Thursday, February 11, 2021

 heres something that a friend shared on facebook-he gets to the rugby content after a bit of whining-


Yesterday was an absolute shit of a day. Really one of the worst I've had in a while. I spent the day being sad and angry. The events of yesterday are going to be a big set back financially and emotionally in my vision and plan for the future. I've had many set backs in my recent journey and adventure. From a terrible and costly break up, living in my truck for nearly a year, to briefly falling off the wagon, and getting in trouble for it, to life threatening infections, and surgery. To being so broke I couldn't afford a can of soda. I've been soul crushingly lonely, and so depressed that I didn't move or shower or eat for weeks. On social media my life seems like a dream, and in some ways it is. My life is what others do for vacation. I ski more in a month than most will in a life time, and I get paid to do it. But most of the time I leave out the heartache, frustrations, and pain. I'm eternally grateful, and intensely aware of what I've built from nothing, and the small amount of quality humans that have come into my orbit.
Today while watching Ireland and Wales battle it out, rugby reminded me of what life really is. It's a never-ending, ruthless, and often painful battle to get to your goals. There will always be obstacles that will do whatever to prevent you from moving forward. But there will also be people around you that help you get there, that you can't do it without. You can't lose site of the try line, and you must keep moving forward. Rugby like life will beat you into a pulp, and you can either fade away, or become forged into a strong, prepared, tough as fuck, immovable and unstoppable object. When you cross that try line and put that ball down the pain and frustration go away. The rush of elation you feel makes all the blood sweat and tears worth it. Then you get right back to it, grinding away to get back to that try line. I choose to keep moving forward, I choose to keep my eye on my dreams and goals, I choose blood sweat and tears, because there's no other way to get there. I am strong, prepared, tough as fuck, immovable and unstoppable because I refuse to fade away.
"Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm"

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

the rugby book starts here-

Many names will be changed to protect the families and reputations of solid members of the community. Many pussies ill be called out, eventually. This is the first draft and we do not know the final destination of this word train. These words serve notice that certain topics may come to light in a humorous celebration of life. A loving recreation of my rugby experiences. The formation of a man. How to stick and move and stay sane in a world that exists in many ways just to break a man. A world of constant, never-ennding tests to a man's integrity.
Marlon Perkin's Wild prop kingdom. Who is the prop that you are most afraid of? Is it me? Is it some other force of nature, as yet unheard of? As I remember it, you guys pointed me at the toughest fucks on the other team for twenty years, and kept offering me jobs as an incentive to wear your colors. Jobs as an incentive to wear your colors, instead of having to face me in a situation where manhood, speed, ferocity and brute strength were areas where it was best not to compete with me. It was better to appease me for those long years. These are the stories that I collected from my years of defending my little patch of turf. Stories that I only know part of. Stories that I have eighty percent of. Not pure fiction, but the accounts, descriptions and of this rugby life are mostly written down from memory and the author wants you to know that I have had a concussion or two, done a drug or two, and protected a friend or two over the years.
I first played for a team that was playing on the memory of a recent final four division one appearance. They got there by skillfully recruiting an Argentinian and a Welshman at number ten and eleven and that combination was deadly in the late seventies and early eighties. Dudes that grew up playing the game and see the game differently. Real skill where it is needed and big brutal meatheads and brothers in the scrum. This is a combination that still works well and has been copied in one form or another a most of the successful teams that I have played on.
My next stop was at what became a solid University program ranked in the top ten of the country. The rugby team called me 'Sasquatch', but in my dorm I was 'buffalohead' . This was flavor country. The vibe was strong in this one. So when I started there, the exchange students from England had just left. They formed a rugby club and left town. I never even met them. Our rugby leader was a man they called 'Clueless'. The motto on the team was 'D for degree' . We were a motley bunch. And this country is a big-ass country. Not bad for a tiny 'normal' school in tiny Pennsylvania farming community. Tiny Kutztown university goes head to head with Life and Cal and huge Penn State and other diploma factories. Their secret was a coach that knew rugby and all the tricks from US Eagle experience in the front row, where rugby is real. I was part of solid foundation of old boys and alumni who set the tone for rugby ferocity in the mid eighties. There was a time in my life when Saturday meant an A game at flanker, a B game anywhere they lost a dude, and a C game when the other team still needed some more reality correction. That's what rugby is. Reality. You may be something big in the world, a real force of nature, the man. But when you are in a scrum with me then you are my bitch or my family. And while I may have let my actual flesh and blood brothers down, I was always the due who was ready on saturday to do error corrections on the people wearing the wrong colors. Kind of like the fashion police.
My third installation was in the front row. I was sitting in a bar in Washington DC and it triggered some memories. Memories of my first bus trip from Philly. A unique bar with a low ceiling in the cellar of a fancy schmancy retaurant that I was never allowed in, upstairs. There was a sign on the steps, no props upstairs, please. I was cool with that, once I learned that props run the world. Well, props and wives and yes I would love to flirt with your girlfriend while you inportant men are talking about your important non-rugby bullshit. That is the essence of life there. Rugby and non-rugby bullshit. And understanding women. I know that women have to appreciate the passion that we have for a stupid game and offer support to us, their gorillas of love. They called me 'Magilla gorilla' here, briefly. I teamed up with a set of hulking brothers here and really got good at scrumming. Our women understood that with rugby we may limp or need knee surgery, but without it we are a hurricane waiting to happen. Rugby points our energy in the right direction, mayhem ensues. Mayhem . We then have at it. An all you can eat buffet of manly delights. Something approaching gay heaven, I would imagine, but that has to stay in the imagination while I still have functioning knees and elbows and teeth in my head. I bite. I can imagine some dark future where I will be some sort of gay man's cat toy, bit it is not anytime soon. And there are aspects of the game which would seem to be a spermy delight, if you wanted them to be, but try it and see. Try hitting on rugby players is my advice to gay rappers everywhere. That would be pure entertainment. That is what is needed tp save the country. A travelling freakshow, exhibition of brutal force and music festival for all. E Pluribus Rugby.
The most important thing that happened to me in DC was hat it was there where I was eventually convinced that I was a member of the elite fratenity and true brotherhood of the front row. We put our necks in there and risk a lifetime in a wheelchair because you fuckers would lose the scrums. Scrums t that we so find natural and easy. While life on the wing is fun and all, the real work is done with numbers one through five on your jersey, and that's just the way it is. The way it was explained to me is that it was my special purpose. To do the heavy lifting, drink all of the beer and occasionally meet a female of the species who did not find me too distasteful. That was the best deal a rage-fuelled neanderthal like myself was ever going to get. I told them I was a wing forward and they kept telling me that I was a prop. These were men with accents. Authorities on the game I was still learning from over seas. I listened this one time in my life and my life changed forever. Thank you Api Q. Thank you rugby.
At this point in life everything was going perfectly. I had a bartending job that I bent around rugby hours and a loving, big-canned woamn who thought I invented sex. Life was swell. Some Sunday brunches could be bothersome. Those sundays when my neck was too sore to move and I would be driving to work turning my whole body to check the rearview mirror on the belt way, but thats the price of glory. After a few hours of moving behind the bar the body warms up and there were always a handful of percasetts in someones rugby bag if the pain was truly annoying. Plus my boy around the corner always had some fragrant flowers to alter perspective. But then one weekend my chick went camping with the barback. And started smoking again. So I went back to Philly to finish college. I never graduated from Kutztown. I dropped out of my professional semester. They were offering me a lifetime of work. Rugby was offering me the world. Easy game.
So I went back to college. This was to be the return of the prodigial sun. But someone forgot to tell the team I was rejoining. So I hung around long enough to catch the eye of the all star coach and got invited to select side practices. I soon saw that, unless I was willing to wait for someone to retire, this team was good. Wasn't this the same tight five who had led the team to final four glory? Well, almost. But my brother was amenable to playing on the Temple team with me and there were a lot more women at the college parties than at the men's club. And I got to play wing forward again and this time I had enough rugby under my belt to do some damage against kids five to ten years younger than me who were still learning the game. I'm kind of a bully on Saturdays. No one could offer me the same mix of young pussy and the chance to play Penn, Saint Joe's and other future millionaires on a level playing field. Where I frequently knew the referees's from playing against them and the young kids had no chance, whatsoever. Teaching millionaire's sons that there are a few things that your money can not protect you from. After seeing the ambulance doors shut behind another young man's stretcher I stopped using the purple crystal aggression additive that I thought helped take my game to new levels. I am just not cut out for being a dick. But I had to try it to see. I am talking to an attorney about a historical reference to be added here that pertains to historical incidents of deep South Benzedrine fuelled rugby, but tha's not my story. I will ask if I can share the story, but stimulants are part of the game. Asking your body for eighty minutes and working full time and a full college schedule make demands on a body. My body was cool with four hours of sleep. But rugby demanded peak athletic performance and a solution had to be found. I found different sources of aggression activator. Some completely legal when prescribed by a doctor and some lucky combinations of ginseng, bee-pollen and Irish coffee.

     So I was a college graduate and rugby veteran and some college friends were playing on my old club side and rugby is the most fun when you are playing with your boys. My brother tagged along for a year or two, until he met the girl of his dreams. That was as fun as it ever got. Or maybe that was Argentina or the Maggotfest. But Saranac is right up there. This is where an old boy and rugby legend, Marshall Sturm, asked for match reports, and I started stringing words together on assignment. My previous writing was all butt-hurt poems about the girl from DC who savaged my world. Plus there were a few semesters of writing term papers for money. But this was the kind of writing I was meant to do, team-building. Celebrations and razzes from a dude with a pretty good view. I called it “the view from the front row” and a few people told me that they looked forward to their most specail shit of the week. The Blackthorn newsletter shit. So I have that going for me. Then there was this mercurial scrumhalf from Japan, Kazoo Seto. Mother fucker could play some ball. We were destined for great things at Blackthorn and then I got a better offer. There is a mixture of dickheads on every rugby team. It's the testosterone of it all. So much macho and not a construction worker or Indian chief in sight. Some of the most talented players I ever played with simply had no personal skills at all. They were fast of furious or sometimes both, but no one was ever going to write a movie about them because they were just concieted shitbirds. The old boys on the rugby team vicariously enjoyed their exploits and gave them all the ego-stroking their high maintenece asses needed, but ruby is a community. Like a man who provides freedom lecturing the snot-nosed whiz kid hot-shot who only gets to express his physicality because Shrek-like assholes like myself enjoy beasting on the weekends. After a while it gets to the point where the grass is greener and that was certainly the case in Doylestown. I was offered a construction job near my house with an open tab at a nearby restaurant on Delaware avenue.  

Thursday, September 7, 2017

I WAS WRITING FOR A PORNO CATALOG...
I STILL THINK ITS FUNNY...RUGBY IS PRETTY GAY
 STILL, BUT IT NEVER TOOK WITH ME....SIGH   

THIS IS THE BEGINNING... 
When I "accidently" left my rugby kit bag open at practice, the malingering brutes who were too sore to practice quickly discovered my Renegade Men's Pleasure Kit. They were full of derision at first, obviously. These are big strong manly men. But a number of jerk-offs also play this game and I knew they would seek me out privately in the future. The combination black kit spoke to them and soon there were a few more rugby players who were wrapping, plugging and stroking their way to heretofore unseen levels of pleasure. And with the special bonus code I provided them with, they were also helping build Youth Rugby for their team. People, especially the socially suspect type of brutes that are attracted to the violence of the game LOVE the Renegade's Men's Pleasure Kit. The triad Rings are super stretchable, made of safe easy to clean silicone rings bound together to restrict you in just the way your mother used to in the bathtub. They are made of smooth medical grade silicone with just the right firmness. A flared plug spade flare at the bottom permits safe and fun play.When you are clamping your fingers tightly around the Stroker you can let your wild horses run free, as someone sang about in a song, many years ago.... All composed of body safe materials, of course. Thiis is the ideal package to dispove the heresy that men are not able to multi-task. Show them your version of reality as you use all three at once and follow this nasty pleasure ride rabbit hole to the end! Works with all lubricants. Product dimensions ring 6.6 inches by 2.2 inches b 0.4 inch. Stroker 5 inches by 2.5 inches by 1.8 inches. Plug 4 inches by 2.7 inches 1.1inches. Materials Silicone, Thermoplastic Rubber
Renegade Men's Pleasure Kit 2 Black Code: NSN-1105-23

Liquored Up Gummy Pecker Cock Rings        Code: WT2866
     “I hate the taste of your weiner,” was the number one complaint of my young girlfriend, many years ago, before this miralce occurred.  That problem has now been eliminated with this fantastic invention, sure to be up for a Nobel peace prize this year. Peace in the domocile. Peace and harmony in wedded bliss. This patented miracle cure to a decided 

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Monday, June 12, 2017

i was that guy

the guy who made the enemy scrum turn into a bunch of bitches

pointing fingers, changing positions, fixing the problem

the problem is you are going backwards

  my physics lesson of the day

piss me off and people go backwards

my neck versus you neck

and their solution was not much better

more bitching, more shuffling

you opposing prop gets benched

then his replacement leaves with an injury

alpha male shit

another great day in the front row

Thursday, April 20, 2017

420

BYe HAZ ALOHA CIAO

 
420
I missed some days people, sorry
happy 420 though
I celebrated a day early and was hungry all day
I will update my job website today
add a haz piece? Sure...
hasbro was the only dude who said he would play rugby on april first
I tried to arrange shit from mexico
no one cared except haz
APE17
bilingual cooking school examining myths that are out there about food
like egg yolks, perfect food or bad chlesteol...
goat cheese is better
cooking oils
better rugby through chemicals
rugby players seek an edge...ask this dude

I tried a few alternative supplements myself
lets see how good you are

match the supplement to the affect on my rugby

A) mushrooms B) peyote C) purple crystals D) cocaine E) weed F) roids (pill form)
G)adderal plus bee pollen plus ginseng

1) this alternative supplement constricted my throat at practice
2) this made everything simple and fun and pure neanderthal :made me a college all star
3)cause many penalties, fuck it mode, instant asshole
4)heart murmurs ended this experiment
5)this made me an unstoppable force who was in the moment and thinking rugby
6) ultra-violence..two kids carted off on stretchers, NOVA and St. Joes..sorry?
7)what day is it? Of course weed is perfect before, during and after rugby!

In montana I had a long conversation with a cow in a shop window. Imight still be there, if not for the urging of team mates to get moving. We were 'hosted' by some MAGGOTS. I stayed with a dude with a fridge full of mushrooms. I was laying on his bed, watching the popcorn ceiling writhe. Dudes gotta go. “He says heres a line and the keys to my mustang, meet you at the bar”
in my universal cocoon of wonderful, tunes crankN IT STARTED TO SNOW. A brief flurry. Not uncommon in montana in April.

Have you ever been driving a car and tripping your balls off when an AUDIBLE snowflake whooshes over your vehicle like a star wars triangle ship??
? THeN ANOTHER one.

This is the year I handcuffed myself to a local lass.
The sherrif unlcoked us at dawn after we slept in the handcuffs.
Pro tip. Do not lose the keys.
She had to use the potty. I stood behind the shower curtain.
Bow chicka wow wow

NEW CHANT...WE ARE TEMPLE RUGBY OWLS
WHOO WHOO WHOOT
TEMPLE RUGBY OWLS>>>THIS IS HOW WE DO IT.....mikeal leland does rugby OPERATICALLY....a one a two an mother fucking THREE.....AAHH AHHH AHH AHHH...ride of the VALKYRIE....operatically......
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Harry Baker
Harry Baker then who day who dat who dat temple owl?....who dat who dat....AND WE JOIN FROGGY CARR AND WALK A LITTLE SLOWER OR FASTER THEN THE OTHERS WITH OUR WHO DAT CHANT AND OPERA IMMIGRANTS SONG>>>>>> THEN RIDE OF THE VALKRIE>>>>>>we burn a viking ship during the parade in tribure while sinning immigrants song all the parts,,,guitar etc. plus leleand
Like · Reply · 1 hr
Harry Baker
Harry Baker i will film it with my camera if you need an instruction manual
Like · Reply · 1 hr

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

i miss my ex-friend...

Rugby is like Facebook

James Richards is a hooker that won a national title... on facebook he relishes making people unfriend him...if i had the time i would look for his words to that effect... he likes to attack and label people as lefties to diminish them
uses all of the talking points of the regime of moeny and death...was a commando, apparently...
i better be careful when dealing with a commando...
since he attacks lefties he attacks my mom and many friends....
he likes to call people snowfalke
so i tested his "i never unfriend anyone policy... 
this commando melted
i have no politics, im just a trouble maker living on the beach... NAMASTE!
Harry Baker. I can't respond directly in the post, probably due to some privacy settings it has... so I'm sharing. Two things...not necessarily about THIS particular post. 1. If you think I'm going respond to every cockamamie far left post, share, or personal diatribe...sourced from far left sources? You're nuts, a little self important, and a little "stalky." I DO appreciate that you "respond" to all my posts... But i don't expect you, or anyone else for that matter, to respond to mine. I just need to get things off my chest. 2. if you think all I care about is food issues (uh, dude, I'm in the restaurant biz, I do care a lot about them) ...if you think all I care about is food issues. a. you are either lying to deminish me, or b. not really very good at this fb thingy. Please feel free to check my fb past and current page entries. Stop lying to try trivialize me and goad me into responding to (most of the time) far left, radical drivel.


James Richards
10/13, 12:10pm
James Richards
I'm good. FB is like rugby to me. I leave it on the field.
Harry Baker when i missed the 35th anniversary Blackthorn Rugby game i was pissed....i said good publicity....they said "dont you have FB?" i said NO "IM NOT A 14 year old girl"
James Richards
James Richards It is like rugby, in that I leave my aggression on the field, like I do here on fb. I don't take it to the bar and beyond.

and strike three i guess...

THIS IS A MESSAGE I SENT TO JAMES AND TWO OTHER RUGBY JERKOFFS.... HE DECIDED TO SPAM US ALL... WHAT-EV's ... harry wins again?

i was going to send it to all the jerk offs i know but my fingers got tired....

Justin, Brian, sorry for the Pink Unicorn Spamming, Someone....this GUY James Richards thought he was spamming me....when he starts to run out of words he sends in the Pink Unicorns.......a real P.U.S.S. move.....
you may know him DUCKLIPS, they call him "commando" at PAC and he treats facebook like rugby.....he leaves it all on the field....HE calls in the unicorns for help when he can't make up his own thoughts.....I WATCHED ALL TEN HOUR there is some really interesting stuff
i stand by my original share comedy idea that you are jerk-offs though....
well thats one minute ill save some for later
James
Not what I what I was looking for Harry. Sorry. Our time is done. I love ya man. But you've lost it. Please see someone.
Chat Conversation End

Monday, April 17, 2017




astro-turf hurts my tender knees
1/4 inch aluminum spikes are not the proper footwear
I WILL NEVER WEAR TURF SHOES ...

the dude is big and samoan 
charging through us
I go high and bounce off..

but before I do I grab at his head gear

head gear?
 Thats a HANDLE as far as I am concerned

thankyou for another way to slow you down
mr raging beast of rage and fury

so my thumb just misses his eye
 and my other hand is grabbing at his ponytail

YET ANOTHER HANDLE

this game gets easier and easier
it used to be your first 15 were your ONLY 15
someone goes off and you are down a man
then they invented subs to stop the practice of intentional injuries of opponents
the fist fights were better back then
viscious rugby