Yes, the spectacle of the Rubgy World Cup is looming and apparently New Zealand are a decent side. Not that you would know that from this side of the world. It's hardly mentioned....... And in case you were wondering, that was sarcasm. I can live with the papers getting all excited, they are easy to avoid, as are promos on TV. But this morning I was treated to this image when I opened the fridge at work. No that's not oil. It's milk. In black milk cartons. Sorry All Black milk cartons.
But bloody rugby. Hardly the beautiful game. Not that association football is the beautiful game either. No, I've been to far too many cold and wet torrid games to ever call it that. Sure, there are moments of inspiration and brilliance but they are few and far between. Yes, before you say it, I've only got myself to blame. Supporting Middlesbrough was never going to be easy. And to paraphrase Harry Pearson, there's a reason the grass is so green at the Riverside......it's because of all the shit that's been on it!
Anyway I am, as they like to say in management meetings, off topic. Back to rugby. What an odd game. Admittedly I am pre-disposed to dislike it. I truly am. Well, as you asked, we played it at school and Henry Smith was a rugby school. Not that this was ever debated, put to the vote and agreed, of course, it just seemed to have been decreed by the dictator, sorry PE head teacher, Mr Dee. It was inevitable as he had, allegedly, played at internationall level and what better way to demonstrate your love of the game you used to play than to get twenty-odd (I love it so much that I'm not even sure how many people are on a team) kids to beat the living shite out of each other on a Wednesday morning. Thinking back, it wasn't even that. Rather than pick two relatively even matched sides to play, surely it's much more sporting to pit the school first eleven against much weaker opposition. ie the rest of us. And to add insult to inevitable injury, chastise the weaker side for not trying hard enough. "You're making it too easy for them!," came the shout followed by "Put your back into it" and "Stop bleeding on the pitch you useless twerp!". Ahh, school days. It's no wonder I took up running in later life.
There was, it has to be said, a few times that he may have had a point. Sort of. After weeks of getting battered it soon became obvious that if you were no where near the ball then the chances of getting clobbered were dramatically reduced. Not a great tactic for winning the game, but without equal for getting off the pitch with the most number of limbs intact. Avoidance tactics did lead to some memorable moments, such as kids actively running away from the ball when it was hoisted into the air as if it were a huge peanut and they all had a chronic allergy to nutty substances. Unfortunately the fascist state, as we liked to call them, cottoned on to the avoidance strategy and warned us that anyone with clean knees at the end of the beating...sorry game... would be subjected to further physical punishment. Queue then comical images of a team of rugby players walking around on their knees trying to find the sloppiest muddy puddle to prove their participation and innocence. Not an easy feat on a frozen pitch in the north east of England.
So I don't like rugby. And it has to be said that this is a slight disadvantage when living in New Zealand. They are quite different fond of it. You may have noticed. So in an attempt to integrate further into kiwi society we decided that we had to embrace the game. And what better way to fan the flames of our passion than to get tickets for an All Black game. In fact it was one better than that. It was the All Blacks against the Aussies in the final game of the Bledisloe Cup. It was bound to be a 'ripper'....
The full time whistle couldn't come soon enough. What a boring, pointless game. Nothing seemed to happen. I could give you a detailed match report but it'd be too much. Okay, go on, I'll give it a go. Well, a big bloke kicked the ball in the air as hard as he could and then everyone ran after it. It bounced funny, because it's not round, but someone managed to grab it before the rest of the pack jumped on him. He then ran off and when they got near he kicked it in the air as far as he could and they all ran after it. This was repeated several times until someone had had enough. Then they all stood around and after a while they had a hug, a bit of a rest and then it started again. Fascinating but I can't imagine feeling bone weary bored had I seen some of the worlds best football teams play. Take your pick; Brazil, Argentina, Spain, Germany, Juventus, Real Madrid, Barcelona, Bayern Munich and Accrington Stanley. What? Okay so maybe not Spain. But the rest - world class!
So I have decided that, after seeing two of the worlds best teams play and still being bored out of my skull, rugby is not for me. You can't say haven't tried. I really have. On the Monday morning, around the coffee machine I thought I'd try and find our what the rest of the office thought. Maybe it was a bad game after all. Maybe this was the equivalent of a boring one sided thrashing or a 0-0 draw and a drab Tuesday night. "Oh! What a brilliant game", said one. "It was a tactical showpiece," came another. "Wasn't it a bit....well.....boring", said another. Wait! Oh no! That was me! I'd just committed the cardinal sin and dissed the national sport and the national side. I couldn't help it. The words just popped out. Unannounced like.
I must say they took it rather well. All things being considered. They shrugged it off as another Brit who was jealous of the all conquering All Blacks. No hard feelings. At least I don't think so, although my coffee hasn't quite tasted the same since. Somehow a bit creamier?
No comments:
Post a Comment