! Aaaaaaargh! Wooooooooh! Aarrrrrgh! (We just won a game of tug-of-war)
b) My family can’t see me fighting in the future. Never ever. (Unless it’s in one of the three fights that will take place over the next ten days).
c) I cannot cry because my eyes are desert! (And also because I don't really feel like crying)
d) I change 1.2 billion people’s thinking! (Everyone in India is watching this show, and I like decimal points).
e) This is injustice. And unfair. (I borrowed Daniel Amalm’s thesaurus)

• Nader settles an argument by suggesting a vote. SO NOBLE.

• It’s face-off time. Men stand eye to eye, nose to nose, chest to chest, and so on and so forth. To glare. To growl. To trash talk. And in Sonni’s case, to catch up on a little light reading.

Punchy Punchy.

• Victor fights Junior, and I’m finally starting to understand how the judges score in boxing. It’s pretty much one point for every bit of drool on your shoes, two points for dancing, three points for bleeding and five points every time you just want a cuddle.

• Just before the final round of fighting, Nader rushes the ring and encourages Victor with “You’re down, brother. Look at your wife, brother. She’s freakin’ out, cuz – have a look! It’s about your family, okay? Let’s go!” NOBLE NOBLE NOBLE.

• The closest fight ever in the history of time ever gets the non-fighting boxers and audience riled up as they dispute the judges’ decision to hand Victor the win. Whatever. The bloke who gets the most Vaseline smeared on his face always wins. JUST LIKE LIFE.

Oh, also – I know I go on and on about Nader a lot, and how very, very noble he is, and how hot he is, and how hot and noble and noble and hot he is, but I realised I might have been neglecting the interests of whole sections of the community.
So here, Eastern Suburbs girls. Have a couple of pictures of Ben with his tongue out.
You're welcome.

The Punchy Punchy Chronicles: Volume 3

I’m learning so much about boxing watching The Contender.

The most important rule I’ve learned this week is that, when you’re training to be a fighter, it’s absolutely essential to choose the right headgear.

The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That.

I’ve also learned more about life from these fine, sweaty gentlemen. Like what? Like:

• Uttered in the boxing ring, the phrase ‘touch ‘em up’ means something completely different to what I’m used to in real life.

• Referring to yourself in the third person is awesome, as demonstrated by Daniel. “It was a very close fight for Daniel MacKinnon”, he says. I’m totally adopting that so that I, too, can sound tough, hard, and a bit like I’m updating my own facebook status. “Jo is walking to the corner shop”, I shall say. “Jo is trying to secretly pull her undies out of her arse-crack without anyone noticing”. Magic.

• As Sonni shows us, tense situations can be diffused by singing selected bars from The Lion Sleeps Tonight and strumming your abdominal muscles like a ukulele. A-wimba-way, my man. A-Wimba. Way.

• It’s totally possible for your god to come to you in a dream and tell you he wants you to fight, provided your god is AWESOMELY BUFF like Pradeep’s.

Challenged.

This week’s challenge requires the lads to run to the top tier of ANZ Stadium, search through the cheap seats for cylinders containing puzzle pieces, run back down to the grass and construct a puzzle which contains three ‘motivational words’.

• Josh finds the challenge difficult, because (as he so eloquently puts it): “I’m scared a heights. Keep that in the dark”. Gotcha. You want to keep it a secret. Maybe just tell the cameraman, the sound guy, and everybody watching the show, then. Shhhh. He continues with “I’m shittin’ meself. Gimme five punches in the head to some bloody walk across the bridge any day”. I’m guessing from his diction and silken command of the English language that he’s about eight or nine punches to the head in credit at this point.

• Sonni’s command of English doesn’t seem to be much better. Perhaps in the Congo, the phrase for ‘You’re sitting this one out’ sounds similar to the phrase meaning ‘If you wouldn’t mind, please sprint behind us hooting into a megaphone’. Who can say.

• Junior cracks the secret to the whole challenge when he lets us know that running downhill is easier than running uphill. The motivational word inside his hidden cylinder is “Der”.

The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring.

• Nader’s wife Amira is well dressed, calm, dignified and articulate. THAT’S NOT HOW YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO WORK IT AS A BOXING WAG, LADY. Still, if it wasn’t for the fact that she’s married to my husband, we could totally hang out.

• Ladies. Take your Boxing Wag lessons from Les’s missus Shauna, whose facial moles I am way too frightened to mention. Let’s see:
Four kids and one on the way? Check.
Boosies-out frock for maximum applause-wiggling? Check.
Animal print enswathing one’s person? Check.
Multiple pieces of dangly gold jewellery? Check.
Screaming out the phrase “C’mon, smash ‘im!”? CHECK AND MATE.

KOs and OKs

• Sonni, listen - the guy who invented the phrase ‘my man’ wants his royalty cheque. You take note too, Garth – every time you impersonate Sonni, the cash register goes ching.

• Charlotte. Lady. You’re wearing a button-down shirt made of... what is that, cotton?! Unless your underwear is woven from the mane of unicorn, the fashion industry is going to be very upset with you.

• I hear Nader is writing a book entitled How To Be Both Awesomely Noble And A Red-Hot Spunk At The Same Time. It’s the sequel to Step Up, Ball Up, Man Up, but with more pictures.

• Pradeep doesn’t so much train as dance, or Shake His Lovely Prady Lumps, as it were. Trainer Mr Beardy (I’m terrible with names, but it’s the one who isn’t The Trainer Who Talks Like He’s Drunk) calls Pradeep a warrior. He’s not a warrior, Mr Beardy. He’s a BOOGIE FIEND. Apparently the guy trains for seventeen hours a day. I can only assume that he spends the other seven shopping for sunglasses.

• Victor performs a ‘Russian Moonwalk’, coincidentally several years after the first American did. Oh, the postmodern irony!

• Oh, you know I’mma talk about Sonni and his photo now. It is a comedy in three acts, and I have bought a season ticket.

- Act One, In Which Sonni Critically Scrutinises The Finer Points Of Contemporary Photography.
“Is it me? Is it me? Serious? Maaaan, I saw myself every day in de mirror. I never know I was pretty like that. You know sayin’? I really pretty, man. It’s perfect, look at that. Perfect body, perfect every-ting. Perfect eyes, you know, to see beautiful girl around. Perfect lips, you know, to kiss. Maaaaan. Let’s try to compare”.

- Act Two, In Which Sonni Holds Up His Muhammad Ali Printed Man-Bag To Compare Two Kinds Of Beauty.
AND DECLARES HIMSELF THE WINNER.

- Act Three, In Which I Totally And Utterly Lose My Goddamn Shit.
“My Man! Jungle! Aaaah, you the man, man! Can’t wait to see you in action”.
I need an ambulance. Seriously. This awesome show hurts me.

Punchy Punchy.

This week, Nader and Les put on their dressing gowns, daub on their Vaseline and go head to head. They spend a little bit of time punching, a bit more time dripping in slow motion, and the vast majority of minutes just having a bit of a cuddle. In the end though, it seems that whoever has the studliest chest hair wins. JUST LIKE LIFE.
Nader wins because the universe is as it should be. Except for that whole seeing-Les-naked-in-the-shower thing. Pull your socks up, Universe.

I would like to dedicate this episode of The Contender to whichever member of the crew has been hired to record the grunts. Awesome job, dude.

The Punchy Punchy Chronicles, Volumes 1 & 2

Okay, so if you’d asked me three weeks ago if I’d be interested in a show about boxing, I might have rolled my eyes, scoffed in a condescending manner, and turned back to my book about the origins of postmodernism and my lime-packed, gin-based cocktail.*

But if you’d asked me if I was interested in watching a show about inarticulate sweaty men without shirts, co-hosted by Uber-Scrag Charlotte Dawson and featuring a man in a leopard-skin suit who considers his own penis as the single love of his life, I would have signed on the dotted line with ink distilled from my own tears of joy.

Hence, here are my thoughts regarding the pugilistic juggernaut that is The Contender.

I know. I’m as astonished as you are.


Episode One.

I’ve been a bit slow off the mark with this show, so I’ll just get you up to speed with what you really need to know about the first episode, screened last week.
Point one: Make no mistake: this show is about Sonni “Jungle Boy” Michael Angelo. Anyone who turns his back on Anthony Mundine in a bright yellow, leopard-skin-lapelled suit jacket is welcome ‘round at my house for kangaroo-based metaphors anytime.

Point two: There are fourteen boxers, two hosts, two trainers, and a dude who looks like a dessicated geriatric Mr Sheen, except instead of cleaning, dusting and polishing, he does... um... well, nothing. Unless you count wearing unnecessary tracksuits. Which I don’t.

Point three: There are two teams, who compete weekly in the most complicated challenges in the entire world ever since the dawn of everything. If you win a challenge you pick the two blokes who fight that week, and if you win your fight you get a necklace and your name gets slotted into a big board and you’re exempt from the following week’s challenge and you get to pick the exact wardrobe that leads to Narnia and I need an aspirin and a lie-down.**

Point four: There is a boxer called Adrian. Oh, you know what I’m doing with that when the time comes, bitches.

Right. So on to...

Episode Two.

The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That.

These guys aren’t just boxers. They can lead you through, like, life and stuff. Need proof?

• Daniel Amalm tells us that we have “boxers, fighters and warriors”. It’s his way of telling us that he really really loves his new Thesaurus.

• Upon winning the first fight, Josh says it was “Like I had two tennis balls under each arm”. Your guess is as good as mine, really. When he’s given his golden gloves necklace, he says “I’ll only wear it out if I’m going somewhere special”. Badge draw night at the Mount Druitt RSL won’t know what hit them.

• Garth informs us, as a reason he was a little off in the challenge, that ‘too much masturbation sends you blind’. He did, however, break the record for Earliest Mention Of Personal Fiddling In A Reality And/Or Children’s Program.

• Luke lets us know that he’s “not blessed with any natural athletic ability”. You should totally go on a show about boxing or something, then. And by that, I mean ‘pretty much anything except a show about boxing’.

• Garth is confused by Sonni’s under-performance in the weekly challenge, and wonders if his ploy is to ‘perform like a busted arsehole’. I dunno – with the amount of shit that Sonni spouts, I’d say he’s performing like an arsehole in perfect working order.

• Luke explains that he has ‘fought in and out of a suitcase, in places that you wouldn’t tie a dog”. Don’t make me come over there and explain why this is awesome. Don't. Make me.


Challenged.

This week’s challenge, as devised and calibrated by qualified actuaries and that dude who solves Rubik’s Cubes really fast:
• First, the boys have to punch a blue dot on a wall.
• Second, the boys have to punch lots of little lights on a wall.
• Third, the boys have to throw a ball.
• Fourth, the boys have to run around a pole.
• Fifth, the boys have to run on a treadmill.
• Finally, the boys have to swear at Sonni and do what they can to avoid shaking hands with him. They pretty much kick arse at this one.


The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring.

Boxers are nothing without their families (and their various gods and whatnot), and serious style and parenting lessons can be learned by studying the women and children behind the man behind the gloves behind the other dude in front of him with the gloves on as well.

• Luke’s missus pretty much lets the side down by dressing in a tasteful, understated blouse and non-slaggy jeans. His mother, happily, saves the day in a loud print, hair recently gusted sideways by a wind straight from the Eastern Suburbs, , jangly jewellery and a lipstick thick with matronly pride and chardonnay. THAT’S how you dress for the boxing, ladies.

• Daniel’s missus is back in New Zealand in a hoodie, so his best mate Henry visits him in the locker room, which is seriously no fun at all. Let’s have the ho-nails and inappropriate puppies-out polyester back next week please, girls. It is your duty as ringside WAGs. Thank you.



KOs and OKs

• I’m a little bit in love with Nader. He utters the phrase that will feature on a t-shirt I hope to have made soon (and one that features in the introductory chapter of Joining The Mile-High Club – A Guide): “Step up. Ball up. Stand Up”.

• I’m not entirely sure that anyone on this show eats anything besides fried mushrooms.

• Charlotte. Honey. You’re wearing a sloppy joe, tracky dacks and yellow sneakers. If they’re not lined with Swarovski crystals and phoenix feathers, I JUST DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE ANYMORE.

• Junior completes the running portion of the challenge in his underwear, and adjusts them thoroughly enough to show us the... er... lawn around his Hills Hoist. I’m going to need a little quiet time. Back in six or seven minutes.

• I really don’t think that any blokey, biffy reality show is complete without its fair share of cuddles. The Trainer Who Speaks Like He’s Drunk (sorry – it’s only the second episode, so not everyone’s name has sunk in yet) calms Sonni down with a touching bathroom clinch. If it wasn’t for Sonni mentioning that he wanted to shoot someone, enter their stomach and start eating them from the inside, it would be almost beautiful.

• I LOVE TRASH-TALKING FACE-OFFS LIKE BINDI IRWIN LOVES HAIR CRIMPERS. It’s all chest-bumping and cussing and other blokes getting involved with their arms and shoulders and lifted chins and wide eyes and SIT DOWN, SONNI. Wow. At this rate, I may never need porn agai... um... y’know, ever. There are few things more romantic than two men standing an inch away from each other, staring each other down. If any of them ever kiss (and I live in eternal hope), I will give each and every one of you a dollar to put towards new underpants.

• Junior, Alex Perry wants his sunglasses back.

• Can someone Everlast give me a clue Everlast regarding who this show Everlast is sponsored Everlast by? I think I blinked and missed it. Everlast.


Punchy Punchy.

Daniel and Luke take off their pyjamas, put in their good teeth and smack shit out of each other. I don’t really understand the rules of boxing, but from what I can see, the guy with the smallest number of bogan tattoos wins. JUST LIKE LIFE.
Bye, Luke. Your skill with spelling and grammar will be missed and stuff heaps and that.


And we close tonight with some images of a naked man in a shower in dim blue light. I’m pretty much going to insist that every show on television finishes like this from now on, including the news, Mornings With Kerri-Anne and all Zoot Reviews. Back me up.

*Beer.

**Beer.

.