Sunday, February 03, 2008

Cymru Rouge Accepts Rugby Laurels


A Press Release from Cymru Rouge Retrospective Achievements Department:

Attention Welshes!

The Politburo (Angka-p) of the Standing Plenum of the Central Committee of the Cymru Rouge clenches its calloused, six-fingered hands into one screaming fist of indefatigability in acknowledging the total and utter victory of the forces of Welshness, Socialism and Narrow Nationalism on the occupied soil of Boyograd (formerly known as Twickenham), where once the English settlers planted their pagan altars and parked their BMWs.

Rugby, invented by Welsh prepubescent chartist Gwilym Gwe Elis (slave name - William Webb Ellis) at HM Children's Prison, Rugby, has been a potent weapon in the armoury of Welsh resistance to English rule and all intellectual pursuits since 1823.

The Thatcher Regime suppressed the Welsh slate (also coal and steel) industry in the hope that an end to compulsory body-building would turn the Welsh into a nation of football-watching frequenters of hairdressing salons like their lager-sipping oppressors.

The regrettable consequences can been seen in the non-dialectical regression of Welsh rugby post-1979, paralleled by the Kinnockite spurning of narrow nationalism in favour of appearing in musical videos with US agent Tracey Ullman.

It comes as no surprise to students of Lenin, Stalin and Stevens that the surge in bourgeois campanilismo that brought Plaid Cymru into dual power with Labour last year will soon yield, Kerensky-like, to the Dictatorship of the Workers, Peasants and Progressive Studentry (as Subcontracted to the Cymru Rouge Politburo).

The Welsh rugby squad, led by the indomitable [insert the name of the relevant no-neck here would you Griff? Ta, NGB], has felt the hand of history on its tackle, and heralded the advent of the Cymru Rouge by storming the Winter Palace of Englishness, causing a tsunami of spilt gin & tonic to engulf Virginia Water and other female dignitaries of the Brown Junta.

For this, we, the Rouge, accept the thanks of a grateful nation, the admiration of radicals worldwide, and the submission of the English ruling class.

The dialectic, nonetheless, demands its price. Just as a knave would whisper uncouth couplets in the laurelled ear of conquering Caesar, so the Politburo must warn the resurgent workers not to succumb to Dizziness With Success. The English enemy knows that rugby can sap, as well as seed, a nation's sorrel.

Our attention has been drawn by a Maltese plutocrat to the treasonable activities of this rugby personage, whose pebbledashing of our draconian tongue with English fool's gold can be heard on this slouched interview with a member of the Cymric Women's Battalion of Death:



This linguistic loucheness may be acceptable to the Tagalog-tattling trickshaw totos of Manila, but to us and therefore you it is a betrayal of all that is Welsh. Our vowel-free native idiom has adequate words for all the English expressions used therein, except for the alien concept of "shame".

Henceforth, in the brief interval before the abolition of television and all other non-slate-based media, the intrusion of English words into Welsh broadcasts will be drowned out by automatic gunfire and the chanted slogans of indoctrinated child-soldiers.

Otherwise, well done!

Brawd Rhif Un - Paul Pot
Brawd Rhif Dau - Ta Moc
Brawd Rhif Tri - Huw Samphan

16 comments:

M C Ward said...

I second that emotion. During the World Cup, a Brazilian lady emailed ESPN Brasil to say she was loving this new sport, and was planning to name her soon-to-be-born nipper James Hook. A fitting tribute to the swarthy man of the match yesterday. Is this a sign of the success of Cymru Rouge pamphleting in the developing world? Or is she just nuts?

Gorilla Bananas said...

Beating the colonial masters at their own game is sweet, but it was no thanks to the Cymru Rouge. Where were the massed ranks of Welsh invaders at Twickenham? Just a few red-scarfed stragglers, as far as I could make out. It wasn't like that in the days when JPR Williams was giving it the boot. But I give the Pottists credit for protesting the blatant use of English phrases in that chat show. I can't believe there are no Welsh words for "Bloody Hell".

No Good Boyo said...

MC, we Rouges welcome your news, especially as Sendero Luminoso did Maoism no favours among the Latin Americans last time round. The possibility of your friend's profound derangement is no obstacle to promotion through our ranks, believe me. We firmly reject discrimination on grounds of fruit-loopedness.

GB, we don't have to turn up in person - awareness of our advent to power was enough to inspire our broken-nosed cadres on the field at Boyograd and sow dismay among their braying running-dog antagonists.

Welsh, like many smaller European languages, is not in the top rank as far as swearing goes, it's true. "By the bones of St David" and "go to Hell" are paltry weapons when ranged against the cloacal ferocity of the Hun, the omnifutuant fury of the English, and the curious graveyard obsessions of the Romanians - not to mention the bravura pottymouths of the Panonnian plains.

The Cymru Rouge Swearing Task Force is assembling a wish-list of curses, oaths and anatomically improbable suggestions to be cribbed from other ideologically-sound languages ahead of Year Zero II. Any suggestions from Swahili, Kirwanda etc would be most welcome.

GadjoDilo said...

"Boyograd"? 10th December 1988; Parcul Braţelor, Cardiff: Whales 9 - Peoples' Popular Heroes of Romania 15.

"…graveyard obsessions of the Romanians"? 12th November 1983; "Vlad the Impaler" Stadium, Bucharest: Peoples' Popular Heroes of Romania 24 – Whales 6. (Fair enough, that was a graveyard.)

Desteapta-te, Romane! :-)

GadjoDilo said...

My attempt at irony was lost in translation. The anthem/rugby chant Desteapta-te, Romane! means Wake up, Romanians! (i.e. it’s been 20 years now....) Well done, boyos.

No Good Boyo said...

Your point about the undead Romanians being more alive than us big fish was well-taken. These triumphs happened during the Thatcher Regime, when our sinewy shockworkers had been reduced to working in Asda or becoming conoisseurs of opiates, neither of which helped with their scrum training.

Romanians seem to have a wealth of insults relating to wiping one's member on the graves of dead female relatives, as related in Chapter I of Anti-Danube. I salte them.

GadjoDilo said...

The Thatcher Regime occured simultaneously with the "Epoca de Aur" here (a.k.a. "Ceauşescu: the Starvation Years"), when the " Genius of the Carpathians" rather cleverly funneled SAS-grade army bootnecks into the Romanian National Rugby Team. Now they’re all working in Asda Lifestyle Centre in downtown Ploieşti. Deja vu!

The Birdwatcher said...

I sort of dropped by to say well played chaps and the best side won on the day and all that. We English take our hats of to Ospreylia, (damned good show that we didn't play all 15 of the buggers). Well done!

No Good Boyo said...

Birdwatcher, you're a gent. Hope Mrs Boyo's message didn't alarm you. Grown men have been known to rip off their own heads rather than receive her New Year greetings.

Gadjo, glad to see someone got a square meal in Ceauşwitz, even if only to fuel Wales's quondam rugby humiliation.

GadjoDilo said...

Yeah, that was it: "Win a game or two and we'll give you a proper dinner, boyu". Don’t, and we throw you in the communal bath with Three Testicle Vlad.

US agent Tracey Ullman is actually a Real Rrom likes me and ours Gyppo Byard! Perhaps Kinnock hoped to replace the traditional slate- and coal-based industries with clothes-peg and scrap metal production.

Stay-At-Home Indie-Pop said...

Rugby's all very well for occasionally getting one over on the wax-jacketed wankers, but what about the other Welsh national sport? I refer, of course, to slateboarding, whose world title has been in your clammy Celtic mitts since 1641. Or so I'm told.

No Good Boyo said...

Gadjo, the Welsh-Gyppo alliance has been in the making ever since George Borrow had his fob-watch stolen in Chirk (see Wild Wales).

With an endless supply of changelings and untaxed American cars, we can conquer the world - starting with the ever desirable Carpathians.

Herr Pop,

I think you're a little confused from all the footgazing during your solitary musical performances.

Slateboarding is certainly considered a sport in the Bethesda area, but Human Rights Watch, Amnesty and the UN General Assembly have listed it among their top ten "cruel and unusual punishments".

The victim is attached to a desk while a man called Peredur or something in a 30-year-old sports jacket writes out Literary Welsh verb conjugations on a slate board.

Another version has a woman in a tweed skirt and bun scraping her finger-nails down the board while contrasting Welsh and English skull types to the detriment of the latter.

The Welsh Assembly has rejected international condemnation of slateboarding, stating that the practice is simply the Gwynedd County Council education system.

The true Welsh national sport is the "friendly fight", whereby a group of drunks in Mumbles, Cardiff etc will approach a stranger or group thereof and invite them to have a "ruck" before last orders.

Real violence is involved, of course, but concentrated only on the head, genitals and internal organs.

Afterwards everyone repairs to the nearest inn, buys one another drinks and prepares for the standard-issue fights on the way home.

GadjoDilo said...

Indeed. And Welsh Romani is actually classed as a separate language; but since the guardians of it’s sweary syntactic purity died out in the 1950s, it’s been horribly bastardised with nonsense like "b'yer", "boyo", "buy yer own bastard beer", "Wales 26 - England 19", "Charlotte Church", etc, etc. I strongly suspect that you won’t need to invade the Carpathians, as there may be "Fagin Gangs" of dusky 3-year-old changelings roaming the streets of Cardiff at this very moment speaking the Romanian version of said language. :-)

SnoopyTheGoon said...

If that's Welsh indeed in that clip, it sounds lovely. Especially coming from the lady. Could listen to her forever. And that pillow - how I envy it!

And re swearing - no other language comes close to Russian.

No Good Boyo said...

Snoop, it was indeed Welsh, and it is most musical when issuing from such lips.

Russian is good for swearing - I'm considering a post on the swearing seminar I attended in Russia in 1985 - but the Romanians outdo their Slav neighbours for sheer nastiness.

GadjoDilo said...

Welsh is indeed a beautiful language. I wish I could confirm your assertions about Romanian swearing, NGB. I mentioned to my wife what you'd said about threatening to wipe one's genitalia on somebody's mother's grave; she said she’d never heard of it, though she did seem suspiciously unshocked. I'm sure the pretențios Transylvanians here would assert that this would be a mild nastiness coming from any of the other types of Romanians (Moldavians, Oltenians, anybody with darker skin than themselves)!