So Why Did Israel Folau Send That Tweet?

Quick disclaimer: This is one person’s opinion on X and not the full views of Y and etc.

I suffer from acute carpophobia, which is not the fear of adorable fish, but instead means I am scared of the underside of the wrist. The mere sight of someone touching the fleshy bit around the join is enough to make me wriggle for escape, blood running cold.  When I try to explain the condition, people think I’m just talking about something that makes me uncomfortable. It goes far beyond that. Seeing someone run a plastic fork against their own wrist once basically incapacitated me for about half an hour. I was squirming, lying on the floor, my brain sweating and the muscles in my legs about as much use as a winger in the Georgian rugby team.

Maybe this is what happens when to Israel Folau whenever he meets a  gay couple. If so, I can forgive the tweet he sent this morning. Maybe his first-minute intercept against New Zealand two weeks ago was merely a happy coincidence, as he remembered the referee was gay, and ran away as fast as he could, just happening to catch the ball on the way. I have no way of knowing without, myself, being Israel Folau.

Folau is a bloody brilliant rugby player, so seeing him out himself as a homophobe has been a kind of big blow for rugby as a whole. I can continue to support Dan Biggar, because he’s merely a prick on the field. I can have a begrudging respect for Eben Etzebeth or Jamie Cudmore because at least I know they’re equal-opportunity pricks to everyone, everywhere. But, whilst Folau was careful to frame what he said as just an “opinion”, he went on to say he would deny some members of society equal rights to himself. That’s not an opinion. That’s discrimination. The suggestion that Folau loves and respects everyone equally when he thinks certain rights should be reserved for those unlucky enough to be born straight and cisgender is bullshit.

Folau was one of my favourite players to watch this time yesterday, and as such I refuse to accept that someone I so recently admired could possibly be a homophobic tosspot. And so I started to think about it. If I’m to accept that the world is nice and accommodating to me (And the fact ASDA sells Battenberg ice cream is proof of that), then there must be some other explanation. So I thought about it. And I worked it out. Here, I present, Why Israel Folau Sent A Homophobic Tweet Even Though He Himself Is Not Homophobic:

Chapter One: The Game They Are About To Play in Heaven

Israel Folau, a rugby rookie not long over from Aussie Rules, sat in the changing room, his hands repeadtedly, instinctively, bringing imaginary balls in towards his body. Today is the big day. He has just shifted to fullback for Australia for the first time. It’s his natural position, and he’s finally going to show the world what he can do there. He looks up to the clock. Twenty minutes. He won’t need the anthems today, he’s already there; pumped up, excited, ready to go. The moment he’s been waiting for. Nothing can tear his focus away. Then in he walks. David Fucking Pocock.

Gold swept back hair. A sparkling smile. The upper-body of a particularly muscular chicken. Legs that, if stood alone, could be considered great wonders of the modern world. Every inch of him carved to perfection. The ancient Greeks would have been so overawed by his beauty they would have just asked him to stand on the spot as a tourist spot. But in Australia, they made him play rugby. And, just as David reached to pull on the converted ‘7’ jersey, he and the young new fullback make eye contact. And from that moment onwards, Israel Folau was in love.

“G’day, mate” said David. Israel’s infatuation was sufficiently strong that even finding out that David was being written as a horrific Aussie stereotype couldn’t tear his attention away from David’s glistening, Canberra eyes. Only one thing could possibly do that, and David had just put his abs away.

Israel stuttered and stumbled. He couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t even sure there were any. He had never felt this way before, especially not about a forward. David was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

“It’s game time, boys” said Ewan McKenzie, who the Wallabies wouldn’t fire for another four games.

Israel looked at the gold jersey on his chest. He had to be ready. Today was the day he’d dreamt of. He just didn’t expect to find the man he’d only dreamt of dreaming of today as well.

Chapter Two: The Game They Just Played in Heaven

“Crackin’ line for that meat, mate” said David, his peculiarly muscle-clad face even more glorious when dripping in sweat. Izzy smiled sweetly. His heart was beating so fast, but he could feel every pump. He had felt it during the game. Every time he was at the bottom and David cleared out the ruck, he would feel his entire ventricle system become about 70% more efficient. Biology suggests the additional blood headed through his system should allow him to think and act more clearly, but that simply wasn’t the case. He could barely manage to say the word ‘Potato’, which is just as well, because if he had managed it he probably would have blown it with David forever.

“Potato” said Izzy.

Idiot. Idiot. What an idiot. What a stupid thing to say. Were there not any other words? Izzy’s eyes held their ground, but inside he began to cry. David was a smart man, a good man. He could never love a man who randomly blurts out “Potato”.

“Meat and potatoes? Nice joke, mate. And a nice meal, too.” replied David. Izzy smiled and took his seat in the changing room. Phew, he thought. He gazed over at the perfect openside sat opposite. That was far too close for comfort. He needed to take some distance. Hewould admire him from afar. Unless-

“David?” squeaked Izzy.

“What’s up, mate?” The rest of the squad didn’t know it, but David wasn’t being friendly, he actually had a rare speech impediment that meant he had to end every utterance with the word ‘Mate’.

“Do you fancy some? Some meat and potatos, I mean? Maybe popping out for some-”

David cut him off.

“Tonight, mate? Afraid I can’t, I’m meeting my Sheila, mate.” Pocock paused, as if the story needed a tad more exposition. “Well, she’s my fiancé now.”

Chapter Three: Don’t Talk To Me About Heaven, or Games Come To Think of it

A block fell on Izzy’s heart that day post-match. He struggled with his interviews, he struggled with his teammates, he struggled with everything. It was as if the same ultra-talented ancient Greek carpenter-slaves that had built such a beautiful sentient tourist attraction had carved something almost as perfect, the greatest weapon to incapacitate man. Heartbreak. He had beaten every team in world rugby, but he couldn’t see himself ever conquering this.

Izzy threw himself on the sofa and switched on the TV. He’d got good enough at Tetris over the last few weeks that it now took him a good five or six hours to finish a game*. He’d eaten enough ice cream to freeze a polar bear’s guts. He put on the news, in the hope of becoming depressed about something else. And, of course, there he was. David Fucking Pocock. Being perfect. On some sort of planet-saving mission. Saying that he and his fiancée were going to fight to legalise same-sex marriage in Australia. That they just saved an endangered type of monkey or something. All kinds of perfect, goody-goody bullshit. He was such a good person. It made Izzy sick. He would never, ever get over him. The least David could do was give him some ground to hate him. Say Shane Williams was overrated, or Richie McCaw was a cunt, anything small so he’d have some ground to form a negative opinion on the guy. But no. He’s not even getting married to his fiancée until gay marriage is legal in Australia. He’s putting his own happiness off for others. He’s that good a person. He’s-

Wait.

That’s it.

Izzy rushed to his feet. All he had to do was make sure gay marriage was never made legal in Australia. He pulled out his phone. He began carefully wording a tweet. Sure, David might think he’s homophobic and hate him forever, but after all he, Australia fullback Israel Folau, is gay. He only scored that try against New Zealand the other week in the hope Nigel Owens might be impressed and ask him out. He moved over from Aussie Rules in the first place because he thought a ruck looked like his perfect Saturday night. Besides, everyone knows gay men can’t be homophobic. Either way, it didn’t matter. He had to be with David, and this was the last chance he had. Taking a final gay moment, Izzy looked over the gayly-motivated tweet he typed with his gay fingers on his gay phone, and he hit send. The masterplan had begun. David would be his. And nothing bad could possibly come of this, because Israel Folau is gay.

Either that, or he’s a small-minded twat who thinks his own prejudices are more important than the lives and happiness of millions of his countrymen. One of the two.

 

*This detail is included in the hope that somebody else comments identifying with this moment of observational comedy, that heartbreak leads to spending absurd amounts of time lying in bed playing Tetris over and over again. My record game lasted 62 hours. I’m over her now.

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