Well I decided to temporarily skip ahead a few weeks and go straight to my first game while it is fresh on my mind and while my body recuperates. It had been close to a quarter century (21 years)since I competed in a team sport for score. The sport was High School Basketball so this first game I had a familiar pre-game adrenaline.
For me this game really started the Thursday before at our practice. It seemed that we would have a tough time mustering enough people for our game against Canada. So I knew I would get a chance to play. The problem was I had missed about four practices in three weeks. Since we were preparing for an away game at the time I was a notional defender for the offense to run against. While this helped me work on my defensive mark-ups and lane skills it did not help me learn the offensive schemes. It is never a good feeling being lost as to what to do when you are surrounded by guys who feel comfortable with their role- and yours. To everyone's credit the coaching and communication with me was superb. I was constantly shifted, moved, and shuffled around the field in full speed run through of thousands of game scenarios. When a play like "Skip two, loop three" was called by the fly-half it might as well had been spoken in Yiddish as I had little idea who or what a skip two was nor did I know where to loop the three.
Well that is not entirely true. For the past month or so Carla, my wife, had been goofing on me because I had spent most my waking days reading Rugby books. I guess it is my cerebral style. I truly believe I can do anything if I can understand the rudimentary things about the subject. So I had studied the sport academically in lieu of watching it or growing up with it like I had with basketball, football, or baseball. My wife goofs on me because if I get interested in something that I have never done before I have to go to Borders and see if they have a "
for Dummies" book on the subject. Thankfully they have a "
Rugby for Dummies"...the title which my wife considers redundant. Fortunately the local library had "
Rugby- steps to success" by Tony Biscombe and Peter Drewett. This book has been key for me to understanding the science of the game beyond the entertainment value I had previously appreciated. Armed with this basic knowledge I was able to understand what my teammates where trying tell me. I was intimidated but determined. I knew that despite my utter lack of speed I could contribute on game day if I understood my role and gave 100%. I resolved in practice that while I may not impress them skill I would with effort. I drew my inspiration from Sean Astin in "
Rudy". That practice was an effect crash course on playing the back five and really opened my eyes to what I had to do. I finished that practice exhausted but on cloud nine. Although I had practiced a bit of the art of Rugby and applied it to the science I had studied I still knew I had a long ways to go. It is one thing to make a catch or a clean pass during practice, I knew it would be something different when I had opponents bearing down on me. The reality of it is that I am a hard worker and relatively tough (in my mind anyway) but I have the family curse- I have good hands and a good feel of the field but I am slow as winter molasses. My Dad had the same problem when he played football at the University of Texas, so I guess it is hereditary. I have the misfortune of being too small to be a forward or flanker and too slow to be a back; but a back i am.
Friday before the game I could only think about the game. I kept going over the plays that I could remember in my mind while I was at COSTCO or cooking dinner. I took every opportunity to look at instructional videos and moto hits on YouTube, but as the day went along I got more anxious. I was anxious because I wanted to do well. I had no visions of grandeur. I knew I was not going to instantly become the Michael Jordan of Lake County Rugby- mainly because Michael Jordan had speed and could defy gravity. Rather I just wanted not to choke and freeze. I wanted to play respectable and be able to end the game with someone saying "Good Job" or "You played hard". Now I would be lying if I didn't have a dream or two of me diving across the try line for 5 points. Most of my dreams Friday night where of me making a solo tackle or catching a lateral and making a clear presentation in a ruck. I woke up several times with a raised heart rate because I kept having a recurring nightmare of being burned on the outside by the wing.
I showed up at the pitch at 1130 Saturday morning. The field was already chalked and pads were around the posts. I had a queer feeling of stepping into something bigger than myself. I have had this feeling before- bootcamp, transiting the Straits of Hormuz, landing in Baghdad. All of these events I felt that I was a character player in an epic. It was a great experience in and of itself. I was quiet and introspective. It had rained the night before and field was emerald green and the cool cold morning allowed my to daydream that I was on a rugby pitch in England- maybe Rugby England. I was soon to join a unique brotherhood that has existed since 1823 and is know world over. As I was fully invested in my trip to the past I got a text message on my cellphone which brought me back to the present. It was my wife saying that our two daughters where being a handful. It was probably just her venting, but to me it was a warning across the bow that this rugby gig is a real annoyance and I owe her one (or maybe more). The game was to start at 1 p.m. the Canadian team arrived around 1230. There was close to 30 of them and most crawled out of their cars with bloodshot eyes from the night before and lit cigarettes hanging from their lips. Sporting impressive beer-bellies these Molson bred hombres looked like they knew the game just from their appearance.
I decided to get my ankles taped by the team trainer; partially because my ankles were tender from my passionate practice on Thursday and partially out of the novelty of having a professional trainer tape me. in my mind getting taped was a validation of my new status as an athlete and mental creditability that I should be on the pitch- spectators and fans don't get taped.
To my chagrin I spent the first half of the game on the bench. The game was still young when Carla and the kids got to the pitch. It was cold, damp and windy. I thought the English girl in Carla would come out but she was miserable. Her day brightened significantly when a timeout was called on the field and I ran out with water for my mates. Jogging back in I saw her with huge grin and the camera at the ready. I could read her mind, "All this rugby talk and your the waterboy!". I raised my hand in victory for the photo and continued to jog off the pitch. At halftime I took my place at the 14 position on the pitch. Finally number 21 was going to get his chance to prove his worth in the arena. At this point my fear of blowing the game was still in the fore front of my mind. However, once the kickoff occurred I was transported into a different place. I was in a zone of me- I was determined to leave it all on the pitch and do my best. I no longered worried about messing it up. I was focused on position, technique, and listening to my fullback and centre. As a team the game went to hell. We were already down 10-0 when I came on the pitch. We ended up given another 3 tries during the time I was on the pitch, but only one on my side of the field. I touched the ball several times including a clear from a ruck. My highlight of the game came when the Canadians had an overload on my side of the field. As the rolled my direction they quickly developed 2-1 advantage. I let the back start to commit when I faked in and jumped back out toward the wing. I was way out of position and for an instant I though, "Oh shit, I let them by me!", . But my aggressive move forced a pitch and I hit it with my extended right ring finger sending the pitch spinning down the pitch. Now it was my turn to make a move. I raced down to recover the ball but my lack of speed showed as the Canadians beat me to the ball and kicked it out of bounds. During the rest of the game I engaged in several rucks and found myself in the nirvana that is rugby. Dirt, mud, cheats, sweat, and fun. After the game one of our forwards came up to me with Molson in hand and said "Kyle, great game. You really hustled out there". Rugby is just what I dreamed it would be like.
