Sympathy for Namibia

Now I know how Namibia feels after they lost their match to South Africa Springboks 87-0. The Rockford Ravens similarly gave us a clinic in the sport of rugby. I lost count of their tries at around nine. They proved to be big, strong, and had an eye for making sound passes and timely cutbacks, which shredded our defensive line. I took two to three Gladiators to bring one of their runners to the ground. This left them with an advantage in every ruck and gave them the ability to overload our backs on the wings where they seemed to score at will.




We played hard and with guts, but guts are not enough at this level. I had the disappointment of re-injuring my arm at about the 30-minute mark of the game. It is frustrating because I was having a decent game. I only had one penalty (an all-time low for me) and was collecting a respectable number of tackles. In fact, it was on a tackle that I got hurt. I continued to play but later compounded the aggravation to my shoulder toward the end of the first half while making a futile dive to stop a breakaway Rockford back from scoring another try.



During the second half of the game I anxiously watched my teammates continue to heroically weather the punishment as best they could. As I paced on the sidelines, I ached to get in and help but a knifing pain in my back and shoulder cautioned me otherwise. I don’t know if my decision making process would have been different had I been an impact player. Although I was consistently making tackles and engaging in rucks my individual efforts did not seem to reap any game changing results. I guess I felt that if I kept playing I would be risking the rest of the season for a lost cause and still not help the team like a fresh pair of legs and a stout pair of shoulders would.



I have spent the weekend second-guessing myself even though my right shoulder continues to hurt when kept at certain angles (I dare not tell my wife how it feels as she will happily remind me that “she told me so”). I am a bit low feeling that I am not providing the lift my team needs and that I am not producing like I thought I would this season.

Forgive the whining, this article is not intended to be a “whoa is me” cry-fest. In fact, it gives me pause to appreciate players from places like Namibia, Romania, and even the U.S. These teams have been trounced by the world’s best during this World Cup tournament and continue to return to the pitch each match with the hope that they will “Shock the World”. This weekend I have wondered what is going through the minds of their coaches, captains, and players? Are they reflecting in all the things they did not do or are they enjoying the fact that they are given the opportunity to compete at this level and on this stage?



I like to think that they are similar to me, who, after swallowing the bitter pill of losing reflects on how he can do better and then looks forward to giving it another go. I feel that at my age I am only allotted a finite number of games; and like a punch card, each game gets me closer to the final punch. When that punch is I do not know but it is certainly closer than I want it to be. I know that the shoulder pain will eventually go away as will the memory of last Saturday’s beating. I hope the helpless feeling I felt on the sideline will disappear next practice as well. I just need to figure out how I can contribute more so that my team can finally quench our thirst with a sweet refreshing taste of victory.