Nugget: My concern-o-meter has yet again been fired up with the worrying news that the Wallabies are now ranked the No.2 rugby team in the world.

“The Wallabies!”, I hear you cry in amazement. Yes, the Wallabies, the team that made beating Wales over two Tests look harder than getting Matthew Newton to a domestic-violence rally.

Obviously the All Blacks are so far in front it’s like they have sprinted away from the pack, like one of their countrymen with a shiny set of hubcaps under his arm, but No.2 is a bit rich.

Crow Boy: If our Wallabies are the second-best team in the world, then I’m Wendell Sailor riding a fancy white pony.

Sure, I have a striking resemblance from the waist down, but that’s a whole other story. The ranking gurus have obviously been spending time with Benny Cousins, and in between swatting purple rats off their shoulders have put out this tripe.

N: Isn’t that a lesson for all the kiddies out there slogging it out on the bone-dry Walla Rugby fields of this great brown land of ours.

Ignore general ball skills, such as catching and passing, swerve any form of lineout throwing or jumping practice and set your scrums softer than one of Jamie “fat tongue” Oliver’s Cornish pasties, and you too could be No.2 in the world. It’s a disgrace.

CB: It looks like our boys have spent all summer at Phil Tuffnell’s Academy for the Gifted.

We’ve got nothin’. Where’s the new breed of heroes, Nugget? The hallowed days of a silky-smooth goosestep from David Campese, a rugged Tim Horan and a sultry John Eales seem to be well behind us.

The only gooses we see now are wearing Australian gold.

N: Look, it’s called “ranking” because it sounds suspiciously similar to what sports statisticians spend most of their free time doing with their spare calculator hand.

Part of me thinks that the wrong things are being ranked in this sporting landscape.

Do we really care anymore who the 10 highestscoring batsmen are in the English county cricket system – hint: they are all Aussies.

CB: I think the whole thing’s rank. And the stench is almost as pungent as the on-screen performances of Daryl Somers circa 1970- current day.

Why don’t these statistical boffins use their time more usefully … and I don’t mean spending more sessions on global Dungeons and Dragons.

N: Surely a detailed tabular expression of sport’s greatest dummy spits would not go un-enjoyed.

Using the variables of tears, broken furniture and the number and ferocity of slurs against religious and racial minorities, just think of the balltearing list that the nerds could produce.

CB: At least Bert Newton and Channel 9 would be interested. I, for one, would love to see a list of the sporting genre’s greatest pants men.

Of course it goes without saying that you and I would be in the top 10.

N: Look, the trick is to stay humble. While women want us and men want to be us, I don’t feel we would be even in the same punching class as two of the greatest trouser Trojans in the history of organised athletic competition.

I refer to, of course, Shane “Gee I’m glad texting was invented” Warne and Wayne “The Duck” Carey.

The battle for top spot would be a little ripper, but if fought within 20 metres of a jacuzzi, the Duck would have to get the cash.

CB: And like any Duck in water, it’s the action below the surface which is most impressive.