A wing was talking shit on Facebook about a prop from the safety of the West Coast. That shit doesn't fly. That shit never flew. This is the chronicle of one props fight against a libellous back-line "brother." this back is pretty slick. You have to be to skillfully avoid contact for as many years as he has. Taking JUST the wrong angle. Missing the Fijiaan by a hair. Hard to see the cowardice of the just-missed shoestring tackle until you see a pattern.
Backstory. Dude is a notorious bull-shitter. I have listened to half-assed rationalizations from this fellow for almost three decades. That's how long it takes for me to get tired and call BS. Dude claims "all who wore this jersey are my brothers for life",
Quoting Shakespeare.
He who gives blood with me this day....great source material, BUT not backed up by actions. That is where BS stops. In the REAL world. In the rugby world, where you play with some dudes because there isn't a better option and you know he is a shitty tackler so your wing forwards back him up to keep the games close. you are only as strong as your weakest link. But still a chain. Still a BRO. Until you break the BRO-CODE. Talking shit about a prop? Ok. This is where reality catches up to your trail of bull shit BROTHER.
You HAD to poke the tiger, the trouble tiger poking is that one day the tiger rips your face off as an afterthought. Just doing what tigers do, like godzilla farting and accidentally destroying Fukishima. Godzilla's gonna Godzilla. Better just keep buying Godzilla beers and try to stay out of his range of with your weak ass bullshit jive talking game. My man.
So this story is about a college all star [CAS] and a prop and a wing taking a trip to Penn State for some sevens. Seven a side rugby is a fast brutal sport. The fields are rock hard, baked in the sun. One missed tackle and the other team scores. It is a game that quickly separates the pretenders from the real rugby players.
On this particular afternoon the three players were headed to Penn State, four hours west, to play in a tournament on the following day. The college all star was the prize recruit of the season. Big, fast and a punishing tackler. The prop and the wing picked him up and the prop gave the CAS a beer and told him the rules. One beer every fifteen minutes until they are gone, or you get punched in the face. The CAS agreed, the wing sniggered. he played college ball with the prop when the prop was a wing forward. An attack dog, a greyhound, mean and lean and chasing the ball until someone mishandled it and then making them pay. Lowering the boom. Ask Chris Vealy, stalwart of West Chester what happened at the Princeton tournament when his hands were a little slow and the prop was a wing forward for coachless Kutztown. True rugby Pirates in the best approximation of Bluto Blutarski. Senator James Blutarski to you....
My point being that later in the night, after all the beer was gone, after the prop threw the keg off of the 8th story dorm room, after a day of mega-phonic sexual harassment. (It was legal then). It was a funnier world then. It was before the internet and PC and camera phones and we still serenaded "rugby queens" It was getting late. 2 or three AM. The college all star and the wing had a difference of opinion about some garden variety macho bullshit. The college kid wanted to go. He had been punched in the face by the prop in the first hour, having not finished his third beer. Boom. He was shocked and silent, but then he laughed and agreed that he had agreed to the GAME. Rugby is kicking someones ass and then talking shit over beers for half the night or the rest of the weekend.
The wing didn't drink. He was the kind of dude that got really loud to "win" arguments knowing that most people did not want to cause a scene. Psychology major. Captain of ass. As the only sober dude after the game at the sideline kegger, he could often be heard to tell a pretty freshman, "oh no, these guys are getting crazy, drinking from the boot, you saw the queen, next comes the bat races and then the rugby Princess is next and you do not want to be around for that one, lets go back to my dorm room and watch some mtv. "Billy Dee Williams was not even close to the smooth of this Kutztown Legend.
So, it's early in the morning and a fracas is imminent. The kid wants to balance the scales. The wing is talking about kung fu and breaking knees and "he doesn't ever fight unless its FOR REAL" He didn't want to hurt the college all star and the college all star started suspecting him to be a big mouthed pussy. He solicited the prop for back up of his alleged bad assery, of how he was tougher than Chuck Norris' beard or some such nonsense and the prop honestly told the college all star that he had never seen the wing lose a fight. There had never been one. Come to think of it he never saw him make a tackle either. One of those hugger type dudes who slows people down by grabbing their shirt.
So the wing didn't want to hurt the dude, He is a saint. A Hero. And a legend. A legend in his own mind telling his rugby stories a whole country away from reality.
Backstory. Dude is a notorious bull-shitter. I have listened to half-assed rationalizations from this fellow for almost three decades. That's how long it takes for me to get tired and call BS. Dude claims "all who wore this jersey are my brothers for life",
Quoting Shakespeare.
He who gives blood with me this day....great source material, BUT not backed up by actions. That is where BS stops. In the REAL world. In the rugby world, where you play with some dudes because there isn't a better option and you know he is a shitty tackler so your wing forwards back him up to keep the games close. you are only as strong as your weakest link. But still a chain. Still a BRO. Until you break the BRO-CODE. Talking shit about a prop? Ok. This is where reality catches up to your trail of bull shit BROTHER.
You HAD to poke the tiger, the trouble tiger poking is that one day the tiger rips your face off as an afterthought. Just doing what tigers do, like godzilla farting and accidentally destroying Fukishima. Godzilla's gonna Godzilla. Better just keep buying Godzilla beers and try to stay out of his range of with your weak ass bullshit jive talking game. My man.
So this story is about a college all star [CAS] and a prop and a wing taking a trip to Penn State for some sevens. Seven a side rugby is a fast brutal sport. The fields are rock hard, baked in the sun. One missed tackle and the other team scores. It is a game that quickly separates the pretenders from the real rugby players.
On this particular afternoon the three players were headed to Penn State, four hours west, to play in a tournament on the following day. The college all star was the prize recruit of the season. Big, fast and a punishing tackler. The prop and the wing picked him up and the prop gave the CAS a beer and told him the rules. One beer every fifteen minutes until they are gone, or you get punched in the face. The CAS agreed, the wing sniggered. he played college ball with the prop when the prop was a wing forward. An attack dog, a greyhound, mean and lean and chasing the ball until someone mishandled it and then making them pay. Lowering the boom. Ask Chris Vealy, stalwart of West Chester what happened at the Princeton tournament when his hands were a little slow and the prop was a wing forward for coachless Kutztown. True rugby Pirates in the best approximation of Bluto Blutarski. Senator James Blutarski to you....
My point being that later in the night, after all the beer was gone, after the prop threw the keg off of the 8th story dorm room, after a day of mega-phonic sexual harassment. (It was legal then). It was a funnier world then. It was before the internet and PC and camera phones and we still serenaded "rugby queens" It was getting late. 2 or three AM. The college all star and the wing had a difference of opinion about some garden variety macho bullshit. The college kid wanted to go. He had been punched in the face by the prop in the first hour, having not finished his third beer. Boom. He was shocked and silent, but then he laughed and agreed that he had agreed to the GAME. Rugby is kicking someones ass and then talking shit over beers for half the night or the rest of the weekend.
The wing didn't drink. He was the kind of dude that got really loud to "win" arguments knowing that most people did not want to cause a scene. Psychology major. Captain of ass. As the only sober dude after the game at the sideline kegger, he could often be heard to tell a pretty freshman, "oh no, these guys are getting crazy, drinking from the boot, you saw the queen, next comes the bat races and then the rugby Princess is next and you do not want to be around for that one, lets go back to my dorm room and watch some mtv. "Billy Dee Williams was not even close to the smooth of this Kutztown Legend.
So, it's early in the morning and a fracas is imminent. The kid wants to balance the scales. The wing is talking about kung fu and breaking knees and "he doesn't ever fight unless its FOR REAL" He didn't want to hurt the college all star and the college all star started suspecting him to be a big mouthed pussy. He solicited the prop for back up of his alleged bad assery, of how he was tougher than Chuck Norris' beard or some such nonsense and the prop honestly told the college all star that he had never seen the wing lose a fight. There had never been one. Come to think of it he never saw him make a tackle either. One of those hugger type dudes who slows people down by grabbing their shirt.
So the wing didn't want to hurt the dude, He is a saint. A Hero. And a legend. A legend in his own mind telling his rugby stories a whole country away from reality.
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