Bugger Rugger

For various reasons, I had a late night last night. Just as I was thinking of turning in -- finally -- I caught a little of the Rugby World Cup match between Australia and Canada. I had no intention of watching, but after five minutes or so I was sucked in. I just couldn't believe the size of the players.

They're impressive, in much the same way as the prize beef cattle at the Ekka are impressive. They're huge. And when they pack together into a scrum and butt heads: amazing. Two tons of hairy sweaty meat colliding. It's quite a sight.

Readers may not be aware of this fact: I took part in Rugby for a time. Let me tell you about it. It was a few years ago, and I was battling through a rather ugly and complicated industrial relations case. To relieve the resultant stress I decided that a bit of sport might be the ticket. But not the same old sports I'd played before; I wanted a bit of a change. I'd pondered for a few weeks which game I might pick when it came to me in a dream. I don't remember the main thread of the story, but what I do remember is John Eales driving past and waving. It was a sign. Rugby was the one.

So I researched which clubs offered places for women, and decided on Easts. I showed up for my first training session all twinkly-eyed; this was the beginning of a new pastime, new people, and new angle on life. Mustard-like, I was keen. I won't bother you with the full details, most of which are exceedingly dull. The upshot is that I was paired with an enormous woman (of course), handed a tackling pad, flattened, hit my head on the ground on what I swear was a small patch on concrete in the middle of the paddock, and lost vision momentarily. While I was down one of the pair next to us ran over my forearm at full tilt. For the next week that hand flopped on the end of my arm like a rubber glove, and I had concussion to boot. Shamed, I never went back.

Needless to say, I didn't watch last night's match with an expert eye. Nevertheless, the spectacle of the game doesn't need a great deal of knowledge to appreciate. In the pounding rain Australia wiped the floor with Canuckistan, as was to be expected from two such mismatched teams. Canada, though, did themselves credit, and didn't look like the schoolboys that the less accomplished team can in these draws. As I write this Lofty and his mate are sitting glued to the Rugby League final, hooting encouragement to Melbourne Storm. I'm not interested. The Ra-ra leaves League for dead in my book.