Dear Jerome Kaino,
We get it, you’re hot. Also you’re like, Crazy Tall, and for some reason I thought most Samoan men tended to be on the shortish side. Also also, I’m sort of disappointed you’re not covered in caramel and coconut a la the Samoas I sold in Girl Scouts:
Anyway, I’m featuring you and some of your other New Zealand All Blacks pals for Eilish who made a special request for her birthday (which was like two weeks ago, uh, whoops). That being said, I feel I have to tell you: Your tattoos are causing me some very Mixed Feelings.
(this is NOT what MY aquarobics class looks like)
Feeling A: I hate tribal tattoos, because Those Guys always have them, and you know how I feel about Those Guys.
Feeling B: Yet you are Samoan and the pe’a is legitimately one of your traditions so it’s not really your fault every popped-collar spray gel enthusiast from here to Timbuktu has gotten stupid tribal tattoos (confidential to Those Guys: dude, you’re a Methodist from Lubbock, if you want to get a ritually significant tattoo why not go for a portrait of a lime congeal from Luby’s?) and it probably makes you madder than it does me. Also, nipple star notwithstanding, it’s kinda hot.
Feeling C: Just because it’s ethnically legit doesn’t PRECLUDE you from being one of Those Guys, also, you have YOUR OWN NAME tattooed on your arm, which makes me think either you’re one of Those Guys, in which case I have to hate you, or you drink a lot and black out (fair enough, although maybe a business card tucked in your bra might be more discreet) OR you’re like that guy who was in Priscilla Queen of The Desert who had that memory thing and ended up shooting that guy who looked like a woodchuck. Because I’ve seen that movie and this doesn’t really end well for you.
In conclusion: You should probably come over to my house and lift heavy stuff while I watch. No need to bring pants.
Moving on to some of your other team mates:
Stephen Donald. He’s totally into fat Episcopalian chicks with violet hair, right? Because I think he needs to be into fat Episcopalian chicks with violet hair.
Uh. If you know what I mean, and I think you do.
He’s awfully pretty and rugby players (blesstheirhearts) don’t tend to be pretty in the face. I particularly like how his nose isn’t committed to going in one particular direction. Also, Wikipedia (motto: It’s On the Internet so It Must Be True) says his nickname is “Beaver” and I feel like there should be a story behind that.
Speaking of questionable names, Mister Andrew Hore here, who is –I am not making this up– a hooker.
(Mr Hore attempts career suicide)
He also apparently was convicted of shooting a protected fur seal in 2005. Dude. I am just this side of Cruella DeVil (or, you know, J. Lo) when it comes to wearing fur but seriously? YOU DON’T SHOOT A FUR SEAL. That’s like shooting a toddler in the face. Except worse, because fur seals aren’t bastards. So be on notice, you are NOT part of the hotness, you are merely rosemary basil sorbet between two DESERVING hotnesses.
Like Dan Carter here, who is quite sweet and wee for a rugby player. He’s barely an inch taller than I am, but isn’t he so adorable? I want to make him little Vegemite soldiers and dippy eggs and yell at the big boys who pick on him.
Finally, it isn’t a proper rugby hotness without some totally gratuitous scrum photos featuring Questionable Arm Placement:
and of course we couldn’t talk about the All Blacks without the Haka, the traditional Maori war dance performed before each match since the 1880’s:
Happy belated birthday, Eilish! Many happy returns!