I guess I should count myself lucky. The last time I was found wandering disoriented and naked in a hotel foyer, drunk out of my mind, having just taken a shit in a corridor, I escaped a fine and banning from playing rugby again. Fortunately my almost spotless record of public defecation bought me some leniency. That and a sympathetic jury (the trick was stacking it with Dutch people). Got off with a warning and a contract as spokesperson for Huggies.
Not so for Nate Myles, the latest in a never ending conga line of disgraced NRL players. Are they serious in that sport? Say what you like about Mike Tyson – at least he’s toilet trained. Between the various allegations of rape and sexual misconduct, the drunken shinanegans and scandal, and the sport’s almost complete absence of necks, NRL at times appears more like a snuff movie than a genuine national sport.
Anyway, while taking a crap in public might yet prove the easiest way of checking players for performance enhancing drugs, Myles and no doubt a few more of his backward ball tossing mates had better hope that the carpet in the dole office is stain proofed – coz that’s where they’re a-headed. Which is a shame. Much better to keep them contained within the rectangle field where they can flatten each other’s noses and double the size of each others ears with impunity.