Someone caught Russell Crowe and his 10-year-old son Charles during an intimate father-and-son bonding moment at an Australian rugby game recently, and I hope Russell has never questioned the paternity of his son, because this kid definitely fell from Russell Crowe’s rage-filled nutsack. I guess their team scored a touch-down or a wallaby-woo or whatever they do in Australian rugby, because everyone is cheering like they just got vouchers for a free Bloomin’ Onion at the Outback Steakhouse. Russell thinks this might be a good time to turn to his son to tell him something (“Hey buddy, you listen to that 30 Odd Foot of Grunts CD I slipped under your door yet?“), but it turns out Charles ran out of fucks to give in the first quarter and yells at his father: “Get OUT of my FACE!” while making ‘you need to fucking STOP’ hands. Those hands mean business; it’s a good thing there wasn’t a telephone nearby.
I love Charles Crowe for many reasons: he does NOT play, he’s not here for chatty assholes ruining his rugby experience, he’s only 10-years-old and already he knows how to shut a bitch down in two languages (English and Hands). But most of all, I love him because he sort of reminds me of Rudy Giuliani’s no-fucks-given son Andrew.