Mike Phillips v Ronald McDonald - The Truth*

* This is 100% NOT the truth.

Another week, another Welsh rapscallion getting into trouble, another load of rumour and hear-say on what actually happened. Here’s what might have (note to lawyers: but definitely did not) happened...

Dwayne Peel’s been struggling to get into the Welsh team, even though Phillips has been out of form for bloody ages. He starts thinking; playing better than the other guy isn’t going to get me in. I need to go… deeper. 

9 months ago he applies for a job in McDonalds under the pseudonym Payne Dweel (I never said he was intelligent). He started at the Bargoed branch, then with that same work ethic that took him to the top of the rugby world (in Wales at least) he managed to work his way up, eventually earning a transfer to the promised land: the Queens Street branch of McDonalds.

The many night shifts he worked were long and lonely, but he persisted, knowing his time would come.

This particular Thrusday night shift started much like any other; Amir was working with his usual robotic efficiency, John was struggling with the child safety cap on the floor cleaner and Nikki wouldn’t respond to his polite, nervous attempts to get to know her better. They had a few post-work, post-pub customers grabbing a bite before going home, and a couple of night-shift workers grabbing a bite on their way to work. A Thursday night shift as unremarkable as any other. Then fate walked through the door.

Mike Phillips approached the counter, bleary eyed, staring at the boards not noticing the well built man with a dodgy stick on moustache and ‘Payne Dweel’ name badge waiting to take his order.

MP: Uh, I’ll have… 2 quarter pounders… 6 nuggets, chips and…. A diet coke.

Dwayne, had been waiting for this moment. 9 months he had spent cleaning up soggy chips, 9 months being abused by valleys numpties and 9 months getting burned by that fucking deep fat fryer. And it was all in anticipation of this moment. He knew what he had to do. He knew what would come next.

PD: Sorry. We’re closing now.

MP: What? You’ve got loads of food left.

PD: We’re closing now. I can’t serve you.

MP: Oh, just give me my food butt.

PD: We’re closed.You'll have to leave.

MP: Look. I’m Welsh scrum-half, this is my town, so you'll give me what I want.

Payne leaned across the counter to make sure Phillips heard every word of what he was about to say:

PD: Not for much longer butt. Now fuck off.

What happened next was a blur, but it involved thrown chips, a smashed Ty Hafan donation box and a 4ft plastic Ronald McDonald being used as a weapon. At the end of it, Mike Phillips was taken away in the police van, while the man called Payne Dweel walked out and made a call.

PD: Mr Gatland. I’ve got some news for you…. It doesn’t matter who I am!... Mike Phillips has been arrested outside McDonalds… What for? For being a dickhead. I hear Dwayne Peel’s free to play though.

Fuck me I’m bored this afternoon.

The Dastardly Duo

A few months ago (okay, many months ago, I've been busy!) I wrote a piece on the wayward adventures of Mr. G. Henson. I speculated that his time at Saracens would not be an explosive return to rugby, but a damp squib. That was more or less the case. What I did not predict though was his transfer to the brash New Money Monty's of European rugby, Toulon in France.

His debut for the French Top 14 side was impressive by all accounts, and even saw him bag his first try. The WRU must have rubbed its hands with glee as the most talked about Welsh rugby player of recent times looked like he might orchestrate a Hollywood tale comeback just in time for the World Cup in September.

What they hadn't banked on (or maybe they had given his history) was that the Hollywood tale would take a turn from Rocky-esque revival, to Raging Bull self-destruction.

Details remain sketchy, with no formal statement about the incident coming from the club. However, according to what has been reported, it is alleged that while celebrating Toulon's 20-9 win over Toulouse in Hyeres, Henson made some disparaging remarks about Johnny Wilkinson and club captain Joe Van Niekerk, and fought with the scrum-half Henjak. He then danced his way out of the bar, into the cool Hyeres night and proceeded to go from door to door, waking the sleeping locals so he could personally insult their humble hair styles and belittle the state of their children's shoes.

Okay, I made that last bit up. But when there is a lack of facts, rumours will fill the void. 

So, back to reality. First off; the mindset where someone criticises their team mates at a NEW CLUB, just after they've WON baffles me. Maybe it's because I don't play professional sports, maybe it's because I'm not socially retarded, who knows. Secondly, what can Gavin 'I only play when I feel like it' Henson criticise Johnny 'more decorated than a Christmas tree' Wilkinson about? How the hell does that conversation go?

Gavin: So why do always breathe out the side of your mouth when you kick? You look like a knob.

Johnny: It's helps my technique

Gavin: What have you ever won with that?

Johnny: The English Premiership, 2 Powergen Cups, 3 Six Nations, 1 Grand Slam, 1 World Cup Runner-Up medal and 1 World Cup Winner's medal.

Gavin: ... Dick.

As things stand Toulon have ended his suspension and brought him back into the club. This makes me question the accuracy of what has been reported in the papers (quelle surprise!). Would they really bring back a player, who must now undoubtedly be unpopular within the team, so close to the end of the season? A player who, if we're honest, they don't really need? I'm not so sure. We might never know the facts, but I don't care. Frankly, I'm bored of hearing about Henson. Unless he scores a hat-trick in each of Toulon's remaining games, then I don't care what he's up to. I would say I won't write about him again, but let's be honest, he provides too much material.

As a footnote to this post on boozy shenanigans, the only man who can challenge Henson for the 'Loosest Cannon' award, Andy Powell, has been getting into mischief again. This one sadly didn't involve a golf buggy, and what actually happened is, again, a mystery. But what we do know is that it involved some sort of assault in a Walkabout. I understand the argument that professional sports stars should be able to lead a normal life, but I would have to advise DO NOT GO TO FUCKING WALKABOUT! You're rich(ish), go somewhere nice. And I don't mean All Bar One either!