After another long break I've picked up the Blog again to bring stories of my massively un-glorious days of playing amateur Rugby League.
One of the highlights of my amateur days was whilst playing in the Pennine League, which is mainly made up of sides in Yorkshire with a few clubs from Lancashire adding a few numbers. As I lived in Lancashire I enjoyed these home-away days as it saved me about £10 in petrol! About half-way through the season I got a text from my brother reminding me that we would be travelling to somewhere in Cumbria and that our Mum would be coming to watch us.
It's rare to get a decent away following to amateur matches, as its pretty much boring as hell for wives/ family/ mates to come and watch you get twatted. However I had convinced my new fiancée and her two step daughters to the match for the first time of them watching me play.
So on arriving on some backwater pitch in the middle of Cumbria we did our usual pre-match routine of trying to look like we knew what we doing, I also took my favourite position on a Rugby pitch...... The Subs Bench. Our opponents didn't look like much, and usual we spent about 5 minutes just watching the opposition warm up to try and judge whether they were any good. The team consisted of about 5 "Rolly-Pollys" 1 Stone Cold Steve Austin look alike and then a bunch of kids. Seemed a fairly easy match considering we were top of the league and flying high.
Before the match; dreaded away-flu had hit some of our players, and a couple of decent players dropped out at the last minute, meaning we had 14 players with me being the only sub on the bench. I was on the bench for all of about 3 minutes before the right hand centre came off with an injury. So much for my easy match.
What followed was the most gruelling match I have ever took part in. The "Rolly-Polly's" I'd watched earlier suddenly turned into driving machines who were taking an absolute age to drag to the ground. What's more we were completely took by surprise as their biggest RollyPolly Prop turned out to be a fantastic ball handler and kicker. We were massively under the cosh and for most of the first half we were getting pinned on our own try line. With about 35 minutes on the clock we'd finally managed to get on their 30 yard line, but we were already about 3 tries down. I picked up the ball from the scoot and surprisingly found myself in a bit of space, after making about 20 yards I was tackled and managed to quickly play the ball. Straight from that my brother ran in for our first try rounding both the centre and Fullback.
As I started trudging back to our end our number six ran upto me with one of best lines ever "Fuck me why don't you fucking run like that ever week". Now this was either a massive compliment or I was being told that most weeks I was running like a spastic most of the time. Personally I'm guessing the second one.
As the went into the second half we slowly started clawing our way back into it, complete with a trademark 60 yard dash by both my Brother and our Winger with stupidly long legs. There was no chance I was trying to keep up with them.
At about 70 minutes in I went down with the injury that I explained in the blog last time courtesy of the Stone Cold lookalike
As I was dragged of the pitch the physio and centre who had been injured earlier tried manipulating my knee into some sort of use. Which to be honest is a goddam painful thing. So I let out a bit of yell (probably more of a girly scream to everyone else). Only to then hear the voice of my mother "Oi shut up", I sat up to explain that it was bloody painful only to see my two step-daughters stood clutching my Fiance's legs in absolute terror. I sheepishly stood up patted one on the head and fucked back off onto the pitch without saying a word.
We had just scored another try and according to the coach we needed one more try. We were lining back up and I'd just taken up my place on the centre and would try and just do some last defending for the final five minutes to keep 13 men on the pitch. The kick predictably came my way and was caught by the winger next to me, who in his infinite wisdom called out for me to take a drive in. I politely reminded the young lad that it was foolish as I was currently injured, and perhaps it would be better for him to take it. Or words to that effect......
The final whistle blew at about tackle 3 and I literally just dropped onto my arse, pissed off I'd gone through all that for naff all. Strangely the Cumbrian team weren't celebrating either, they looked massively dejected. Turns out our coach had decided to lie about the scoreline to try and keep us all on our toes, arsehole, we'd won the match by 4 points.
I hopped back to the changing rooms with the other 13 lads, there wasn't one player on our team who wasn't injured or hurt in one way. I suppose that's how you can tell whether you've been in a good game or not. Its always that game that makes me think about playing again. It wasn't because I scored any tries or even a man-of-the-match performance.
It's simply because I walked off the pitch feeling that despite aching all over, bleeding, bruised and possibly broken. I'd been in an match a where I had genuinely put in the best I could have, for a change, and we had come out on top. The satisfaction was immense.
Monday, 20 February 2012
Thursday, 25 August 2011
How to be crap and still win!
I think I've mentioned more than once that in terms of skill, power and pace I was definitely NOT up there with my team mates. I was a fat, wonky knee'd Winger (mainly because at Winger you rarely passed which saved my team mates) however that's not to say I didn't have my good games.
One of these games was up at Cumbria, where for 70 minutes I played some of the best Rugby of my life in what was one of the most a gruelling games I've ever played in. What was even more amazing is that I wasn't even the best player on my team that day. In the last few minutes of the game I clashed knees with a huge prop forward who was trying to wipe his feet on my face. I went down like a sack of shit, and dragged the fat tosser with me. I couldn't get back up and rolled away in agony. My mates all thought I'd done my knee again and the game carried on. Fortunately I hadn't, although it did feel like someone had just took a sledgehammer to my kneecap. I hobbled about for the last few minutes and we won the game, we didn't realise until the referee told us we had won (we all thought we were behind). Fast forward two days, my knee is now completely black and I'm walking down the stairs backwards.
Saturday comes round and we're playing with a scratch 14, I'm playing in my usual position because we're short. I end up eating a load of painkillers and spent about twenty minutes in the physios room whilst she tries to manipulate my knee to bend.
We're playing against someones C team (their third team), they had a team in the NCL and the Premier as well. Now when you play against someones C team you come across a few players that have "passed their best days". A certain number of these players don't like the fact that you're still young and are able to muster a jog, these players then take it out on your face. For 80 minutes it was a scrap, our halfback ends up on the floor somehow getting nutted whilst he's on the deck! Naturally we are behind and don't have the fire power to fight back against guys who basically want to punch first tackle second.
But in the 65th minute something amazing happens, despite no longer being able to bend my left leg, I manage to hobble onto a pass from my centre and outpace the 40 year old winger I'm against and score a try in the corner. I'm frikking delirious, for the first time in 4 years I've actually outpaced someone and I've only got one leg.
Then something better happens, it happens again, (mainly due to my centre again making a great drive and pass). I slide in the corner in slow motion trying not to snap my leg and end up with three players landing on top of me. As I try and ungracefully get up with one leg, the other teams captain runs across.
"How the fuck has he just scored again, he's absolutely WANK"
At this point I turn back around "Yeah I know, and I can still score past you twats" thankfully they decided not to try and beat the living crap out of me as it quickly dawned on them I was right.
So remember this, no matter how slow you are, how much you can't pass, no matter how many times you get put on your arse ......never give up. Because somewhere out there is a player even shitter than you are.......
One of these games was up at Cumbria, where for 70 minutes I played some of the best Rugby of my life in what was one of the most a gruelling games I've ever played in. What was even more amazing is that I wasn't even the best player on my team that day. In the last few minutes of the game I clashed knees with a huge prop forward who was trying to wipe his feet on my face. I went down like a sack of shit, and dragged the fat tosser with me. I couldn't get back up and rolled away in agony. My mates all thought I'd done my knee again and the game carried on. Fortunately I hadn't, although it did feel like someone had just took a sledgehammer to my kneecap. I hobbled about for the last few minutes and we won the game, we didn't realise until the referee told us we had won (we all thought we were behind). Fast forward two days, my knee is now completely black and I'm walking down the stairs backwards.
Saturday comes round and we're playing with a scratch 14, I'm playing in my usual position because we're short. I end up eating a load of painkillers and spent about twenty minutes in the physios room whilst she tries to manipulate my knee to bend.
We're playing against someones C team (their third team), they had a team in the NCL and the Premier as well. Now when you play against someones C team you come across a few players that have "passed their best days". A certain number of these players don't like the fact that you're still young and are able to muster a jog, these players then take it out on your face. For 80 minutes it was a scrap, our halfback ends up on the floor somehow getting nutted whilst he's on the deck! Naturally we are behind and don't have the fire power to fight back against guys who basically want to punch first tackle second.
But in the 65th minute something amazing happens, despite no longer being able to bend my left leg, I manage to hobble onto a pass from my centre and outpace the 40 year old winger I'm against and score a try in the corner. I'm frikking delirious, for the first time in 4 years I've actually outpaced someone and I've only got one leg.
Then something better happens, it happens again, (mainly due to my centre again making a great drive and pass). I slide in the corner in slow motion trying not to snap my leg and end up with three players landing on top of me. As I try and ungracefully get up with one leg, the other teams captain runs across.
"How the fuck has he just scored again, he's absolutely WANK"
At this point I turn back around "Yeah I know, and I can still score past you twats" thankfully they decided not to try and beat the living crap out of me as it quickly dawned on them I was right.
So remember this, no matter how slow you are, how much you can't pass, no matter how many times you get put on your arse ......never give up. Because somewhere out there is a player even shitter than you are.......
Monday, 22 August 2011
Supporters
Its been two months since my last post, I could pretend its because I've had something far more important to do. Like going to the gym, or fixing the bathroom or a long list of other things I probably should have done by now. Actually its mainly because I'm a lazy git, and its took about 5 emails from people threatening me to make me take it up again Example-"If you don't rite another blog, Im gonna find you and make u eat ur shoes".
So to save me eating my £4.99 bargain trainers, here's my thought for the week. What would an amateur Rugby League match be like without our supporters? They travel with us, watch us get our heads kicked in and then tell us what we did wrong and how the ref was a blind git for the entire 3 hour coach ride back.
I personally think that supporters are the most dangerous people in the world, no matter what the size they are able to swing the match in your favour, or against you.
One such group of supporters was typically good at doing this, when I played for a team in Oldham. It was only my third or fourth game for them, and they were gearing up to play against my old club (to which my brother still played). I was away with the missus that weekend and gave the lads one piece of advice: "Don't run at the hooker".
The hooker was a lad who went by name of "Lomas" and he was a player who had been at my old club for quite a while. He was neither the biggest or fastest player on the pitch, but what he did have was an amazing tackling technique. I don't remember a match where Lomas did not put in three of four tackles that would make Hulk Hogan cry. Now when you've a guy like that on your side its quite comical, you watch the forward trundle it in........ Lomas takes about 2 steps forward and then ........."SNAP" as Lomas' shoulder would connect with his chest. Normally you'd hear this girlish scream (similar to one I did when I did my knee in) and they'd drop like a sack of shit. Nothing illegal just an incredible technique.
Now you think such advice would have been taken from a player who had been at the club for over five years. However it was not......
So Saturday afternoon I get a phone call from my Brother, who is literally pissing himself laughing. Apparently my new team had started very well and ran in two unanswered tries. But at that point the supporters had decided to start heckling Lomas who at the time was not having a good game. Apparently Lomas didn't like this and decided to go on a one man demolition mission. 5 minutes later three of my new team members are stretchered off and my Brother runs in a hat-trick of tries. I turned up to training the next week and spoke to my new team mates, who admitted they were on top until the supporters started taking piss...... Sadly it was not the supporters that got the crap beaten out of them but the entire forward line.
The next week we were playing the top of the league, and once again we started strongly running in a few tries we had them on the back foot. All of a sudden our "supporters" start up again, "He's shite that number 8, he's got no balls" and "This lot are wank, we could beat you with our eyes shut". Surprise, surprise the top of league team that we were bossing took this to heart and start pummelling the crap out of us. At 60 minutes in, we're barely holding onto the lead and I wandered across to our supporters "For fucks sake, stop winding them up and shut the hell up". Did it work? Did it bollocks.
One of our supporters were then sent off for heckling the referee and the club received a fine , oh and we also lost the game.
So if you ever find yourself watch an amateur game of Rugby and feel like heckling always think of this:
Would you say it to them if you were wearing the shirt?
So to save me eating my £4.99 bargain trainers, here's my thought for the week. What would an amateur Rugby League match be like without our supporters? They travel with us, watch us get our heads kicked in and then tell us what we did wrong and how the ref was a blind git for the entire 3 hour coach ride back.
I personally think that supporters are the most dangerous people in the world, no matter what the size they are able to swing the match in your favour, or against you.
One such group of supporters was typically good at doing this, when I played for a team in Oldham. It was only my third or fourth game for them, and they were gearing up to play against my old club (to which my brother still played). I was away with the missus that weekend and gave the lads one piece of advice: "Don't run at the hooker".
The hooker was a lad who went by name of "Lomas" and he was a player who had been at my old club for quite a while. He was neither the biggest or fastest player on the pitch, but what he did have was an amazing tackling technique. I don't remember a match where Lomas did not put in three of four tackles that would make Hulk Hogan cry. Now when you've a guy like that on your side its quite comical, you watch the forward trundle it in........ Lomas takes about 2 steps forward and then ........."SNAP" as Lomas' shoulder would connect with his chest. Normally you'd hear this girlish scream (similar to one I did when I did my knee in) and they'd drop like a sack of shit. Nothing illegal just an incredible technique.
Now you think such advice would have been taken from a player who had been at the club for over five years. However it was not......
So Saturday afternoon I get a phone call from my Brother, who is literally pissing himself laughing. Apparently my new team had started very well and ran in two unanswered tries. But at that point the supporters had decided to start heckling Lomas who at the time was not having a good game. Apparently Lomas didn't like this and decided to go on a one man demolition mission. 5 minutes later three of my new team members are stretchered off and my Brother runs in a hat-trick of tries. I turned up to training the next week and spoke to my new team mates, who admitted they were on top until the supporters started taking piss...... Sadly it was not the supporters that got the crap beaten out of them but the entire forward line.
The next week we were playing the top of the league, and once again we started strongly running in a few tries we had them on the back foot. All of a sudden our "supporters" start up again, "He's shite that number 8, he's got no balls" and "This lot are wank, we could beat you with our eyes shut". Surprise, surprise the top of league team that we were bossing took this to heart and start pummelling the crap out of us. At 60 minutes in, we're barely holding onto the lead and I wandered across to our supporters "For fucks sake, stop winding them up and shut the hell up". Did it work? Did it bollocks.
One of our supporters were then sent off for heckling the referee and the club received a fine , oh and we also lost the game.
So if you ever find yourself watch an amateur game of Rugby and feel like heckling always think of this:
Would you say it to them if you were wearing the shirt?
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Youth Games
One thing everyone struggles with in sport is the jump from Junior/Youth competitions into Open Age. Athletes who have been the biggest or fastest throughout their career are all of a sudden chucked in against smarter and more capable opponents.
Some people work hard and get through, a lot however drop off, unable to adapt to a new more physical game. I never really had that problem personally, although I can see why some players struggle. I'd spent my entire junior years playing against "bigger boys." One of the biggest examples of this was the famous Greater Manchester Youth Games. This was a huge multi-sport competition that took place across loads of age groups across a weekend. My team put in three teams in the competition, Under 9's, Under 11's and Under 13's. I was 11 at the time and my brother was 14 (so technically he shouldnt have played for anyon but he played for the 13s).
The competition went as normal, after about 3 games our head coach game across to me and the captain of the under 11's. "Alright lads I need a favour, can you go and play in the Under 9's" Now at this point I thought he was taking the piss, both me and the Captain were both quite big for our age so were sometimes made to show our cards so we could play in our own age group. But we did as we were asked and turned up to the next game for the under 9's, the players on the opposition looked familiar. About 3 of them looked really familiar, that was because I'd see them playing against in the Under 13's squad a few weeks ago. Now there's cheating and then theres taking the piss, and this lot were well and truly taking the piss.
As with most memories of my matches they were hazy, the game was only 10 minutes long but it felt like an hour.We were getting destroyed and our only chance of us getting any points was with me taking a drive with them on their tryline. Rather than tackle me they decided to pick me up and dump me over their shoulders head first. I've no idea whether I put that ball down, I get the feeling the ref felt sorry for me and gave me a try. As I picked myself up feeling like my face had been shagged by a Land rover I walked back towards my team mates. Suddenly I felt the floor shaking. I thought that I'd knocked something loose in my head and my brains were gonna drop through my nose (or something else as dramatic). I turned to my right and saw a plume of smoke on the horizon, followed by a loud "BOOM"
That was the Manchester Bomb.
End of the game I limped off the pitch to find my entire Under 13 squad had come to watch us, they'd been kicked out because someone had found out that my brother was over-age. But they did get one last game, they ended up convincing the team I had just been piledrivered by to play them in one game or else they would grass them up as well.
I then spent my the next twenty minutes literally pissing myself laughing as my brother and his demented mates took out their revenge on the lads who had battered me. In ten minutes they'd racked up 40 points, sent three lads off injured and generally managed to destroy any chance the cheating shits had of winning anything over the weekend.
Moral of the story, no matter how big you are, there's always someone bigger. So don't throw your weight around too much with the little ones, because you'll just make yourself a target.
Cheers for reading, the next one will be out on Monday!
Some people work hard and get through, a lot however drop off, unable to adapt to a new more physical game. I never really had that problem personally, although I can see why some players struggle. I'd spent my entire junior years playing against "bigger boys." One of the biggest examples of this was the famous Greater Manchester Youth Games. This was a huge multi-sport competition that took place across loads of age groups across a weekend. My team put in three teams in the competition, Under 9's, Under 11's and Under 13's. I was 11 at the time and my brother was 14 (so technically he shouldnt have played for anyon but he played for the 13s).
The competition went as normal, after about 3 games our head coach game across to me and the captain of the under 11's. "Alright lads I need a favour, can you go and play in the Under 9's" Now at this point I thought he was taking the piss, both me and the Captain were both quite big for our age so were sometimes made to show our cards so we could play in our own age group. But we did as we were asked and turned up to the next game for the under 9's, the players on the opposition looked familiar. About 3 of them looked really familiar, that was because I'd see them playing against in the Under 13's squad a few weeks ago. Now there's cheating and then theres taking the piss, and this lot were well and truly taking the piss.
As with most memories of my matches they were hazy, the game was only 10 minutes long but it felt like an hour.We were getting destroyed and our only chance of us getting any points was with me taking a drive with them on their tryline. Rather than tackle me they decided to pick me up and dump me over their shoulders head first. I've no idea whether I put that ball down, I get the feeling the ref felt sorry for me and gave me a try. As I picked myself up feeling like my face had been shagged by a Land rover I walked back towards my team mates. Suddenly I felt the floor shaking. I thought that I'd knocked something loose in my head and my brains were gonna drop through my nose (or something else as dramatic). I turned to my right and saw a plume of smoke on the horizon, followed by a loud "BOOM"
That was the Manchester Bomb.
End of the game I limped off the pitch to find my entire Under 13 squad had come to watch us, they'd been kicked out because someone had found out that my brother was over-age. But they did get one last game, they ended up convincing the team I had just been piledrivered by to play them in one game or else they would grass them up as well.
I then spent my the next twenty minutes literally pissing myself laughing as my brother and his demented mates took out their revenge on the lads who had battered me. In ten minutes they'd racked up 40 points, sent three lads off injured and generally managed to destroy any chance the cheating shits had of winning anything over the weekend.
Moral of the story, no matter how big you are, there's always someone bigger. So don't throw your weight around too much with the little ones, because you'll just make yourself a target.
Cheers for reading, the next one will be out on Monday!
Sunday, 12 June 2011
Smashing props
The one thing no-one can ever deny about Rugby League is that its a physical game. Tackling in Rugby is similar to driving two cars straight into each other, except the crumple zone is normally your rib cage. I've never been a player who could put in the big hits every week, I've recieved a few over the years, it was normally left to the forwards and my cape-wearing Brother to do that type of stuff. However there were those rare occassions when I was able to play above my normal standard.
When I got back playing Rugby after my knee injury (see last weeks Blog) I went back to my old club to find them struggling to put out a 13 and sat at the bottom of the league. Although this led to some of the worst drubbing of my career, I actually enjoyed this year the most. The 13 we had was the same 13 every week, our oldest player was 24 and we had no actual coach. Training had at best 6 players and all that we could do was work on skills (tackling, passing) and fitness.
We travelled to the top of the league with these 13 lads and I ended up out on the wing as usual and we turned up to find that not only did they have a full 17 but they actually had three forwards from their Premier team that had dropped down because their game had been called off. We started off as usual, they crossed for a try early on and pretty much kept us in our half. Their kicks were always high, leading to everytime I caught the ball I was boomed straight away.
Half time came and we were only 12-0 down but our fullback had limped off and our only close attempt at scoring came with a truly shit attempt at a drop goal. However what gave us a lift was the sight of their coach giving "top of the league" an absolute bollocking. According to him we'd bossed them in defence and made them look average at best. The worlds shortest team talk ever (my brother telling us all to not let them score) and we were off again.
Second half was a different story, they were now running complicated plays right down the middle of us. Our forwards were knackered and I was getting increasingly getting pissed off at having to chase their forwards 40 yards down the pitch when they broke through. The thing was no-one was coming down my wing meaning I had no-one to take my frustration out on. An added bonus was the heckling from the touchline, the rest of their Premier team had turned up to watch the game and were basically taking the piss from the sidelines.
At this point I was well and truly miffed, I was piss-wet-through, getting beaten, and had not run in the ball in the entire second half. Then all of a sudden they decided to come down my wing, it was the fifth tackle and they'd gone for a power play. This means that instead of kicking they'd run it in. Their Premier Prop came steaming towards me with about 5 players in support. To be quite honest I don't remember what happened next, my brother tells me it was the funniest thing he's ever seen. Apparently I ran pult pelt into him and as he went into pass I then flew in shoulder first and absolutely cleaned out the forward leaving the ball to bobble forward. Their prop was dragged off the pitch looking back at the 12 stone winger half his size that had practically knocked him out. For the next ten minutes we were on top, whether it was our team were lifted or theirs went downhill, I don't know. But we managed to actually get into their half of the pitch a couple of times I even got to run in the ball!
The problem was I got the ball because my centre massively high tackled a forward. The referee didn't blow (perhaps out of mercy for us) and I picked up the ball to run it in. I might as well have been wearing a pink tutu and a t-shirt saying "I've had all your mums". To a chorus of "Get him fooking banged" I ducked the first two high shots but then got cracked on the jaw, instant payback, as I lay on the floor trying to find my chin about 4 of their players then piled on top of me. I had never been so popular on a Rugby Pitch.
We ended the match 34 - 0, and despite not even getting close to scoring its still one of the games I still look back at and enjoy. The 13 lads I went to Rochdale with were genuine mates and despite getting battered we actually enjoyed the game. We could pretend that with a few subs it would have been a different game, but it didnt matter. I'll take that memory and remember that one day, despite never repeating it again, I actually managed to clean out a prop.
When I got back playing Rugby after my knee injury (see last weeks Blog) I went back to my old club to find them struggling to put out a 13 and sat at the bottom of the league. Although this led to some of the worst drubbing of my career, I actually enjoyed this year the most. The 13 we had was the same 13 every week, our oldest player was 24 and we had no actual coach. Training had at best 6 players and all that we could do was work on skills (tackling, passing) and fitness.
We travelled to the top of the league with these 13 lads and I ended up out on the wing as usual and we turned up to find that not only did they have a full 17 but they actually had three forwards from their Premier team that had dropped down because their game had been called off. We started off as usual, they crossed for a try early on and pretty much kept us in our half. Their kicks were always high, leading to everytime I caught the ball I was boomed straight away.
Half time came and we were only 12-0 down but our fullback had limped off and our only close attempt at scoring came with a truly shit attempt at a drop goal. However what gave us a lift was the sight of their coach giving "top of the league" an absolute bollocking. According to him we'd bossed them in defence and made them look average at best. The worlds shortest team talk ever (my brother telling us all to not let them score) and we were off again.
Second half was a different story, they were now running complicated plays right down the middle of us. Our forwards were knackered and I was getting increasingly getting pissed off at having to chase their forwards 40 yards down the pitch when they broke through. The thing was no-one was coming down my wing meaning I had no-one to take my frustration out on. An added bonus was the heckling from the touchline, the rest of their Premier team had turned up to watch the game and were basically taking the piss from the sidelines.
At this point I was well and truly miffed, I was piss-wet-through, getting beaten, and had not run in the ball in the entire second half. Then all of a sudden they decided to come down my wing, it was the fifth tackle and they'd gone for a power play. This means that instead of kicking they'd run it in. Their Premier Prop came steaming towards me with about 5 players in support. To be quite honest I don't remember what happened next, my brother tells me it was the funniest thing he's ever seen. Apparently I ran pult pelt into him and as he went into pass I then flew in shoulder first and absolutely cleaned out the forward leaving the ball to bobble forward. Their prop was dragged off the pitch looking back at the 12 stone winger half his size that had practically knocked him out. For the next ten minutes we were on top, whether it was our team were lifted or theirs went downhill, I don't know. But we managed to actually get into their half of the pitch a couple of times I even got to run in the ball!
The problem was I got the ball because my centre massively high tackled a forward. The referee didn't blow (perhaps out of mercy for us) and I picked up the ball to run it in. I might as well have been wearing a pink tutu and a t-shirt saying "I've had all your mums". To a chorus of "Get him fooking banged" I ducked the first two high shots but then got cracked on the jaw, instant payback, as I lay on the floor trying to find my chin about 4 of their players then piled on top of me. I had never been so popular on a Rugby Pitch.
We ended the match 34 - 0, and despite not even getting close to scoring its still one of the games I still look back at and enjoy. The 13 lads I went to Rochdale with were genuine mates and despite getting battered we actually enjoyed the game. We could pretend that with a few subs it would have been a different game, but it didnt matter. I'll take that memory and remember that one day, despite never repeating it again, I actually managed to clean out a prop.
Friday, 3 June 2011
Don't forget your Insurance!
I saw the news the other week about Keith Senior, and how after a knee injury his season may be over. Now in Rugby League injuries happen all the time, infact pretty much every game has some injury whether it be the pro's or us morons at the bottom. Someone is gonna get hurt.
The one bit of advice I will give to anyone playing Rugby League, or infact any contact sport is this: "Get yourself some bloody insurance" because there is a one in 26 chance that this week will be your unlucky week.
One of my unlucky weeks, in fact scrap that, my unluckiest weeks came on a wet Saturday lunch time against a team in Barnsley. I had been playing open age on the wing for one year, and as usual we travelled with a scratch 13. One of our props was turning up in about half an hour and we'd have to survive until then without any subs.
The other team were well and truly up for it, and were running through the middle of us for fun. We didn't have a bad team but for some reason the Forwards were just not doing anything in defence. To be quite frank we were all shite that day, me included. In the first ten minutes they ran in 3 tries and we were camped in our own twenty metre line for nearly all of it.
Our fullback gave me a bollocking, they broke through our middle again and went in for a try, I slid in and tried to get under him to hold him up but didn't. Our fullback thought a better choice would have been to try and boot the ball out of his hands on the way down.......
Now thoroughly pissed off and getting embarrassed at getting owned like this on a Rugby pitch, I decided to let off some steam. I ran in front of the prop and took the ball in, instead of leaving him to take the pass. I was fed up of being camped on my tryline and wanted to show those forwards how to drive it in. With the first guy coming in at my side I decided to try and shoulder him off, except what I didn't see was his mate coming from the other side. What happened next I have no idea, I remember spinning around and landing on the ground with about 4 big fat forwards on top of me. I yelled out like a big jessie and tried to bend my left leg, but it wouldn't move.
My brother dragged the players off the top of me and I glanced down at my leg to find me kneecap on the outside of my leg. If you haven't already guessed it I'd dislocated my kneecap.
The usual stuff happened that goes on when someone is hurt, the refs stops the match, you get covered in tinfoil like a turkey and you get an ambulance to turn up about an hour later. When they did finally turn up I got introduced to gas and air for the first time. Bugger me that stuff is weird, whilst the paramedics tried to get my leg in a position to put me on the stretcher I decided to act like the biggest nobhead in the world.
At one point I turned over "Coach, Coach come here coach", he trundled over "Yeah what is it mate?" "Can I skip training on Tuesday?" Now to me I was suddenly the funniest guy in the world, I was asking the Paramedics would I be back for the second half, I was waving to the other team and generally just being a pratt. I was quickly put back in my place by my brother who walked up with a quick word in my ear "Bro, shut up your being an idiot go to Hospital and let us get on with the game."
And so I was carted off, with my knee popping back into place I then began talking absolute bollocks to anyone within 5 yards of me until the gas and air ran out about half an hour later. In Barnsley hospital I was put into a full-leg pot and sent on my way within an hour. I went to the only place you ever go when your hurt, your Mums. I pretty much didn't move from her sofa until about a week later when I could put pressure on my leg again. It was 9 months before I could play again, to be fair it didn't affect my performance. I was crap before I got injured and I was crap after I got injured so I can't claim it ruined my career.
However I didn't have insurance, which meant for the 4 months I couldn't work I lost everything else. My flat, my motorbike and my most prized possession my surround sound TV system (that was nicked by my Brother). If you could, do, or are going to play Rugby go off and get some insurance it costs twenty quid a month and when your unlucky game comes up at least you'll be ok financially.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot when my Brother met up with me at home he told me how after watching me get carted off in an ambulance he gave a team talk that William Wallace would have been proud of. "Awesome, so you won?" I said, assuming my injury had inspired my team mates into a monstrous performance. "No mate" he said "we got one try back and they ran in 7 more."
The one bit of advice I will give to anyone playing Rugby League, or infact any contact sport is this: "Get yourself some bloody insurance" because there is a one in 26 chance that this week will be your unlucky week.
One of my unlucky weeks, in fact scrap that, my unluckiest weeks came on a wet Saturday lunch time against a team in Barnsley. I had been playing open age on the wing for one year, and as usual we travelled with a scratch 13. One of our props was turning up in about half an hour and we'd have to survive until then without any subs.
The other team were well and truly up for it, and were running through the middle of us for fun. We didn't have a bad team but for some reason the Forwards were just not doing anything in defence. To be quite frank we were all shite that day, me included. In the first ten minutes they ran in 3 tries and we were camped in our own twenty metre line for nearly all of it.
Our fullback gave me a bollocking, they broke through our middle again and went in for a try, I slid in and tried to get under him to hold him up but didn't. Our fullback thought a better choice would have been to try and boot the ball out of his hands on the way down.......
Now thoroughly pissed off and getting embarrassed at getting owned like this on a Rugby pitch, I decided to let off some steam. I ran in front of the prop and took the ball in, instead of leaving him to take the pass. I was fed up of being camped on my tryline and wanted to show those forwards how to drive it in. With the first guy coming in at my side I decided to try and shoulder him off, except what I didn't see was his mate coming from the other side. What happened next I have no idea, I remember spinning around and landing on the ground with about 4 big fat forwards on top of me. I yelled out like a big jessie and tried to bend my left leg, but it wouldn't move.
My brother dragged the players off the top of me and I glanced down at my leg to find me kneecap on the outside of my leg. If you haven't already guessed it I'd dislocated my kneecap.
The usual stuff happened that goes on when someone is hurt, the refs stops the match, you get covered in tinfoil like a turkey and you get an ambulance to turn up about an hour later. When they did finally turn up I got introduced to gas and air for the first time. Bugger me that stuff is weird, whilst the paramedics tried to get my leg in a position to put me on the stretcher I decided to act like the biggest nobhead in the world.
At one point I turned over "Coach, Coach come here coach", he trundled over "Yeah what is it mate?" "Can I skip training on Tuesday?" Now to me I was suddenly the funniest guy in the world, I was asking the Paramedics would I be back for the second half, I was waving to the other team and generally just being a pratt. I was quickly put back in my place by my brother who walked up with a quick word in my ear "Bro, shut up your being an idiot go to Hospital and let us get on with the game."
And so I was carted off, with my knee popping back into place I then began talking absolute bollocks to anyone within 5 yards of me until the gas and air ran out about half an hour later. In Barnsley hospital I was put into a full-leg pot and sent on my way within an hour. I went to the only place you ever go when your hurt, your Mums. I pretty much didn't move from her sofa until about a week later when I could put pressure on my leg again. It was 9 months before I could play again, to be fair it didn't affect my performance. I was crap before I got injured and I was crap after I got injured so I can't claim it ruined my career.
However I didn't have insurance, which meant for the 4 months I couldn't work I lost everything else. My flat, my motorbike and my most prized possession my surround sound TV system (that was nicked by my Brother). If you could, do, or are going to play Rugby go off and get some insurance it costs twenty quid a month and when your unlucky game comes up at least you'll be ok financially.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot when my Brother met up with me at home he told me how after watching me get carted off in an ambulance he gave a team talk that William Wallace would have been proud of. "Awesome, so you won?" I said, assuming my injury had inspired my team mates into a monstrous performance. "No mate" he said "we got one try back and they ran in 7 more."
Monday, 30 May 2011
Junior Rugby - That'll toughen him up
I got a phone call from my brother last week, and as always we started talking about Rugby. For some reason we got talking on my lad, and whether he'd play Rugby when he was older. Now thats a toughie, on one hand I loved Rugby League, but reality is I've got a body of a pensioner a good 30 years before my time because of it. I thought that my Mum must have had the same thoughts when I was a kid, whether it was wise to let her chubby little lad go and have a rumble with a load of over lads for over an hour.
My brother had always been good a player, the sod was one of those annoying gifted players who whenever he gambled it would come off. He even gave himself his own nicknames "Captain Marvel", "Cape Wearing Centre" all the usual shite that you have to put up with when someone is naturally athletic. However I was not, my only true talent was the ability to shovel food down my mouth and occasionally I'd be able to fart on demand but that was about it.
So when I started playing Rugby League I was not what the coaches were probably hoping would be waddling over. Not helped by the fact I was playing for a team about 3 years older than me because there was no squad in my age group. So after a couple of training sessions and spending most of a Saturday morning trying to put a gumshield in mouth, I trundled off to my inevitable arse kicking.
The game I came on against was probably the best game for me, because the other team were complete crap. I came on at about 65 minutes on the left wing, we were about 70 points ahead at this stage and the aim was for me to get a few minutes under my belt with doing anything stupid or better still - breaking anything.
That was all going well until I looked at my opposite number, now I'm was no expert but I'm guessing the guy facing me was not a winger. He was as wide as he was tall (and he was fecking tall) and he looked more like 23 rather than 13. Their game plan was obvious, put the prop at wing and run at the little fat kid, fooking brilliant plan in fairness. They ran in 4 tries like that, and I must have looked like a complete retard trying to wrap my arms around the other lads legs. This went on until the rest of my team got a bit pissed off and decided to clean tubster out with the usual mental tackling that our 9 was famous for (his Dad used to give him 50p for each tackle until he put in 65 tackles in a game and he bankrupt him).
Tubster limped out the game, and we managed to run in a few more tries in the last few minutes to save my face. I look back at that game now, and I still remember it vividly, like a shit movie you've seen, like Megashark vs Giant Squid, it just stays in your head. But, in all my years since, I can't remember ever being dominated like that in a game again. The return leg 4 months later at their ground was infact an even bigger drubbing for "tubsters" team and I played a larger chunk in that game without doing anything stupid I even remember putting in some decent tackles.
So although I'll be bricking myself when it comes to my poor sprogs first game, I know in a few months he'll slowly start becoming that perfect balance of stupid and heroic that you get in a Rugby player. I look forward to that conversation when he comes back and goes "Dad I played shit today, I feel like such a moron" so I can tell him my story of how I started out as awful and years and years later I became "not-crap."
Please feel free to leave your comments and subscribe to my blog, also click on the adverts to the side it helps pay for the blog and the all the Hobnobs I eat writing this!
My brother had always been good a player, the sod was one of those annoying gifted players who whenever he gambled it would come off. He even gave himself his own nicknames "Captain Marvel", "Cape Wearing Centre" all the usual shite that you have to put up with when someone is naturally athletic. However I was not, my only true talent was the ability to shovel food down my mouth and occasionally I'd be able to fart on demand but that was about it.
So when I started playing Rugby League I was not what the coaches were probably hoping would be waddling over. Not helped by the fact I was playing for a team about 3 years older than me because there was no squad in my age group. So after a couple of training sessions and spending most of a Saturday morning trying to put a gumshield in mouth, I trundled off to my inevitable arse kicking.
The game I came on against was probably the best game for me, because the other team were complete crap. I came on at about 65 minutes on the left wing, we were about 70 points ahead at this stage and the aim was for me to get a few minutes under my belt with doing anything stupid or better still - breaking anything.
That was all going well until I looked at my opposite number, now I'm was no expert but I'm guessing the guy facing me was not a winger. He was as wide as he was tall (and he was fecking tall) and he looked more like 23 rather than 13. Their game plan was obvious, put the prop at wing and run at the little fat kid, fooking brilliant plan in fairness. They ran in 4 tries like that, and I must have looked like a complete retard trying to wrap my arms around the other lads legs. This went on until the rest of my team got a bit pissed off and decided to clean tubster out with the usual mental tackling that our 9 was famous for (his Dad used to give him 50p for each tackle until he put in 65 tackles in a game and he bankrupt him).
Tubster limped out the game, and we managed to run in a few more tries in the last few minutes to save my face. I look back at that game now, and I still remember it vividly, like a shit movie you've seen, like Megashark vs Giant Squid, it just stays in your head. But, in all my years since, I can't remember ever being dominated like that in a game again. The return leg 4 months later at their ground was infact an even bigger drubbing for "tubsters" team and I played a larger chunk in that game without doing anything stupid I even remember putting in some decent tackles.
So although I'll be bricking myself when it comes to my poor sprogs first game, I know in a few months he'll slowly start becoming that perfect balance of stupid and heroic that you get in a Rugby player. I look forward to that conversation when he comes back and goes "Dad I played shit today, I feel like such a moron" so I can tell him my story of how I started out as awful and years and years later I became "not-crap."
Please feel free to leave your comments and subscribe to my blog, also click on the adverts to the side it helps pay for the blog and the all the Hobnobs I eat writing this!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)