THE GAME PLAYED WITH THE OVAL BALL
Rugby season has started and the opening games in the Super 12 series are being played. That South African teams will probably not fare too well in this competition does not dampen discussion of the game. The strengths and weaknesses of various players are mulled over, teams are picked by arm-chair selectors and passions run high over the weekends as die-hard fans gather in front of small screens at home or a large screen in the local Frog & Toad. I can’t help but think, however, that if we read, discussed, and analysed the share market or commodities dealing with the same zeal we would all be very rich..... but I digress!
Rugby is the ultimate testosterone charged, mucho, all male, modern gladiatorial sport and was played by men, followed by men and tolerated by women.........well it used to be 'all male'. Off the field the ladies have become ardent, knowledgeable fans. In front of the TV I find myself asking my Good Lady (GL) “Why the penalty?’ Back comes the immediate answer ‘Playing the ball on the ground’ or ‘Not releasing the ball when going to ground in a tackle’ or ‘Obstructive running’ In the face of such authority I tend to lapse into silence whilst vowing to learn the rules of the modern game. They seemed less complex 40 years ago!
What has come over the fair and gentle sex? Using my GL as a benchmark what brain chemistry has changed since the first game she watched at Kings Park. On that day JPR Williams punched Tommy Bedford’s lights out. Right in front of the grandstand nogal. After recuperating for a decade or so and occasionally muttering darkly about the brutality of it all she had to face a mothers' most terrible ordeal - watching her sons play rugby at high school!
But something had changed! Maybe it’s because a woman’s own testosterone levels increase with age but here was my once docile, pacifist GL, urging one of our lads to exact revenge because he’d been rucked too robustly. ‘Crunch him!’ she yelled encouragingly. I stood back and marvelled at the metamorphosis as my GL turned into a latter-day Terror-of-the-Touch-Line and joined the ranks of her rugby mad sisters.
Rugby is THE game in my humble opinion. Without being patronising I’m glad the ladies have joined in – I was never one for gender stereotyping. But please excuse me - I have some crochet work to finish before the game starts.
Rugby season has started and the opening games in the Super 12 series are being played. That South African teams will probably not fare too well in this competition does not dampen discussion of the game. The strengths and weaknesses of various players are mulled over, teams are picked by arm-chair selectors and passions run high over the weekends as die-hard fans gather in front of small screens at home or a large screen in the local Frog & Toad. I can’t help but think, however, that if we read, discussed, and analysed the share market or commodities dealing with the same zeal we would all be very rich..... but I digress!
Rugby is the ultimate testosterone charged, mucho, all male, modern gladiatorial sport and was played by men, followed by men and tolerated by women.........well it used to be 'all male'. Off the field the ladies have become ardent, knowledgeable fans. In front of the TV I find myself asking my Good Lady (GL) “Why the penalty?’ Back comes the immediate answer ‘Playing the ball on the ground’ or ‘Not releasing the ball when going to ground in a tackle’ or ‘Obstructive running’ In the face of such authority I tend to lapse into silence whilst vowing to learn the rules of the modern game. They seemed less complex 40 years ago!
What has come over the fair and gentle sex? Using my GL as a benchmark what brain chemistry has changed since the first game she watched at Kings Park. On that day JPR Williams punched Tommy Bedford’s lights out. Right in front of the grandstand nogal. After recuperating for a decade or so and occasionally muttering darkly about the brutality of it all she had to face a mothers' most terrible ordeal - watching her sons play rugby at high school!
But something had changed! Maybe it’s because a woman’s own testosterone levels increase with age but here was my once docile, pacifist GL, urging one of our lads to exact revenge because he’d been rucked too robustly. ‘Crunch him!’ she yelled encouragingly. I stood back and marvelled at the metamorphosis as my GL turned into a latter-day Terror-of-the-Touch-Line and joined the ranks of her rugby mad sisters.
Rugby is THE game in my humble opinion. Without being patronising I’m glad the ladies have joined in – I was never one for gender stereotyping. But please excuse me - I have some crochet work to finish before the game starts.
posted by Malcolm @ 11:05 pm
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