Rugby Evolution
A dude in the
hallway of the college says, "You're a pretty big dude, come to
rugby practice"
I am just a land based fish at this point, fins turning into arms to pull myself from the slime of the city, no idea of my destination. Exploring raging alcoholism. In a college because of tuition remission. I start a computer course. We are punching cards to program the computer. It reminds me of typing class. I hated typing class. If you mistype a period on one of the three hundred cards the program doesn't run. Exciting programs to alphabetize mailing lists. Pong is pretty cool, but this is a waste of my valuable time. Computers are stupid, I'm not taking any more computer classes. 1981. They can find someone else to send their junk mail more efficiently! No need for council other than my own. I'm a genius. Next..
In the Honors Program to beef up my rhetorical skills. Arguing with lefties and businessmen. I know these arguments from the beach house my grandfather owned. Old School German bootlegger capitalist Yankee fan versus kinder gentler Yipee theorist daughter and Catholic Red Sox fan Paw. This was the late 60's, a well-stocked bar was simply how you did things. Don Draper on Long Beach Island working out the campaign with my Granpaw. There is a crack in the system that allows a clever bullshitter to navigate the curriculum with minimal effort, and of course, this is the path I chose. I have played this game before. Teachers are lazy and as professional bullshitters, they BELIEVE well crafted bullshit when they hear it. This is the coin of the realm. And summers off does not seem like a bad way to go through life. I wind up in a teachers college with a couple of rugby games under my belt. A rugby program was started the year before.
People had been calling me "big guy" in Philly for a year now. I thought they were calling me fat. I was always on edge, ready to fight, thinking, "Why are they calling me fat?' Rage building up.
I go to practice in the Philly park in the dark, under lights, a rainy night, plus the humidity from the sweaty men. We get there late. They tried to put me in the second row. They said kneel down and put your hand between this fat sweaty dudes legs. Assuring me that, yup this is rugby, un hunh thats right....Step one in my personal rugby evolution was NEVER PLAYING SECOND ROW AGAIN.....(but when it came down to a dangerously unstable scrum or my playing second row I played a couple of times.)
Game day. Butterflies and buttercups on a warm spring day in Burholme park. 10 glorious minutes on the wing. People telling me where to stand, which direction to jog. Rugby is a beautiful day in the park on the wing. We adjourn to the bar and sing songs and make merriments. We escort our opponents to their bus, a chorus of flying monkeys serenading as they march "All we OWe, we OWE her" Their may have also been an Elephant walk. That's the first perfect rugby day I remember. There were many more.
It is an apt metaphor for rugby, a troop of flying monkeys, happily working for the wicked witch of rugby, the rugby queen is a natural extension of this. The honorary title.
I am just a land based fish at this point, fins turning into arms to pull myself from the slime of the city, no idea of my destination. Exploring raging alcoholism. In a college because of tuition remission. I start a computer course. We are punching cards to program the computer. It reminds me of typing class. I hated typing class. If you mistype a period on one of the three hundred cards the program doesn't run. Exciting programs to alphabetize mailing lists. Pong is pretty cool, but this is a waste of my valuable time. Computers are stupid, I'm not taking any more computer classes. 1981. They can find someone else to send their junk mail more efficiently! No need for council other than my own. I'm a genius. Next..
In the Honors Program to beef up my rhetorical skills. Arguing with lefties and businessmen. I know these arguments from the beach house my grandfather owned. Old School German bootlegger capitalist Yankee fan versus kinder gentler Yipee theorist daughter and Catholic Red Sox fan Paw. This was the late 60's, a well-stocked bar was simply how you did things. Don Draper on Long Beach Island working out the campaign with my Granpaw. There is a crack in the system that allows a clever bullshitter to navigate the curriculum with minimal effort, and of course, this is the path I chose. I have played this game before. Teachers are lazy and as professional bullshitters, they BELIEVE well crafted bullshit when they hear it. This is the coin of the realm. And summers off does not seem like a bad way to go through life. I wind up in a teachers college with a couple of rugby games under my belt. A rugby program was started the year before.
People had been calling me "big guy" in Philly for a year now. I thought they were calling me fat. I was always on edge, ready to fight, thinking, "Why are they calling me fat?' Rage building up.
I go to practice in the Philly park in the dark, under lights, a rainy night, plus the humidity from the sweaty men. We get there late. They tried to put me in the second row. They said kneel down and put your hand between this fat sweaty dudes legs. Assuring me that, yup this is rugby, un hunh thats right....Step one in my personal rugby evolution was NEVER PLAYING SECOND ROW AGAIN.....(but when it came down to a dangerously unstable scrum or my playing second row I played a couple of times.)
Game day. Butterflies and buttercups on a warm spring day in Burholme park. 10 glorious minutes on the wing. People telling me where to stand, which direction to jog. Rugby is a beautiful day in the park on the wing. We adjourn to the bar and sing songs and make merriments. We escort our opponents to their bus, a chorus of flying monkeys serenading as they march "All we OWe, we OWE her" Their may have also been an Elephant walk. That's the first perfect rugby day I remember. There were many more.
It is an apt metaphor for rugby, a troop of flying monkeys, happily working for the wicked witch of rugby, the rugby queen is a natural extension of this. The honorary title.
My second ever rubgy
game was a road trip to play club sudamericana de rugby. I think
they started in some embassies or something. Their field was across
the river from the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington monument was
three blocks away from the try zone, practically on the mall. This
was my a big step up from a city field in Philly. I don't think I
went to another practice, but they were short on numbers and needed
every warm body they could get. Someone gave me a magazine to read
on the bus down. It was incomprehensible and too technical for me. I
bought myself a pair of green and yellow striped knee socks. Part of
something. I didn't get much time but when I did they put me way
back and told me to catch the ball and pass it to a more experienced
player. New players stand out on the rugby field, the look of fear
in the eyes and that new rugby player smell, the smell of confusion.
Also, in a larger part, because the sidelines are coaching them
loudly about positioning and strategy. The opponents kicked three or
four balls to the new guy and I caught them and dished them to the
veterans, no problem. When the fourth or fifth one came, they had a
different instruction, “Run straight!” Now we were getting
somewhere. I could not move my arm for a week or two, the other
team tried to bend my elbow the wrong way in an attempt to wrest
the egg from my grasp. That was it for rugby for awhile.
RUGBY EVOLUTION-STEP 2 KUTZTOWN- from fat to feral...I ran all summer to break through as a vicious wing forward after playing second side behind some lower half of the bell shaped curve types who were business majors with no business but quarries, corn, batteries and mushrooms for 16 miles in any direction. There was a interstate to the west of the town which made it seem close to civilization to some people, but I grew up over the mountain and this was a time warp. They still had active KKK marches in the area. Pigeon shoots anda couple of times a year when they spread manure you were confined indoors for a couple of days, unless you wanted to vomit.
RUGBY EVOLUTION-STEP 2 KUTZTOWN- from fat to feral...I ran all summer to break through as a vicious wing forward after playing second side behind some lower half of the bell shaped curve types who were business majors with no business but quarries, corn, batteries and mushrooms for 16 miles in any direction. There was a interstate to the west of the town which made it seem close to civilization to some people, but I grew up over the mountain and this was a time warp. They still had active KKK marches in the area. Pigeon shoots anda couple of times a year when they spread manure you were confined indoors for a couple of days, unless you wanted to vomit.
STEP 3 DC
BACK HOME GREY WIG
Temple
Grad-the knee-sevens-jailed-country rugby-the second knee and enthusiasm wanes-paid rugby-old man river-retiring again...fat rugby is not rugby....mean fat vs happy fat...
BACK HOME GREY WIG
Temple
Grad-the knee-sevens-jailed-country rugby-the second knee and enthusiasm wanes-paid rugby-old man river-retiring again...fat rugby is not rugby....mean fat vs happy fat...
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