It seemed like just another saturday night at Devil's but Bondy
had other ideas. The event was the Mid Season Awards Ceremony with a Kowllon
twist, a time when a club 'rewards' its most faithfull and indeed useless
members. The awards up for grabs were as follows:

Best Player
Most improved, becoming a man
Dan Carter Award for Kicking
Frank Bruno Award for attenpting to Box
Tampax Award for consistency
Speedy Gonzales award
Paris Hilton award for spitting

The awards were all highly contested, apart from the Speedy Gonzales award
which was purposely created to stitch up Harry. Following a string of tricky
missed kicks from right infront of the posts, Sam was presented with some clown shoes,
Bondy being convinced he would have more success wearing these.
The boxing award was more difficult, afterall everybody knows that
Kowloon are a fair side, one that is so kind that when confronted we just
injure ourselves to spare our opponants. Eve, however, had been a bad boy,
and whether he was aware that santa could see see this or not, it is clear
that he is getting a lump of coal this year; consequently he was gifted a
grubby little boxer doll that Bondy and myself picked up for 20 bucks.
Many people claim that rugby is a man's game, and it is, thats
science. So having been graced with the talents of barry for the first time,
Mr Bond felt that the award should be more than just the best improved; it
should openly accept Barry into rugby manhood. That fake hairy chest never
fitted a man so well.
In for one week out for three, the Tampax award. In truth, despite
Deano's few decent performances, his pervasive absence from the team sheet
left Bondy with no choice. Need less to say, the prize was a packet of
horrible things that ladies use.
Harry, for those that didn't know has begun seeing a new lady, a
mexican lady. What is more, rumour has it that he is a rather 'speedy'
lover. Hence, the Speedy Gonzales award was born, and Harry 'gracefully'
accepted his tortilla wraps and seasoning mix (which I ate later that
night).
The Paris Hilton award for spitting is reserved for the chap who
is prone to a little sulk or even a rant, or perhaps just demonstrating some
kind of disloyalty toward the club in another way. For example, one could
argue that evicting oneself from the 'Beavers' squad to go sailing on a
saturday would be such evidence. Bondy concurred. Sailor Will stepped up and
recieved his novelty size dummy.
The final award was the 'best player', now some would argue that
this award would be for the one man you could look to to turn a game, or a
man who has been solid throughout the season. On the otherhand, it may be
interpreted as the man who has spent most time in Lang Kwai Fong working on
his extra curricullar fitness. So the Kowloon 'Best player' award went to a
man who had not even completed one game, to a man who, since his injury, has
admirabley balanced rehabilitation with getting smashed, Ray Wong.
Finally to add insult to injury, the Pot belly pigs also staged a
little party at the same time; so Mr Anson Baily kindly helped out in
delivering the extra gift all the heroes got... a downable beer.

The rundown:

Best Player: Ray Wong
Best improved, becoming a man: Barry Emmerton
Dan Carter Award for Kicking: Samson Nonu
Boxing prize: Yves N'gakoutou
Tampax Award for consistency: Deano Ward
Speedy Gonzales award: Harry Hughes
Paris Hilton award for spitting: Will Sirett

A special thanks should go to Bondy and Michelle at Devils more making the
night such a great success.

Ben Harris

The Flight!
The Loon had not undertaken a “long-haul” tour for some years, so it was decided that we tour the “ends of the earth”; nobody could find New Zealand on a map so we ended up going to Argentina in the middle of its worst economic crisis. There were to be no language problems for the predominantly Anglo-Convict Loons; luckily we had the swarthy services of Ze and Flip-Flop who spoke peasant Portuguese, and Gringo who spoke a Mexican dialect when drunk (“ si claro! ”).

The flight from Hong Kong was delayed for 4 hours which gave the team sufficient time to kick start the touring spirit in the airport pub and to run through a few backline moves. Abo was sad when he was told that he couldn't’t bring his metho or flagon onto the plane. Feeling a little worse for wear and singing any rude song that came to mind on the flight to San Francisco, the Loon’s light was extinguished by the humourless United Airlines hosties (ancient crones for the most part) who stopped supplying drinks somewhere over the Pacific. Luckily after an excellent 4a.m. “fines” session at the Miami Airport hotel lounge (again horrifying passing Septics), we were back in fine voice and spirits – and the leg down to Buenos Aires went as “normal”. Scotty and Mallen distinguished themselves for their alcoholic stamina.