My mother had watched me play rugby league in primary and soccer in intermediate right through to secondary and had always been pleased with my gentlemanly behaviour on-field.
While the primary and intermediate results were good, the secondary soccer results were frankly appalling.
St Pat's in the 1960's and before (I don't know about afterwards) had a policy of it being compulsory to play rugby unless you could prove, by showing a doctor's certificate, that you were incapable of playing rugby and thereby had to play one of those nancy-boy sports like soccer. Being totally excused of any sporting activity was not considered. I had played soccer for the last 4 years at intermediate and considered myself quite good at the game. I was a devastating inside right and could score goals from just about anywhere. When, just before winter of 1966 the sporting muster began I said no to being weighed for the 3rd form rugby grade and said that I wanted to play soccer.
The form teacher went pale and had to sit down for a while .
Time passed. In the afternoon during mathematics class Father Scambury, the sports master came to the classroom and called me out. While nowadays this would have been a great challenge, when you are 13 and made to parade out in front of your peers it is devastating.
Old Scambury (who was later my hurdles coach on the athletics team) spent the next 15 minutes trying to convince me to change my selection from soccer to rugby. When I refused he said that I had to get a doctor's letter to excuse me. Bewildered I recounted this to my parents who, as a reflection of the times, acquiesced and my mother took me to doctor Campbell who wrote down that I had a history of asthma and could not be expected to play rugby.
I played soccer.
From third form through sixth form.
Most of the teammates (other than the soccer enthusiasts who had to go through the same ordeal as me) were legally blind, mental, obesely overweight, or, in one case, had callipers on his legs by dint of having had polio. (Readers who are familiar with Richard of (RBB) and suspect that he falls into one or all of these criteria rest assured he didn't play soccer, he played rugby).
We lost.
Every game we played except against St. Pat's Silverstream.
Why? Because every other school (except for St. Pat's Silverstream) didn't have this 19th century Public school mentality.
So, when I was seventeen in the 7th form and, through some good athletic performances and being invited into the elite club at school the 'Athletics Team' where girls, good times and godliness were de-rigeur, I switched to rugby.
Halleluiah.
In the pre-season muster where we were sorted by weight for the grades I was deemed a second grade being that I was (in those days) svelte and kind of like Donatello's 'David'.
I think Richard was in the first grade where he'd been since the third form.
At the pre-season trials I performed very well but didn't understand the off-side rule having come from a soccer background so was relegated to 2B team. This was, as it turned out, pretty fortuitous because 2A crashed and 2B was the only unbeaten team in the school that year. My team.
When my mother came to watch me play, half way through the season, I was playing on the wing in the game against Wellington College. At one point when I had collected a pass on the side-line I set off for the try-line. After stepping around some defenders on my way to the try-line the Wellington College full-back tried to tackle me but I fended him off with my left hand while tucking the ball under my right arm. He was gone and I continued to score the try oblivious to what was behind me.
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| bit like this only smaller and slower |
Apparently in fending off the full-back I had inadvertantly poked him in the eye. He wasn't permanently damaged but instead of my mother congratulating me on a great try she berated me as per the heading of this post.
No wonder I've grown up to be non-aggressive and have basically been an under-achiever.
1 comment:
Yeah, I was a slightly fat kid but I loved rugby and was pretty good at it. I played a few games for the first fifteen - a big honour at St Pats - but I lost interest and was becoming anti-aggressive too. I got dropped and spent my time playing in the Wellington Youth Orchestra. Funnily enough the conductor was quite an aggressive chap who often went very red with anger. My biggest rugby achievement was taking 16 tightheads (I was hooker) in one match. Probably still a St Pats record.
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