Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Hamish McShanks Secret Diary - Part 94
Hamish McShanks Secret Diary – w/e
‘Okay folks ready to go?’ there were a few pale faces as new players rummaged around the kit bag for a decent fitting shirt. The old hands just mumbled incoherently, cracked open a tinny or ignored me altogether. I ploughed on regardless ‘Now for those of you that haven’t played in this particular tournament before, you need to know that the refereeing is always a bit iffy’ I looked at a sea of blank faces ‘they aren’t proper referees’ I continued ‘they are just players helping out’, ‘so a lot of decisions will be completely mince but there’s no point in losing the heid, just play the whistle’, ‘Right go out there and do us proud’. The new starts trotted out nervously whilst the old hands shook their heads and strolled out mumbling ‘same old shite every year’
However my sage words were proved true in the opening minute of the first game when the referee made a howler of an error. One of many as it turned out. For those of you unfamiliar with the game of touch rugby I will explain. The most basic rule of touch is that once you’ve tackled an opponent (i.e. touched them) you have to retreat five metres from where the tackle occurred or you are in an offside position (i.e. you cant touch anyone else) It just gives both sides the space to run and be inventive and stops the game becoming bogged down. Shame the referee forgot this simple rule.
Time and time again the defending side did not retreat the required five metres; one metre would have been nice. It was getting so ridiculous we looked like we were dancing together ‘Oh you tango beautifully’ I winked at one particularly large gentleman as he tackled me a picosecond after tackling one of my team mates. His eyes nearly popped out of his head and he back peddled about thirty metres in double quick time. So clearly the only effective strategy was to mince around and blow kisses if you wanted some space!
As it turned out the lack of space was the least of our problems. A number of our opponents had also forgotten that we were playing ‘touch’ rugby and not full contact. Some of the tackles were verging on the latter. I did try and point this out as I tumbled to the ground after yet another particularly violent ‘touch’. With hindsight shouting ‘what part of touch are ye having problems with ye fecking bawbag!’ was unlikely to spread serenity and peace.
The half time team talk was brief and to the point ‘right if they don’t get back five, we don’t get back five’, ‘if they shove us, we shove them back’, ‘don’t get mad, get even!’, ‘got it?’ there was a flurry of nodding and shouting from the troops ‘Right’ I growled through gritted teeth ‘lets get back out there and kick some fucking arse!’
In retrospect I probably should have tried to put a humorous outlook on things. You know, crack open a beer, laugh it off. Just smile and say ‘hey were here for some fun boys and girls let’s just enjoy’….. but I didn’t …… I blame myself ….
The referee blew for the start of the second half and it became apparent that one of our team was particularly fired up. Normally a very mild mannered and polite young man. (they are the ones you always need to watch) Perhaps he only heard the last sentence of my team talk? Maybe he’d been on the full sugar coke? We will never know, either way he decided to get his retaliation in first…..
I tapped the ball and passed to the individual in question. He actually timed his run beautifully, taking the ball at great pace. Like a runaway express train in fact. He continued running as if on tracks and headed straight and true. The poor sod defending didn’t know what hit him. Like a heat seeking ginger missile our stoked up hero motored through the player knocking him halfway into next week. Not content with mowing him down like a hit and run at a pedestrian crossing he then proceeded to berate the poor chap as he fumbled on the grass looking for his missing teeth.
‘YER OFFSIDE!’ he bellowed as four of us pulled him away from the concussed fellow ‘shhh shhh Forrest’, ‘it’s okay … shhhh … it’s okay’, ‘Yer offside ye Fnnbaaastaaardd’ he screamed ‘I think you’ve made your point’ I replied in my best ‘talking a jumper down’ voice. It was a somewhat unorthodox reaction, some might even say extreme, but it certainly worked. We suddenly had acres of space as the remaining five opposition players huddled in the centre of the pitch their backs to each other in a defensive circle.
Things didn’t improve in the next few games. Despite sedating Forrest and tying him up in the boot of the car tempers were still fraying and we seemed to be making enemies quicker than flies find sh*t. The Gazebo that Fraser and Vonnie had erected as our ‘snack’ tent had been turned into an emergency triage area. The injuries were coming in thick and fast. One of the girls staggered in with her nose burst wide open ‘jeeesus christ what happened to you’ I asked ‘fnnnbaaastard dipped his shoulder in my face’ she mumbled through her blood encrusted mouth ‘got my own back though’ she continued whilst waving part of an ear in my direction ‘Are those tooth marks?‘, ‘oh aye’ she replied grinning. ‘Look when I said get even I didn’t mean-‘
I didn’t have time to finish my sentence. I could hear the familiar sound of an angry mob. I peeked out the gazebo door to see a pack of furious touch players marching towards our position. All of a sudden I felt like Custer at Little Bighorn or Davey Crockett at the
‘Right guys I don’t want to cause any panic or alarm, but now might be a very good time to call it a day, I don’t think were going to make the final now so just leave everything where it is and make yourselves scarce ….. guys? …… guys?’ I felt the breeze on the back of my neck before I gingerly turned to see the back door fluttering open and empty space all around me ‘aaah’
I could hear the sounds of fists being punched into palms ‘Knock fecking Knock’ and the door of the gazebo flew open. An extremely large gentleman loomed over me ‘I don’t suppose you’re the Mormons are you?’ ……
Doei
