Archive Page 2

“Aquila Non Capit Muscas”

Aquila Non Capit Muscas. Four words that have come to define all that is right & true about The Mancathlon. Determination, confidence, the spirit of competition, camaraderie & good humour. And of course, man-sized servings of hyperbole, embellishment, trash talking & shootin’ the dozens. This motto is forever emblazoned on the Mancathlon Trophy and burns brightly in the heart of every Mancathlete past & present, it is their mantra, their battle cry; their shibboleth, their brand, the big shiny superbowl ring that identifies them as one who was there and who fought alongside their friends for glory in The Majestic Contest. 

“Aquila Non Capit Muscas” – The Eagle Does Not Hunt Flies.

Daaaaamn skippy.


Event 5: Assault Course Redux

This Week Only, A Special Guest Report by 3 Time Mancathlete, Ex-World Champion Barista & Sexual Gymnast Mr Brydon Price.
The Fifth Event of the 2008 Mancathlon – “Assault Course Redux” – was held at Camp Adair, Hunua Sat 4th October and attended by the following Mancathletes:
AJ Sutton, Brydon Price, Reg Watson, Dr Todd Keenan, Dr Kirk Stevens, Thomas Rowe, Shane Munro, Gavin Marshall, Leighton Agnew, Stuart Brooke, Jason Gregg. And for one day only…’07 Veteran Josh Short and The Wild Card Coop
Saturday morning saw returning Mancathletes awake with a hearty anticipation for a repeat dose of the torturous mudbath that was assault course ‘07 and new bloods quaking from its oft told legacy. Whether through lack of motivation, given his non participation, or merely the unfortunate intrusion of life outside Mancathlon, it was again the wilds of the Hunua ranges where Herr Rico would see us test our respective metal. Camp Adair is however bloody miles away from the modern Mancathletes comfortable retreat in the inner burbs of the city. This saw arrivals spread and one Mancathlete later dealt a cruel penalty.
There was a fair mixture of disappointment and relief as we toured the course with the instructor, finding one dry obstacle after another. Where was the promised lakes of maggot ridden mud??? Things were looking downright unmanly not carrying ones own body weight round the course in saturating filth. Consolation was to be had however in the genius ’08 addition of a soundtrack to our efforts. It would be to the booming sounds of gunfire and inspiring military anthems of the Vietnam war that each Mancathlete would haul ass around the course, that whilst dry, still contained that bastard wall.
Big J, the Canadian Colossus was first on the course hurling himself through the unders and overs at a speed defying his frame. This man had a point to prove and a bar to set. The 1st half of the course was made to look a feeble test but as J scrambled over the high net climb, the next up wall was already mocking his stamina, had he gone to hard too soon? Well maybe so as 3 attempts at scaling the damn thing cost Big J his chance at some elusive points. 6min30sec a fair time but eminently beatable.
Mancathlete Price took to the track with a steely determination to avenge what was truly a piss poor effort the previous year scrabbling at the wall like a little girl. With a frame well suited to the initial ground obstacles and lungs less pasted with tar, it looked a new Price on course this year, his wooden nemesis overhauled first time and suitably sworn at like the bitch it was. Resolve unfortunately fell away to fitness in the final stages but he was pretty stoked at a brief new best of 3min45sec.

Stu Beef took to the starting blocks with the hefty weight of reigning assault course champion on his shoulders and with so far no points to his name surely eyed this event as the start of his infamous late charge to the title. Storming onto the course he failed to respect the perils of the first hurdle which took punishment on his face slitting open his eyebrow. Any pain was dumbed by the devotion to points, Stu failing to notice the trail of blood streaming John Rambo styles down his face, as he demolished  the rest of the course setting a daunting sub 3minute time of 2min48sec. For the first time this year having a trained expert on hand in protection of manly stupidity proved its worth as our instructor patched Stu’s broken face.

Shane, with a recent marathon to his name, surely stood a good chance of assaulting the points ladder on this event. This condensed blast of agility proved a different beast from such a feat of stamina, the wall obliterating his hopes of a point scoring run as he dragged himself home in a disappointing time of 4min 49sec.

Proving a formidable new entrant in ’08 Tom Rowe strode to the starting fence quietly confident, with an obvious height advantage and an infamy for spontaneous exercise, could he avoid that perilous first post and kick Stu from his perch. With a second shaving dive down the high net crawl and an arrogant hurdling of the wall Tom pissed all over the course record with ease, barely puffing after a 2min38sec effort.

The two doctors, having proved they’re not that kind of doctor, in the face of Stu’s split face were looking to salvage their reputations with glory on the course. Kirk was hardly helped however with the least energizing soundtrack possible, the somber tones of Platoon suggesting a run to horrific death as he battled though the course laying down a 3min24sec time.

Todd was obviously triumphant over a near crippling fear of dirt as he tackled the obstacles with a stern commitment to avoiding every last remaining pool of stench. The ‘go through it without putting your feet down’ nearly put paid to this but uniquely he held himself aloft the stinking puddle of pig shit to return home spotless with 3min27sec under his belt.

It was about now that no one could any longer be bothered taunting or supporting fellow Mancathletes as they trawled round the course, myself included. Leighton took to his lonely vigil, a man confident from last  years near top finish. Once again the course proved a feeble test of his assault course prowess, hardly needing the rope to jump the second obstacle and back over the finish fence before I’d even finished writing his name. 2min46sec his prize.

Short in stature but huge in commitment Josh was our Veteran Mancathlete Guest Star, attending purely to remind us how it’s done. Hurtling through the first obstacle it was a callous disregard for the seemingly easy rope swing that cost Josh a place in the points. Scrabbling over the wall kicking it into submission he still managed a respectable time of 3min 17sec.

Gavin never looked too keen on this event a Mancathlete big on brawn short on stamina. After attempting a through the wall strategy to no avail he staggered through the tyres and over the final fence to collapse in a world of pain with 4min40sec behind him.

Up next AJ quite validly considered himself a favourite in this event. Setting a blistering pace through the early stages a good time was on the cards, a maverick approach to the rope climb was to prove his unwitting undoing. Turning up late and then fucking around when he got there meant he never heard the law laid down “ no walking across the top cos you’ll likely cane out, break your neck and cost me my job. So just fuckin’ don’t!!”. Assembled Mancathletes at the start line decided on a 5 second compensatory time penalty (our guide sharing the same opinion) and what was a 2min45sec time became 2min50. That 5 seconds costing AJ two spots on the leader board but accepted with a spirit that could only reside in the Mancathlon.

Who was this coke pushing fiend Coop lining up for a guest shot at Mancathlon glory, a damn fast bastard that’s who. Reducing the pain of all those gone before to a cake walk time of 2min35sec there was relief to be felt that this guy was a day only ringer. First place was surely his. Or was it???…..Well yeah it was as Gareth joined the ranks of the middle masses with a time of 3min28seconds.

And so it was a Mancathlon FOB that won the day without the rigors of four events behind him. Don’t think he gets points but, will leave Con to sort out the results…



Jason 6:37  
Brydon   3:45  
Stu         2.48 3rd Place
Shane    4:49  
Thomas  2:38   1st Place
Kirk   3:24   5th Place
Todd  3:27  
Leighton 2:46  2nd Place
Josh     3:17  
Gavin     4:40  
AJ        2:50  4th Place
Coop     2:35   
Gareth 3:28   
Guthrie (10)
Rowe (8)
Agnew (8)
Blight (8)
Price (6.5)
Trail (6)
Keenan (6)
Stevens (5)
Judkins (5)
Marshall (4)
Brooke (3)
Watson (2.5)
Sutton (2)
MacFarlane (1)
Munro (0)
Reynolds (0)
Ballard (0)
Gregg (0)
Potter (0)
Coop (Gold Star)
Short (Beige Star)
The Following Mancathletes were absent from Event 5:
Phillip Guthrie, Conrad Blight, Jared Trail, Simon Judkins, Reg Watson, Rockin’ Rodders MacFarlane, Duncan Reynolds & Randall Potter.

The Canuck Roars

Event 4: Masterbrain Phase II

The Fourth Event of the 2008 Mancathlon – “Masterbrain Phase II”  – was held on a Sunday in The Mancathlon Subterranean Studio Complex and was attended by the following Mancathletes:
Duncan Reynolds, Rodney Macfarlane, Jared Trail, AJ Sutton, Brydon Price, Reg Watson, Dr Todd Keenan, Conrad Blight, Dr Kirk Stevens, Thomas Rowe, Shane Munro, Gavin Marshall, Phillip Guthrie, Leighton Agnew, Simon Judkins & Stuart Brooke.
They say that the Schlong is the largest organ on a Mancathlete’s body. But what of the Brain? That precious, pudding-like grey sponge slopping about in our thick monkey skulls. That 3 pound chunk of electrified meat that pilots our powerful muscular frames and controls the huge jets of testosterone that are constantly pouring into our testes & adrenal glands. What indeed?
And so it was on an incredibly clear and beautiful Auckland day that 16 Mancathletes gathered inside a dimly lit Irish Bar for an afternoon of beers lightly sipped, hot chips sauce-dipped and brains torn & ripped by the Cerebral Savagery of Masterbrain Phase II. Senor Juarez was not present for the inaugural Masterbrain, but all reports presented an horrific ordeal in which the Mancathletes threw their finest efforts against the might of the Masterbrain only to be crushed, embarrassed & intellectually deflated by it all. With the discordant strains of a Short & Sutton duet providing a soundtrack to their nightmare no less. Now in 2008, the Mancathletes were back and facing off against the giant, crushing brain himself once more, their encephalonic nemesis…Quizmaster Staines. 
Staines had gone back to the drawing board and constructed the most diabolic set of general knowledge questions his hideously swollen brain could possibly conceive of. And when I say drawing board I mean a  tank full of life-sustaining liquid in Staines’ basement where he lies naked and suspended with thousands of filament thin wires hooking directly into his central nervous system and flooding his mind with all the pulsating knowledge of the muntranet. And when I say general knowledge I mean the kind of knowledge that scientists & philosophers sacrifice years of their life, marriages, money and professional advancement to acquire…
First up to bat was Duncan Reynolds. With the relentlessly catchy Masterbrain Theme Tune ringing in his ears, Reynolds hobbled up onto the stage, past Staines’ futuristic lectern and lowered his old body into the comfortable salmon lazy-boy that awaited him. He began the event in casual reclining mode, but soon his arms were crossed in angry frustration as Staines fired a series of searingly hard questions his way including a particularly cruel Great Gatsby number that had Reynolds gnashing his teeth with chagrin & regret. He posited that Peter was the first chapter of the Old Testament. He identified Pink Floyd’s iconic ‘prism on black’ record cover as being…”The Wall”. Not Mr Reynolds finest moment but fear not viewers, he’ll be bringing the West Coast thunder back to an event near you soon! 
Rodney Macfarlane, scientist, lawyer, lover. An almost perfect combination to take on the Masterbrain. Except for his lovemaking abilities, which would not be required at this particular event. Rodders came hard out of the gate with 2 correct answers earning him an enthusiastic round of applause from the gathered Mancathletes. Take that Masterbrain! He stumbled on the Chinese Unlucky Number question and from there on his success was somewhat sporadic. Somehow the usually confident Rodders seemed dwarfed by the massive salmon lazy-boy, like a child quietly attending a stern lecture that he did not comprehend. His knowledge of science provided his redemption though as he nailed two inorganic chemistry questions that drew him back up to a respectable 6 NerdPoints. 
The ‘Beast from The North-East’ was next up. Lumbering onto the stage like a hairless gorilla; his knuckles dragging across the wooden slats and his protruding mandible jutting angrily as he sniffed the air, he lowered himself into the chair and stared challengingly at Quizmaster Staines. He started off strong too, correctly naming the chambers of the heart to a round of applause. But then the crushing blow from Staines – “What substance is controlled by Anti-Histamines?”. Trail faltered and passed; and the answer came back… “Histamines”, Trail looked to the pitiless sky for support as the gathered Mancathletes laughed nervously, glad that they were not the recipients of that particular barb. 
AJ leaned back into the plush salmon lazy-boy, sipping on a tall, cool glass of domestic beer. He felt confident. He felt good. He would not feel that way for long. “What car was designed by Ferdinand Porsche?” “Wrong…it was the Volkswagon”. “What does a polyorchid man have?” “Wrong…Three Testicles”. “What is the nearest star to the earth?” “Wrong…the Sun”. It just was not AJ’s round, a couple of missteps and some particularly cold-blooded questions from Staines saw Sutton blown out the back end of the Masterbrain, shivering and coated in ectoplasm.
Price continued his lusty thrust for points in the 2008 Season in a huge round against the Masterbrain, facing down Staines without fear, just the determined clarity that has seen him rise swiftly in the points table this year. He walked calmly off stage with an impressive 8 NerdPoints stuffed in between his pocket-protector and his scientific calculator, sipping on a warm bottle of fanta. Next up was Reginald Watson, who had stolen away from his work for a quick faceoff against the Brain. It was obvious from the start that Watson was terrified of the Brain, he was constantly looking around the room for some sort of touchstone of normality but there was none to be found in this house of nimrods. Nevertheless he came out guns blazing like a true Mancathlete, swatting aside questions with disdain one second, scooping answers from the brink of the buzzer the next, coming up with 7 NerdPoints before disappearing in a cloud of smoke leaving only the traces of his mocking laughter behind.
Dr Todd Keenan. The first of our two resident doctors to attempt to apply his Phd in “Fighting & F*cking” to the intellectual rigours of The Masterbrain Phase II. He started off strong with the classic 2 for 2, but then got caught out by the Spanish tongue of the 3rd question. He memorably but incorrectly identified “The pause that refreshes” as a semicolon. And as the stakes rose over his round, his considerate pauses seemed to stretch ever closer to infinity, the ticking of the clock slowing & becoming lower in pitch as he crumpled his forehead in gymnastic expressions of deep thought. But it worked for the good doctor, who lowered himself from the stage clutching 7 NerdPoints in his sweaty hands. 
Secretly Blight fancied his chances in the Masterbrain. He was a secret self-fancier. He had sat hunched on his bar stool clutching his thick bottle of domestic beer, thinking to himself how easy it could all be; his mouth watering at the prospect of Precious Mancathlon Points, his private school educated brain ready to kick in hard against The Masterbrain. But once up on that vaulted stage would he revert to the terrible choke-artistry that defined his 07 Season? No way bitches! Well okay, maybe a bit. The definitive moment came on the penultimate question when an image of Humphrey Bogart from his most famous movie almost derailed Juarez; he ummed, he ahhed, he named all the lead actors & supporting players, but still the title would not come. 44 Calibre sized beads of sweat erupted from his receding forehead and poured down his finely tailored shirt, time passed, the clock ticked down until, right at the last second…”Casablanca!”. Baaaaam, 9 NerdPoints in the bank for Blight!!
Dr Kirk Stevens rolled up his scrubs & prepared to enter the fray. He reclined easily into the ease of the salmon-coloured easy chair, clasped his hands in his lap and prepared for the onslaught. He got off to a strong start with several questions back to back. Earlier in the game this would have elicited a hearty round of applause from the gathered competitors but by this time energy levels were running low, “desultory” would best describe the scattered & feeble handclaps. After having the best parts of their cerebral cortexes drained by Staines’ savage, greedy proboscis the Mancathletes were feeling a little flat. Not to mention the stiflingly nerdy atmosphere which had gradually worn down this group of finely tuned athletes, who were used to being in near constant states of powerful & balletic physical motion. Nevertheless, the Doctor steered a steady course; remaining cool & consistent throughout his round & coming off the stage with a bellcurve-beating 7 NerdPoints (not “bell end” Jared…). 
Next up on stage, the big man, Thomas Rowe. Would his lofty stature result in oxygen starvation issues for his quickfire noesis? Had his upbringing in sleepy, banjo-picking Marton prepared him for this kind of high-level cognitive gameplay? Why was Juarez using so many questions this report? And so many hyphens? And such a lot of gratuitous self-reflexivity? Had the creative barrel run bone-dry? Hell no suckas, there’s zeppelin loads of this shit waiting off the coast to bombard your senses over the next 6 weeks leading up to El Grand Finale. Best believe it! Anyway…Thom Rowe…good round…nailed what floor Luka lived on in the 80’s…didn’t know the names of Magnum PI’s dogs though…
Munners ambled onto the stage in the relaxed shorts & jandals combo that befitted his Fijian upbringing. And while Stu Beef looked on from the pinkeye quarantine area, Munro proceeded to give a scrunch-faced rendition of a man in extreme psychic pain coupled with a general disdain for the nebbishness of Event 4. “What the f*ck are we doing here?” his face seemed to convey, with an articulateness that words could never capture. 4 NerdPoints was his pain’s reward. 
Gavin Marshall. Tough questions for a tough man. Tough, tough questions…
Guthrie was returning to Masterbrain as the incumbent Champion of Nerds. Countless hours in a dark room with vaseline smeared over his hairy chest and the irradiant glow of wikipedia on his laptop screen bathing the horrific tableau had honed Guthrie’s nerd powers to Laser Strength. Laser Strength. He blazed through Staines’ questions with confidence. With alacrity. And with hairiness. The prospect of his Italian sojourn taking him out of contention for the next 5 weeks provided this man with devastating focus. Once that dust had settled from his Laser Blast, Guthrie looked set once more to be hailed as King Geek with a massive 10 points. Only 3 men stood in his way, Agnew, Judkins and Brooke. 
Leighton. I can’t remember. Sorry bro. No offence, you’re a legend. Maybe I was in the bathroom. Send me an account of your experience in the salmon armchair and I’ll replace this forthwith.
S. Judkins. You wouldn’t know it to look at him. But he’s smart, damn smart. And virile. Ridiculously virile. He got 9 points. 
Beef had his jaw set. He was ready to fight. But what can you do against an opponent you cannot see, an opponent who exists only in your mind…the Masterbrain. 
And finally. After a record 16 Mancathletes had each reclined within the enveloping folds of the soft, salmon armchair and had their minds brutally probed by Staines’ thousand-tendrilled Masterbrain. There was one clear winner, nerd balls McGuthrie. But it was up to Stevens, Rowe and Keenan to duke it out for 4th place, with Reg having returned to work, servicing sporty types on K’ Rd. Staines brought the three up on stage and threw a maths question at them. Their faces immediately contorted into hideous expressions of psychic anguish as their brains attempted to perform arithmetic calculation without the aid of their cellphone for the first time in a decade. It was Stevens who fought through the pain to snatch the spinning gold chain of victory and claim his 2 Mancathlon Points. Then it was time for the big boys to play, Blight & Judkins. Their pencil necks straining to take the weight of their monstrously swollen brains they climbed gingerly up on stage and stood swaying back & forth slightly. Staines threw another maths question into the air, Blight was already halfway through thinking it. Bam! “42”. Yes! Yes! No…”Wrong, it’s…40″. And that was that, Judkins dancing a victory dance, his tiny daughter cheering her applause, Blight on the floor with his head in his hands crying and another fine day in Mancathlon World. 
NERDPOINTS – Won against The Hideous Masterbrain (over 12 Verbal Questions & 2 Visual Challenges)


Duncan Reynolds 3  
Rodney Bueller 6  
Jared Trail 3  
AJ Sutton 3  
Brydon Price 8 4th – 2 Points
Reg Watson 7  
Dr Todd Keenan 7  
Conrad Blight 9 3rd – 3 Points (After Playoff)
Dr Kirk Stevens 7 5th – 1 Point (After Playoff)
Thomas Rowe 7  
Shane Munro 4  
Gavin Marshall 4.5  
Phillip Guthrie 10 1st – 5 Points
Leighton Agnew 6  
Simon Judkins 9 2nd – 4 Points (After Playoff)
Stuart Brooke 6.5  
Guthrie (10)
Blight (8)
Price (6.5)
Trail (6)
Keenan (6)
Judkins (5)
Stevens (4)
Agnew (4)
Marshall (4)
Rowe (3)
Watson (2.5)
MacFarlane (1)
Brooke (0)
Munro (0)
Reynolds (0)
Sutton (0)
Ballard (0)
Gregg (0)
Potter (0)
The Following Mancathletes were absent from Event 4:
Randall Potter, Jason Gregg & Gareth Ballard.



Event 3: Orientearassing

The Third Event of the 2008 Mancathlon – “Orientearassing”  – was held on a Sunday in the middle of nowhere and was attended by the following Mancathletes:
Dr Kirk Stevens, Gareth Ballard, Stuart Brooke, AJ Sutton, Steve Carver, Shane Munro, Brydon Price, Leighton Agnew, Reg Watson, Conrad Blight, Thomas Rowe, Phillip Guthrie & Jared Trail.
The undulating, heavily wooded terrain of Woodhill Forest provided the canvas on which 13 Mancathletes would paint their latest portraits of victory or despair. They convened in a sun-bathed clearing in the forest and were shown how to interpret the cryptic sigils of a topographic map, and how to harness the mystical power of magnetism for the divining of directions between two distant points. Confidence levels were high at this point…Yellow Course 2kms, nah f*ck that, Easy Orange Course 3.7 kms, mmmaybe, Hard Orange Course 5.1 kms, Hoo-Hah!! But still they warned us, you’ve never done orienteering before, it’s harder than it looks. Forget about it! This is The Mancathlon, give us the hard one.
We trudged up the gravel lane through the forest to the start line, where a Germanic man awaited our arrival, an array of maps at his feet, a stop watch in his hand. By an incredibly fortuitous twist of fate they were all out of Hard Orange Maps, incredibly, incredibly fortuitous. The Randomizer had chosen the order, 3 minutes separated each man’s start, and so, one by one they stepped up to the line, ran their electronic tag through the control point, received their map and ran up the road into the unknown. 13 control points were placed around Woodhill Forest, and these 13 men had just a compass, a map and some extremely rudimentary map-reading skills to navigate them at speed, and with a host of hungry fellow competitors breathing down their necks.
And so, for the very first time in The Mancathlon we take you inside the minds of the men who were there; to give you the experience in their own words, unedited, uncensored, raw, vivid impressions from the front lines…
Dr Kirk Stevens
A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach should have served as a warning that perhaps today wasn’t going to be my day. Doubts about my map reading ability surfaced on the trip to Woodhill serving as a portent of what was to come.
The start line beckoned like a kebab stand at the end of a large night, on the turps. I knew I had to cross it but how would I pull up the next day? The randomiser had its say and I was first off the mark and in the lead!!  For the first and only time.
Station 1, down. Station 2, down. Then my orienteering world fell apart around me, 45min spent looking for station 3. Bullshit!  Fellow mancathletes charged passed me like fatties at an all you can eat buffet, some swearing, some mumbling incoherently, all sweating uncontrollably.
Seven stations down with no knowledge of the time, lost, spent and a realisation that 40min had passed since I had been overtaken by the last man to start the course I pulled the pin, there was no hope.
Defeat in my mind, shame in my heart and heavy shaking legs I was done. Humiliated by the forest, staring into the face of an evil compass and ragged sweat drenched map.
Cunning Running…… Not my event.
Gareth Ballard
Coming off the back of a 2 week flu feeling like a sack of dead cats with the energy levels of a dying tortoise i knew my health was not on my side.  What followed was 2hours and 20 mins of profusive sweating and confusion.  Even with my years of experience wondering around the bush of Nelson looking at maps working in the forestry i still managed to read the map upside down a couple of times and consequently running off in the wrong direction, add to that getting horribly lost looking for point number 11 only to find myself back at the watertank junction adding an xtra K or 2 too my overall distance.
KOOK.  Lets do the last half of the course all over again then shall we just for fun.
Stumbling out onto the road at the finish with hardly a single brain cell working due to exhaustion and wondering why the finish wasn’t in front of me and what all those people were doing standing 100m to my left.  Then my brian reactivated and i realised those people standing over to my left were actually at the finishline.
So with the satisfaction of completion out the way it was time to bail home for a corona and a hot tub, all in all a fucken great day and a dam nasty way to get rid of the flu.
Stuart Brooke
I had a few pre-start nerves and couldn’t get my clammy hands on the damn map quick enough! Once I figured out which way was up I made short work of the first station, overtaking Buddha and Dr Kirk in the process. Too easy – or so I thought….Station 3 owned me, and excitement and confidence quickly turned to panic as the later starters flew past me. “Where the f*ck are you Station 3?!” I felt like Pooh bear chasing the Heffalump as I kept going round in circles, climbing the same stupid knolls. For a while I even followed a couple of kids around in desperation. Once I found it the race for points was long gone and I limped around the rest of the course, managing to cramp up in both legs. Not my finest hour, or 2 hrs 15min as the case may be…
AJ Sutton
I like the forest. It’s nice.
Steve Carver
Steve’s performance on Sunday while ecstatic at times, could only be described as Lost In Bush. His start was messy. Only minutes after entering the playing-field, Steve was deep in in a muddy hole, gasping for breath. Brydon, who couldn’t be blamed for stopping to look, noted that he was oriented the wrong way, and Steve’s returned to base to point out that he been sent in the wrong direction. An honest mistake with no harm done. New map in hand, Steve’s resolve returned. His keen desire needed satisfaction. Position’s 1-6 were quickly (some would saw too quickly) achieved in part thanks to the guiding hand of Phil, who was taking another shot at one or two of the tasks, and clad in lycra just couldn’t be missed. Steve reached his peak with a direct route at positions 6 and 7, where he aligned his compass and charged deep into the bush. But it was the elusive position 9 that was his failing. Always taking things too far, Steve ended up playing in the nether-regions, and after several exhausting attempts to finish he elected to return home, spent but content. One in the bush, two in the hand. What more could a mancathlete want from his weekend?
Shane Munro
Station farking 3! Marker one hundred and twenty farking seven!  If I can push the trauma of those numbers out of my mind before the end of the current mancathlon season I’ll be doing better than I currently think is possible. Station farking 3, marker one hundred and twenty farking seven owned me for no less than an hour yesterday, it tormented me and mocked me with its cunning and elusiveness.  Guthrie’s confidence and the authoritative manner in which he attacked the bush gave me some confidence that I could ride his coattails to the promised land of station farking 3 marker one hundred and twenty farking seven.  What a terrible mistake that was.  I resorted to combining forces with a 10 year old club member by the name of Kerrian, who about 40 minutes into the search mentioned that the same thing happened to him just last week, oh good kid.  When I did manage to finally flash and beep that little c*&t securing markers 4 and 5 was routine as I had already discovered those while looking for marker farking 3!  Inspired by the hope that my fellow mancathlettes had suffered similarly and hanging to the belief that precious competitions points were still available the remaining course was chewed up under my well heeled Asics….Alas…Another emotionally harrowing aftermath courtesy of a mancathlon event were best efforts are not even close.  But a another superb mancathlon experience to chalk up all the same.
Station farking 3! Marker one hundred and twenty farking seven!  What a little c*&t!
Brydon Price
With the events of last year involving any kind of physical fitness leaving me a retching mess on the floor it was with trepidation that I travelled the many mile out the middle of who knows where for a day traipsing through the bush. I did however last year find out to my shameful detriment that points win prizes and they can come from unlikely sources.
Setting off half way through the pack it became immediately apparent that my listening skills are that of a ritalin fuelled 5 year old and thus how to make effective use of my compass had drifted out my other ear. Bloody good thing I seem blessed with a reasonable sense of direction and have a scrawny body well suited for flailing through the forest. 1 and 2 were far enough apart to put hours on the running machine to the test and still damn glad the long course maps were in short supply. It was at this stage that the lost pleas of three young girls were ignored, no I didn’t know where their marker was and nor nor did I really care, the selfish hunger for points seeing me leave them to their fate. Admit I was some what relieved to see them still alive on the way to the check staion.
Many mancathlete dreams were shattered by the bitch that was marker 3, lucky was I that some other bugger who had spent a morning finding it had decided to rest near by and exhaustedly waved a hand in the direction of a nearby hill. Hell yeah there she was and I was on the road to some much prized points.
Half way though the drive for the prize found the none the wiser front runners unable to trap each other into a fatal fall or tree collision. 1 pair of eyes became 3  making those elusive orange markers that bit easier to trip over in the depths of nowhere. A moments distraction on the final marker saw Con and Leighton scramble out of the bush to the line with me still blundering for final prize, a fatal mistake that may have seen a point slip through my fingers. Finally making it to the finish line was stunned to see only those two bastards downing sweet sweet Pocari Sweat, turned out 1hr 10 wasn’t too shabby but it did leave an interminable wait for those poor suckers stuck crashing around mumbling “fuckin number 3” in increasing fury.
Worse ways to spend a sunny Sunday eh Phill.
Leighton Agnew
As I sat in the car park of the woodhill mountain bike park trying unsuccessfully to call Conrad to find our way to the venue I thought this wasn’t an ideal start to an orienteering event. After backtracking a kilometre or so we came across the vital piece of information overlooked at the outset, this being the road sign pointing to orienteering.
By this time, drastically late, I put the pedal to the metal of the new model Subaru Forester 2.5 X. And what a great car it is! Enough room for the whole family. You can just imagine heading down to the mountain with ski gear on the roof or pedalling down to the beach for a surf. A great handling car this, what with its symmetrical all wheel drive and low centre of gravity due to the low slung boxer engine. It handled like a dream around the long sweeping gravel bends of the woodhill roads.
With 127kw of power at hand it can handle anything that the country side throws at you. Rated the safest SUV on the New Zealand roads, and from just $36990, that’s amazing value. Let me know if you want one, I’ll get you a deal!
The nerves were high at the start of the race. After a verbal spray from Reg the night before about my lack of man points I knew I needed something special. I needed to do well in this one people.
Well stretched up I set off at a reasonable clip. After a minute of running I noticed Steve stumbling the opposite direction towards the start line which was quite alarming but not enough to change my mind on my current course. Unperturbed I continued forth to where I suspected the first marker might be. Within minutes I had found it then off to the next. By this time I had meet up with fellow mancathete Brydon. We continued on and found a concession of markers in a solid team effort. Our effort was reminiscent of Top Gun, My Maverick to his Goose man. He navigated a course and I blew the target apart by making it beep from thrusting my transponder inside it.
Then came my second bad call of the day. Losing Brydon (a very bad call) I took off in the complete wrong direction (something that any orienteering teacher worth his salt tells you not to do) for a good couple of kms. A very bad call indeed. After running off the map I re-gathered my composure and took off back in the right direction. After getting a hint from AJ on the way I was back in the hunt and soon found myself back with Brydon. Back together we found more and more check points before we were joined by a rampaging Conrico. This threesome turned out to be an indestructible navigational force. If team Marton come together to form voltron we came together to form a navman. (one of those navigational GPS machines you might find in the sublime new Subaru Impreza, AA’s car of the year).  From here it was simple to plough through the last remaining check points and through to the end where surprisingly there was nobody waiting. Conrad first, me second but where was Brydon? As I turned to re enter the bush to find our fallen soldier he stumbled from the foliage like a wounded deer to reach the end as third finisher. GO team Navman!
Reg Watson
Going into this event I was quietly confident having been orienterring a year ago at a management function for work. This confidence quickly dissapeared as I realised after countless instruction from staff that I still couldn’t read a compass!  This was proved to be true after the first straight I ran in the wrong direction, 30 seconds into the event and already lost, what a kook!
I then got into the swing of things until control 3, this pretty much fucked me, I would have spent at least 20 minutes looking for that fucker along with 6 other hopefuls.  The rest of the controls were pretty much straight forward, apart from control 9 were I went down to the sand dunes to do a quick surf check, control 10 sucked also. Jared did me no favours here, we were both looking for this control for ages when he walked past me saying “Control 10’s a bitch aye”” having just found it. Cheers Bro.
I fought my way back to the finish in a respectable time, and even thought I may be in the points with a 5th place finish. That is until Jared walks to the finish line and gets me by time difference. Gay. He wasnt even wearing shoes!
I figure to do well in this event you had to be at least 6 foot tall, well done all you lanky tall fuckers!
Conrad Blight
So here’s me. A guy whose calf muscle is stuffed from a tantric yoga injury, a guy whose build up to the 2008 Season has been a disgusting blur of meaty burgers, domestic beer and cold & flu medicine, a guy who Guthrie famously dismissed as having “the build of a cross country runner and that’s where it ends”. Not looking or feeling at all like an event favourite as I pace nervously back & forth in the starting area. I start out at a light jog, not wanting to look like a soft cock but fully planning to walk the entire course once I got out of sight. But something funny happened on the way to defeat; as I jogged my calf started to hurt, and so I started to walk. And as I walked I thought about my life and my Mancathlon Campaign 2008 and it occurred to me in 20 foot high starburst letters, f*ck this sh*t!! I cannot walk this course, I must run no matter what! I saw Steve cantering back in the other direction, I saw Reg running in circles in the vicinity of the 1st marker. I stood by that 1st marker (casually, like I wasn’t at one), orientated myself and jogged onwards towards the 2nd. From there on it’s kind of a blur as I entered this oxygen-deprived fugue state, all the time visualizing a giant arrow in the sky that was constantly pointing towards my destination, muttering to myself “Re-orienatate, re-orientate” as I swiveled the map & compass, and generally doing more physical exercise than I’d done in the last 3 months combined, including my relentless onanism. As I approached Marker 3, trying to extrapolate the ridge contours of the map onto my environment a little girl was standing on the hillside; she goes to me “I found a marker over that hill”, I said “You don’t say, so whereabouts was that again?” mwa ha ha ha.  I tore through the area that was crowded with dazed looking Mancathletes, wandering about like the forgotten dead in search of that elusive marker. Running down the gravel road between 5 & 6 with ragged, strained breaths, and onto the briefly hidden 7. In search of the 8th Marker I encountered two old friends, Price & Agnew, who were combining their powers for a greater good – Mancathlon Victory. Knowing I could not outrun these stellar athletes I opted to work with them, and with the potent combination of Price’s brains, Agnew’s brawn and my propensity for shit-talking we proved an unstoppable force through to the finish line. Simply unbelievable that I gained a sweet 5-pointer on this particular event but immensely satisfying nonetheless. Krakatoa!
Thomas Rowe
Barely 100 meters into the third event it became evident that it was appropriately named. Orientearassing.  Having been several years since doing any real running type activities it quickly became apparent that I was inappropriately dressed for the occasion.  It started with an awareness, subtle at first but able to be ignored.  The pressure was on, the clock counting.  Soon awareness gave way to recognition.  I had a problem.  The day was hot, very little breeze penetrated the depths of the forest.  Boxer shorts were riding high. Too high.  This was a contest, I had to keep going. Eventually, I could not take it any more. Action had to be taken.  Countless minutes were wasted implementing anti wedgie strategies but there was no reprieve.  This was wedgie hell. If meditation could work for pain, it could work for this, I tried not to think of castration, tried to ignore the injured flesh. I went to my cave. Where was my power animal?  A penguin, an ice slide…………
 ……..and then it was over.  Great event. Some interesting characters out there in the forest.
Phillip Guthrie
Orienteering… attempted by few, mastered by fewer. A select club for nerds able to tear themselves away from their Xboxes and computers for longer than a trip to the local dirty bird. Not a man’s sport and certainly not something you would expect a real man to excel at, let alone win. Real mancathletes run the course twice because 4.7km just isn’t enough of a challenge. Real mancathletes get lost, don’t stop to ask for directions and treat the map and compass with the contempt they deserve. Real mancathletes take 2:40 and still don’t finish. Real mancathletes have their girlfriends send out a search party; real mancathletes wear skin tight lycra with curly chest hair peaking out of the seams – Hmm curly chest hair…..
Besides, Conrad and Jared cheated – I could hear their maniacal laughter tantalisingly close by and wondered what they found so funny – until that is I came to marker three (and marker nine and marker 11 and everything after that) and realised with horror they’d moved them in their immoral quest for victory. Tainted victory. Hollow victory. Somewhere a little girl sits in the forest crying for her mummy, lost and alone, because of their nefarious deeds victory.
Anway, it wasn’t my fault: my compass was broken; my map was doctored; my shoes were too tight; I got lost; I was food poisoned; it was the French ref’s fault… it was the rotation policy; I didn’t want to win anyway. I came dead last :(
Like the Dutch dude said, I probably would’ve done better running backwards with an oar in my hands.
Jared Trail
Orienteering…. I showed up in proper hard style mounted on my massif hog of pure sexual manliness, the roar of the 250cc V-twin making the rake thin nerds in lycra body suits shake at the knees whilst crying openly and unashamedly.
The beast rocked on up in completely unsuitable attire, Slightly slutted that he was the only one not quite clear on the running aspect of this event. Paying attention was not on the cards, I was feeling quite confident in the actual orienteering part of the event from the 2 years in scouts as a young teen, I was however feeling slightly peeved that my Sanuk shoes were not quite built for running and equally neither was my large frame.
After waiting for 40 minutes in complete boredom for all the other ‘competitiors’ to leave I stepped up to the plate, still laughing from Steve’s unfortunate start and subsequent mud puddle catastrophe. I needed an edge, “what are my strengths?” I yelled into the surrounding forest, “fuck all” came the reply from some small woodland creature (possibly Beef) so I decided all I could do was go straight for each control box and pity every tree/hill/person I had to stomp on to get there.
Surprisingly the Sanuks turned out to be quite good, crushing all the bastard scratching sticks and plants that got in the way I made my way unerringly straight for most of the first 6 boxes passing some surprisingly slow contestants along the way (phil almost immediately, crying in a foetal position).
A good event all in all considering I hiked more than ran the entire course I still managed to come away with 5th which makes me laugh more and more about box number 10 where I sent Reg up the garden path saying it was a real bastard when in fact I only just left it, hahahahahaha, who trusts a mancathlete?  I mean really.
Great day guys, I never thought this nerd sport would actually be fun, however I am still having nightmares about Phil’s dress sense.
Special Thanks are due to the North West Orienteering Club for talking us through it, loaning us some compasses & providing a fiendishly challenging Event 3. Extra Special Thanks to Pocari Sweat for providing a good supply of Ions when we needed them most.
Conrad Blight 57:41 5 Points
Leighton Agnew 1:03:00 4 Points
Thomas Rowe 1:07:00 3 Points
Brydon Price 1:10:00 2 Points
Jared Trail 1:19:00 1 Point
Reg Watson 1:27:00
Shane Munro 2:10:00
Stuart Brooke 2:15:00
Gareth Ballard 2:22:00
AJ Sutton 2:24:00
Dr Kirk Stevens D.N.F.
Steve Carver D.N.F.
Phillip Guthrie D.N.F.
POINTS TABLE [After Three Events]
Trail (6)
Keenan (6)
Blight (5)
Guthrie (5)
Price (4.5)
Agnew (4)
Marshall (4)
Rowe (3)
Stevens (3)
Watson (2.5)
MacFarlane (1)
Judkins (1)
Brooke (0)
Munro (0)
Reynolds (0)
Sutton (0)
Ballard (0)
Gregg (0)
Potter (0)
The Following Mancathletes were absent from Event 3:
Gavin Marshall, Simon Judkins, Randall Potter, Dr Todd Keenan, Jason Gregg & Duncan Reynolds.


The Lite Stuff

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“The Big Chief”

Every man is a potential Mancathlete. Can you throw stuff? Can you run in a straight line? Can you drink a couple beers and trash-talk? Can you get up on a stage and belt out a soft rock classic? Sure, hey, we all can. But only a select few men have within them the potentiality to become something more than the average Mancathlete. Only a select few have that bright fire burning within their chest, that hunger for more, that drive and lust to be the greatest. And when a man claws his way to the top of the heap, against a field of worthy opponents and through a series of manful challenges that encompass speed, strength, wit and creativity then that man earns the right to call himself…The Big Chief.

El Jefe is Challenging You

El Jefe is Challenging You

Event 2: Shootin’

This Weeks Special Guest Report as filed by 1 Time Mancathlete, Videographer to the Stars & Black Belt in Sexual Yoga, Mr Caleb Staines.

The Second Event of the 2008 Mancathlon – “Shootin’”  – was held on Saturday afternoon and was attended by the following Mancathletes:

Stuart Brooke, Simon Judkins, Leighton Agnew, Jared Trail, AJ Sutton, Gavin Marshall, Rodney Macfarlane, Randall Potter, Gareth Ballard, Phillip Guthrie, Brydon Price, Duncan Reynolds, Dr Kirk Stevens, Dr Todd Keenan & Thomas Rowe.

When I gained entrance to the outer rooms of the gun club I was struck with how subdued was the atmosphere among the assembled Mancathletes. Naturally, my first thought was that I had just interrupted a conversation about me and my failings as a person. Those two old friends, anger and self-hatred, boiled up in me and I felt my face flush. Fortunately I remembered Father’s advice to me as a young boy and I balled up all those seething emotions and pushed them down into my gut where no one could see them. As I surveyed the room though, seeing none of the usual guilty faces and averted eyes, I began to ponder other possible explanations for the strange mood in the room. Was the presence of the newbloods casting doubt into the usually steady hearts of the stalwarts? Was the absence of Senor Juarez’s guiding hand causing feelings of panic and abandonment, much like the time I wandered off at the 1985 A & P Show at the Hastings Showgrounds and spent a terrifying three hours in a small concrete room beneath the main stands being minded by an old woman so engrossed in knitting a clumpy orange V-neck jumper that she ignored all of my questions about the whereabouts of my parents and what efforts where being made to locate them and but eventually they turned up, Mother hopelessly drunk on complementary cask Chardonnay from the Wrightson’s tent and Father furious, threatening to thrash me with the fibreglass cattleprod he’d bought me to stop me begging to go and see the Angora rabbits. Or was it the heavy smell of cordite in the still air of that underground shooting bunker that unnerved me so?

Trail was all business, filling out forms and doggedly trying to convince the Range Officer to allow the use of the NightForce 8-32x56mm NXS Illuminated Reticle Riflescope which he’d brought along specially. And then it dawned on me. What was missing was that staple of the Mancathlon – smack-talking. Evidently no one wanted to spark off anyone else’s inner OJ with a cruel jibe concerning sexual prowess or athletic abilities when very soon every man in the room would have access to bona-fide firearms. It was clear that this competition would have to be won with steady nerves and a keen eye.

The competitors were admitted to the shooting range proper and the Range Officer gave a briefing on the use of the weapons. It was apparent that some Mancathletes had experience on their side – some were hunters since childhood while others claimed implausibly to have been in the British Infantry. Others were, to me at least, unknowns. Was Ballard a member of the New Zealand Biathlon team? Was the towering Rowe a secret member of the SAS? In fact, where was Rowe? Had he been called away to deal with some impending terrorist threat, sacrificing precious Man-points to defend his country? No, it turned out – he had locked himself in the toilet. I gave up my predictions.

The Mancathletes were divided into two Details and each stepped up to fire their ten practice rounds at the targets twenty-five metres away. Macfarlane looked like a man to watch, while Brydon probably hoped no one was watching him as he failed to hit the black inner target at all. Then the first Detail stepped up to shoot their forty competition rounds. Reynolds quickly abandoned the low elbow-propped stance favoured by most in favour of standing bolt upright. Sutton was quick and confident giving him time to examine the technique of others at the end of each set of ten rounds. The Big Chief and Rowe on the other hand took their own sweet time, still hunched meditatively over their weapons long after the other members of the detail had made their rifles safe.

The second Detail took their positions and began their efforts. I was a non-competing member of the second Detail and was too absorbed in my own shooting to notice any details of this portion of the competition, although I do remember glancing at Guthrie two bays away and wondering how much tantric yoga you have to do to twist yourself up like that without serious pain. And out of the corner of my eye I could sense Rowe & Marshall roaming in circles around the room with faraway gazes in their eyes, muttering “Disco Disco” repeatedly under their breath and absentmindedly moving their hips to some unheard rhythm. 

And suddenly. It was over. The Mancathletes waited patiently for the scores to be tabulated by the Range Officer while Stu Beef did pressups in the parking lot. Here’s how it all panned out dear Ladies & Gentlemen, with sweet, sweet Victory for some and bitter defeat for others, but such is the Nature of the Game…

Phillip Guthrie – 5 points (371 out of a possible 400)

Gavin Marshall – 4 points (368)

Dr Kirk Stevens – 3 points (358)

Dr Todd Keenan – 2 points (351)

Rodney Macfarlane – 1 points (349)

POINTS TABLE [After Two Events]

Keenan (6)

Guthrie (5)

Trail (5)

Marshall (4)

Stevens (3)

Price (2.5)

Watson (2.5)

MacFarlane (1)

Judkins (1)

Brooke (0)

Munro (0)

Agnew (0)

Blight (0)

Reynolds (0)

Sutton (0)

Rowe (0)

Ballard (0)

Gregg (0)

Potter (0)


Who Shot Ya?

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Event 1: Ghetto Dice

The First Event of the 2008 Mancathlon “Ghetto Dice” was held on a Saturday night in the Ghetto and was attended by the following Mancathletes:
Stuart Brooke, Simon Judkins, Shane Munro, Leighton Agnew, Jared Trail, Conrad Blight, Brydon Price, Duncan Reynolds, Dr Kirk Stevens, Dr Todd Keenan, Jason Gregg & Reg Watson. 
Enshrouded by concrete, bathed in sickly fluorescence and with the booming 808-drum sounds of Rico’s Ghetto Mix Vol’s 1 & 2 rattling their synapses, a dozen Mancathletes old & new gathered to kick off the 2008 Season in style, Hood-style. Garbed in a veritable shit-rainbow of sartorial nastiness & stinking of cheap cologne, the Mancathletes reached into the coolers, grabbed theyselves a tall, frosty Colt-45 with their barnacled hands and got ready to get down to Business! Business in this instance was the accumulation of some serious motherf*ckin’ bank-roll via the fine and noble art of dice rolling. And while some naysayers and dilettantes may say, hold up Senor Rico, do not be ridiculous, this dice-rolling is not a fine competition at all, there is not the skill involved, only the luckiness. I would say to them in return “Screw you Sport, the illusion of control is no illusion”, it is a widely known fact that the longer you shake those dice, the harder you roll them & the more vehemently you shout “Bring them Trips home for Daddy, Bi-aaatch!” the finer your result will be… 
And so, as the Dirty Dozen cradled their 40-oz’s and rocked back and forth on their stolen, mismatched sneakers, eyes darting nervously around their opponents, Mr Juarez proceeded to lay out the groundrules in typically protracted & confusing fashion. Their crack-addled brains lurching tilt-a-whirl from the sudden flood of information, the Mancathletes shuffled towards the flattened cardboard boxes that would provide the newest arena of combat in their quest for Chiefly Glory. In the Brown corner was Stu, Leighton, Conrad, Dr Todd, Jason the Canuck & Big Reg Watson. In the Gold Teeth corner was Simon, Munnas, Jared, Brydon, Duncan & Dr Kirk Stevens. Rico and Trail led the two cliques through a virtual cash round that served to confuse the issue even further and had Reynolds clutching his flashy gangster headband in mental agony, “Are we playing for real money yet!?!”. Later in the tournament when the lightning bolt came that over $170.00 of cold, folding Kiwi Pesos were on the line, the surge of anguish & realisation almost overwhelmed him as he dropped to his knees clawing at the air in frustration and screaming “Why!? Why?!?”. 
And then, it was time for the bullshit to cease, Ice Cube to say peace, and the bankrolls to increase. The dice got to rolling and while the bankers set the pace the other shooters got to fading those bets and hustling to get a little slice of that sweet, sweet pie or even better, to wrestle control of that bankers roll for they own damn selves. Many styles were on display, from the patented & controversial “Trail Slide”, to Reg’s big-leaning “Pornstar Shuffle”, through to Agnew’s delicate touch on the wall as he gently scattered those precious bones like he was lightly drizzling sensual oils on a recumbent nude. Several Mancathletes repeatedly fell prey to their own Colt-45 inspired enthusiasm as sloppy rolls saw their cubes flung wildly against the concrete only to bounce out of the cardboard bounds and clatter impotently across the filthy Ghetto floor, forever dashing those big-money dreams & gold-teeth fantasies. As the cardboard tables ran hot and cold so too did the Mancathletes’ betting strategies; sometimes coming hard with the thunder and trying to make massive plays on the 50-50 and sometimes trying to edge it with small bets designed to claw back and maintain their bankroll. Lady Luck moved buoyantly amongst those hunched and noisy circles, massaging the proceedings with her slippery hands as bankrolls surged up and down in ever increasing arcs until Mancathletes, low on funds & desperate to get back in the game started to make those savage last-minute bets that saw them flung out the backdoor of the game & land back in Reality, broke, destitute & with an empty bottle of Colt their only pitiable solace. 
After two long hours of the old back-and-forth, wheat & chaff had been forever separated by the brutal rending forces of fortune; six Mancathletes had made their way to the Captains Table with big fat stacks of crumpled cash, while Stu Beef, Shane, Leight Doggy Dogg, Blight, Duncan & Dr Kirk had been left cradling their heads in their spade-like hands & weeping softly to themselves. Now it was time for the high-rollers and big arms to play the game, the game that mattered, the game for Precious Mancathlon Points and a filthy wodge of gin-you-wine CASH MONEY. And here’s how that final combat broke down, in the fine and faithful words of a man who lived through it all (somewhat condensed, expanded, exaggerated or played down where applicable…) – 
“Jason the Canadian went down after 5 seconds cos he was not paying attention, busy socializing, didn’t realise the stakes, the true import of Mancathlon points.
Judkins overconfidence f*cked him in the ass, constant reference to the size of his stake, did not quite measure up once the rulers came out.
Dr Todd killed everybody. Dominating furiously. Destroying his opponents ruthlessly and efficiently, one by one, stuffing their stacks into his tight green velour pants and leisurewear, rapidly gaining 20-30 kgs in thousand dollar bills. 
Price kept coming back from the dead, down to 6 bills but via some rash bets crawled his way back to a fat stack, then playing some even rasher bets to exit the game.
Reg employing the chaos theory and advanced random game techniques to keep both his opponents and himself in the dark.
Final show down saw Dr Todd go up against the Beast from the North-East, whose extensive background in Ruakaka speakeasies, gambling pits and sheer dumb luck saw him through to the top spot and the all-important 5-pointer.”
Yep, a fine evening was had by all in the Ghetto. We look forward to Event 2 – Shootin’ in which we welcome back to the fold Veteran Mancathletes such as Sutton & Guthrie, and feature the debut of hungry new players such as Ballard, Rowe & Potter who will be looking to shake this venerable institution to the ground with their unfettered arrogance and athleticism. Word. 
Special mentions are due to Dr Kirk for the Gown and KFC Bucket Ensemble, S. Judkins for the remarkably convincing South Auckland wastrel thing, Dr Todd for repping the Green Man with figure-hugging abandon “Charlie!!!!”, Leighton ‘Skinnyman’ Agnew for that Gold-Teeth Attitude and Messrs Gregg & Reynolds for their day-glo gangster duet. 
Extra special mention to Galbraiths for letting us pump Rico’s Ghetto Mix until we pumped the volume too high and the freakiness of Too-Shorts “Freaky Tales” put the customers off their delicious ales, we apologize for any less than gentlemanly conduct, we love the joint! 
POINTS TABLE [After One Event]
Trail (5)
Keenan (4)
Price (2.5)
Watson (2.5)
Judkins (1)
Brooke (0)
Munro (0)
Agnew (0)
MacFarlane (0)
Blight (0)
Reynolds (0)
Sutton (0)
Rowe (0)
Marshall (0)
Ballard (0)
Stevens (0)
Gregg (0)
Potter (0)
Guthrie (0)
The Following Mancathletes were absent from Event 1:
Rodney MacFarlane, AJ Sutton, Thomas Rowe, Gavin Marshall, Gareth Ballard & Randall Potter.
In Other News:
2007 Mancathlete & “Masters” Rower Phillip Guthrie has decided that the New Season’s Roster was ultimately irresistible and has succumbed to the inexorable pull to rejoin the Mighty Contest; he has vowed to prove once & for all that the key to Ultimate Victory is to sport the Hairiest of chests and be clad in the Tightest of lycra wherever possible. 


Road Dogs

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