Me too. And I had a hilarious username.

Can you talk to the ref on my behalf captain? I have tried telling him that I can't play on an iPad and he ignores me.

Can you put in an appeal for full points or something? Or we put in a claim of PCism?

Is imcomparable a compliment by the way? Does it mean legendary?

If you like.

FFS it's like herding cats this.

I will make Football Kick Flick - [url=https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/football-kick-flick-free-rugby/id769338889?ls=1&mt=8Free Rugby Football Field Goal Kicks[/url eligible to enter but you'll have to post screenshots or screen photos.

If any are posted then I'll decide the points comparison method. Something will be better than nothing though!

It's worth herding cats if you can because they make lovely cheese. I milk them using modified caps from tyre valves.

2721 scored but I still can't log in.

Because the sky is falling in, or at least clouds are falling out of it, I will have to withdraw.

The spectators have always been supportive and made me feel at home, and it's because of the support of my team that I am able to quit as thoroughly and successfully as this.

RAB FACTOR 11 - The Final Eliminator results
Final scores on the kicking game:


=#0040FFScores awarded:
Terrace singer: 10
Pulsator2k7 - 9
pumpetypump - 8
Steel City Bull - 6
debaser - whinging bonus points 4
Bullseye - for the breathtaking lie of claiming he scored 46000 - 2
tigertot - 0.5 for his pathetic attempts to claim he played
_______________________________________________________
SCORES FOR ROUND
Team MOLC ........... 35 (including 10 pts. Round bonus)
Team EBOLA .......... 14
Team SJS ................. 0.5

STANDINGS AFTER FINAL ELIMINATOR ROUND
Team MOLC ........... 42
Team EBOLA .......... 30.4
Team SJS ................. 21.5
Under the rules the scores are again halved after this round so the table now looks like this:
Team MOLC ........... 21
Team EBOLA .......... 15.2
Team SJS ................. 10.78
______________________________

ELIMINATIONS
[size=150Team SJS[/size - bobsmyuncle would have been eliminated but for reasons founded in Greek verse,=#FF0000 vbfg has fallen on his sword. Remaining members:
tigertot
thepimp007
bobsmyuncle

[size=150Team MOLC[/size - =#FF0000Bullinenemyland is eliminated. Remaining members:
Steel City Bull
Terrace singer
pulsator2k7

[size=150Team EBOLA[/size - roger daly is eliminated. Remaining members:
Pumpetypump
Bullseye
debaser

____________________________________________

[size=200=#00FF00RAB X FACTOR 2012 - THE FINAL[/size

There is less than 11 points between the teams, and as each player can score up to 12 points in the Final, plus a bonus 12 if all 3 submit entries, it is all to play for.

The Final assignment:-

Write a story, essay, poem or script which meets all of the following requirements:

[i- Its characters cannot have superpowers.
- It must include the phrase “the figtrees in the Alameda gardens” [/i

- It must contain two of the following:
[i"Bradford Bulls"
"Odsal Stadium"
"Nigel Wood's underpants"
"Cheryl Fernandez-Versini"[/i

- It must include at least five of the following elements:
[ia paper aeroplane,
dogging,
a transformation,
an invisible hand,
two doors,
chicken madras,
Robbie Paul,
satanic rites,
a ventriloquist or ventriloquism,
the periodic table,
existentialism
a Narwhal
HB pencils[/i

Entries will close at 19:00 on Sunday 12th October 2014

My feeble attempt must have flown down the leaderboard ha ha was 4th behind terrace singer when it first started just didnt get chance to do it over 10 times to get used to it!

Heres my final entry

The Story Of the RFL’s Love of The Whinos
T’was the dark of night on the eve of the championship season. Robbie Paul was working hard putting the finishing touches to the banqueting suite in the coral stand at odsal stadium ahead of the Bulls opening fixture. Time had passed him by and before he realised it was past midnight so he packed up and left for the evening. Realising he hadn’t eaten he decided to stop at his favourtite takeaway for a bite to eat. To his amazement he saw a rotund man trying to enter the shop struggling to fit through the entrance, as he approached closer he realised it was none other than Nigel Wood! As he was struggling Robbie looked at the chefs through the window who were laughing shouting ‘I think we need 2 doors!!. Being the gent that he is though and despite the RFLs shafting of the Bulls he helped Nigel squeeze through into the shop. Nigel got to the counter and ordered a King Naan Kebab and a chicken madras. He then reached to his back pocket pulling out a list of errands for the day, intrigued Robbie peered over his should as Nigel reached for one of 2 hb pencils in his top pocket. Reading down the list Robbie saw his previous task was eat tea, this one being have a snack but the next one took his eye! It read
‘meet Cheryl Fernandez-Versini between the fig trees of the alameda gardens’
Robbie couldn’t believe what he saw so upon leaving the shop decided to follow Nigel to see what he was up to. After following down a deep dark country lane they came to a sign saying Welcome to the Alameda Gardens . Robbie couldn’t believe what he saw a series of highly expensive cars with taped out number plates and flashing lights at each other, then realised he had entered a dogging site! Then remembering Nigels list he turned to see his car with a door open, so Robbie sneaked up to the car to have a peer through the window. ‘Strange’ he thought seeing no-one in the car, then he remembered the list Nigel had and headed for the fig trees. Upon arriving he passed what he thought was a large white tent but was actually Nigel Woods Underpants! So as Robbie peered through the fig trees he saw the large naked silhouette of Nigel but no sign of Cheryl. He scoured the area only to find Gary Hetherington upon a large pentagram performing the ancient satanic rites of ventriloquism! This allowed Gary to have total control of what Nigel said and does at Red Hall. Gary spotted Robbie and using other dark magics erased everything he had saw that night and also made him take the surname of his wife to be in their upcoming wedding!
To this day Gary still has the hold over Nigel and when Ryan Bailey gets away with what should be a 5 match ban in future people should remember the story! You may ask how I came about this story but that’s another story for another time and place…..

Cheryl Fernandez-versini reclined languorously pool-side under the welcome shade of a sun umbrella. Chewing an HB pencil in contemplation of a particular tricky crossword she sighed a warm hiss through her vacuous but stunning gob. Admitting defeat she reached for the small bell on the table by her side and rang it with feminine dexterity and Geordie menace.

The Butler, an imperious character for one in service, appeared instantly as if propelled by some invisible hand. “Madam rang?” he intoned, eyebrows quizzically rising like a cotton sheet atop a morning glory.

“Alright Clement Pet” drawled Cheryl, the clash of her Geordie voice against her stunning visage being akin to building a McDonalds on the Acropolis. “Can ya help me with this crossword like? I divvint have a clue what it’s asking”.

“What conundrum vexes you Madam?”. Clement observed Cheryl’s mouth open and close twice like an educationally subnormal but stunning cod. “By that I mean, which clue are you stuck on?”

“Eee” she breathed with relief “You and your words. I can hardly get any of these cryptic ones”.

The butler’s teeth ground ever so slightly against one another at the term ‘cryptic’ but he swallowed down a poisoned retort and regained his composure.

“1. Down. ‘Small hairy animal that purrs and is not a dog’. Three letters.”

“And does madam have any of the letters yet” Clement soothed now, indulging his Rainman-esque employer.

“It ends in ‘AT’ ” she offered.

“Anything else?” He responded warily.

“Yeah. It starts ‘C’ ”. She finished, her flawless face pinched with cheerful bemusement.

“So it’s a three letter word, starting in C and ending in AT?” Clement tapped his bottom lip as if deep in thought. “A tricky one Madam. Cryptic in its construct as you say” he continued, another part of his heart now lying dead in his chest. “Perhaps we should think on that further. Have any other clues caused difficulty?”.

“This one is an anger-am…an angeraram” Cheryl began.

“ANAGRAM!” He squeaked, the mask of composure momentarily slipping but caught mid crisis and placed back on his face “An anagram madam. What is the clue?”

She looked at his red, moist face and noticed the brief transformation. Considering a reprimand, she ultimately decided to give him the benefit of the doubt knowing that he had had a difficult time with his lack of education.

“It says the anagram is ‘Spouting now slandered’ and the clue is ‘Obese Rugby league git and his nether-cloth’ ”.

Allowing himself a moment to be smug he instantly re-ordered the phrase to reveal the truth. “Madam, as you know I originally hail from Leigh..” her face confirmed that she was almost certainly about to ask ‘Lee who?’ so he hurried on, “The answer is ‘Nigel Wood’s Underpants’ ”.

He looked down at the crossword noting that Cheryl’s attention span, at the best of times a hybrid of goldfish and toddler, had waned and she had begun to fidget. “Perhaps Madam is getting a trifle warm?” he enquired noting a light mist forming on her upper lip. He momentarily felt the tip of his tongue protrude from his mouth and realised that despite being perpetually appalled by her double digit IQ, his weak body found the shell in which it sat, most appealing.

“Perhaps a cool walk amongst the figtrees in the Alameda garden might be in order?”

“Ay Pet, I’m all sticky. Come with us for a chinwag”.

He had banked on being able to retreat back into his own domain through the two doors that separated the exterior heat from the cool house beyond. Instead he had further babysitting of an Amoeba in a goddess body to undertake. He mused on the paradox of feeling simultaneously aroused and nauseous before she snapped him from his private world.

“I’ve been meaning to have a girly goss with you for ages” She beamed, her perfect rows of teeth gleaming like a well rendered Stonehenge.

In classic Swan mode he nodded wisely whilst churning inside.

“Aye pet.” She began, slowly walking arm in arm with her hired help among the fig trees. What I want to know, is your perspective on whether there is a conflict or synchronicity between Søren Kierkegaard’s view that ‘The subjective thinker’s form, the form of his communication, is his style. His form must be just as manifold as are the opposites that he holds together. The systematic eins, zwei, drei is an abstract form that also must inevitably run into trouble whenever it is to be applied to the concrete’ and Jean-Paul Sartre’s take that ‘Man simply is. Not that he is simply what he conceives himself to be, but he is what he wills, and as he conceives himself after already existing – as he wills to be after that leap towards existence. Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself.’ ”

He stared at her for 10 seconds, whilst she maintained the same beaming but doe-eyed countenance as ever. “Existentialism. You want to talk about existentialism?”

“Nah pet, I’m pulling your leg. I want to know what you think of my new nail varnish”.

“Lush Madam. Absolutely Lush”.

Is FA really going to read all these submissions? Will he be needing therapy afterwards?

That's surely the idea. Mine is innocuous but I would hope that at least one of us sows some sort of imagery in his brain that cannot be undone.

I think the one of big Nige in the underpants is permanently engraved in what passes for his brain.

=#0080BFRead a few lines from’ It ain’t happening’: The 5th Big Nige’ Cock up...
Published by Uttercrap.UK
ISBN 07102014-2021
©SteelCityBull

It must have been all those extra double helpings of [iChicken Madras[/i thought Nige as he glanced at the alarm clock. Good, I’ve still got another hour before I need to get up. He smirked to himself as he recalled the additional clause he’d included in OK’s agreement when purchasing [iBradford Bulls[/i that gave him and Solly free meals for life in that little eatery he owned – It was a master stroke and he was determined to take full advantage of it.

It was going to be a testing day and not a particularly enjoyable one, he mused. At 10 o’clock he had an appointment with [iRobbie Paul[/i or whatever he called himself these days at [iOdsal Stadium[/i. They needn’t think that they were going to get it back anytime soon; he’d make sure of that, at least until they had the funds to create a transformation of that bloody tip, he thought!

His mind wandered back to the lurid dream that had left him drenched and spent. It seemed so real at the time – god, he wished it had have been. He’d been unable to get [iCheryl Fernandez –Versini[/i out of his head since he’d had the idea to hire her to be the ‘turn’ at Old Trafford at the weekend. Of course it was his idea, his [iexistentialism[/i was akin to Marcel or Sartre but that’s where any examples of great thinking ended. In fact, it was also his idea to ask Cheryl’s agent if that money included a night of passion with said lady and he’d decided to break the bank when he was informed it did - due entirely to the fact that Cheryl had harboured a major crush on ‘big Nige’ for a long time now.

It had all started at a ‘fundraiser’ in Halifax a few years ago when Cheryl was ‘caught short’ on her way to a gig up north. She passed though the function room just as the M.C was auctioning off a pair of [iNigel Wood’s underpants[/i – his most favoured pair, with the picture of a [iNarwhal[/i on the front – oh! how he loved to make that tusk come to life when he went for a wee! She just couldn’t resist them and eventually won the prize with an offer of 5 quid and two [iHB Pencils[/i that she’d liberated from her hotel room in Stoke. She wanted Nige to sign the garment, who knows she thought, it may be a sound investment for the future.

Now, aware the of the alarm chirping in the background he hung on to the dream – Cheryl had agreed to accompany him to the Owlerton Greyhound Stadium in Sheffield – Nige loved [idogging[/i even more than Greggs Pasties and with Cheryl on his arm, well, could it get any better – maybe dogging amongst [ithe figtrees in the Alameda gardens[/i would run a close second......


Due out Jan 2015 ‘Pass the tissue’s please’ The 6th Big Nige Cock up...

I am of course reading them, and it's fair to say that rarely has my flabber been so gasted, but the judging itself will be done by the Man Booker International jury as a warm up for their lesser event.

This author is beyond psychiatric help. Do Not Publish!

At my school any lad soft enough to write stories, poems or essays was rightly given a kicking. As I am indelibly scarred by that experience I need someone with an arty BGS background to do some ghost writing for me. Do you know anyone?

Meh. How many excuses is that now? You're just a lazy bone idle count. Your captain should have words.

If you had one of course ...

I presume Debaser would have told us by now if he can't do prose on an Ipad?

Oh, he's working on a much more ingenious excuse than that. I'm thinking of making Excuses Why I Can't Do That a separate comedy category next year.

You can't rush genius.

No point in having a deadline and then getting it done early.

I have composed a poem.
It is entitled:

[uThe figtrees in the Alameda gardens[/u


Bradford Bulls, stampeding onwards
Towering Odsal Stadium, their home, as wide as
Nigel Wood's underpants yet beautiful like
Cheryl Fernandez-Versini, whoever she may be.


at once fragile, like a paper aeroplane,
dogging, swooping and soaring skywards,
they undertake a transformation, by an invisible hand,
as two doors open, one more closes
once a temple to chicken madras,
now led by the king, Robbie Paul,
no room for satanic rites, or ventriloquism,
just the periodic table of emotion and existentialism
like a Narwhal resting


on HB pencils.


I thank you.

Goodnight.

f*** me what have i been missing as I've slaved away on the 2015 squad stats...

The unbearable lightness of bulling.

several likes all around.