Something to Declare by Cyclist

Chapter 21

Warning: this episode may contain traces of rugby

A small digression for those who are unfamiliar with the great game. Not “The Great Game”, that was something about international power politics around Victorian Injah, but the great game of Rugby, and Union, naturally.

A rugby team is divided into two bits. There are eight forwards (1-8), and seven backs (9-15). The forwards, known as the pack, contest scrums and other set pieces, and they link with the backs via the scrum half (9) and the fly half (10). So those of you from climes less blessá¨d than Wales can think of the fly half as a sort of quarterback, the main playmaker.

The front row of the scrum consists, left to right, of loosehead prop, hooker (I have already told you lot at the back), and tighthead prop, There are then two locks, generally the biggest men on the field, and a number 8. Imaginatively known as a “Number 8”. Hanging off each lock, with a shoulder under the buttocks of a prop, is a flanker. The soft parts of each prop are protected by the fact that they have a lock’s arm coming between their legs and holding onto the front waistband of their shorts. The locks’ heads are between the hips (polite word) of the front row; the Number 8 is in a similar position with the locks.

Two sets of forwards interlock the front rows’ heads and then everyone pushes. Two sets of eight very big men, averaging over 200 pounds apiece, all that pressure taken by the shoulders, backs and necks of the props…..

You should now have some idea of exactly how big a man Dave really is.

Classically, the scrum half feeds the ball in past his loosehead for the hooker to heel back into the scrum, emerging at the feet of the No 8, where the scrum half collects it and feeds it to the fly. As soon as the ball is out, people can leave the scrum. The blindside flanker is there to stop anyone coming down, well, the blind (narrow) side. Both flankers have a role winning ball under great heaps of struggling men, but the open side flanker has a special role of his very own.

He is there to terrify the opposition half backs, and if possible tackle them out of the game. Hence my nicknames, Psycho, and The Smiling Assassin. I was very, very fast, and if the number 9 was at all slow I would flatten him, and they knew it. Cue lots of dive-passes away from the base of the scrum, and fly halves presented with a rather fast-moving and difficult ball swiftly followed by me. The dream situation for any flanker, catching the fly half in possession.

It was an evenly-matched game, 13 all, and I had to prod Dave a couple of times to remind him that he was captain in a team game, and not involved in a personal duel with his opposite tighthead.

I was watching for little cracks in their defence, and I noticed that each time the full back had to catch a long kick, his wingers weren’t dropping back in support. I pointed this out to Dave and Darren, and we started to fire off some Garryowens.

The Garryowen, named after the rugby club in Ireland, is a tactic aimed at full backs in particular. The ball is kicked as high as it can be, the idea being that when the ball arrives like a bomb for the fullback so too do a number of opposition players. And so it transpired. As he yelled “Mark!!” for the first ball, I hit him just above hip level and smashed man and ball to the ground. I made a point of smiling at him as I got up and trotted back for the drop-out. He kicked a long one down the touchline but Long John got to it before it went dead and hoofed it back up, to be passed by the Brighton Express, Ed Loveridge, and he pressurised the fullback so much that he made a really poor kick infield. Darren gathered it, I dropped onside behind him, and up it went.

This was how I had earned my nickname. “Mark!”---wallop. He wasn’t up as quick this time, but his drop out was better, taken by one of their centres. Ade, our blindside, caught him in midfield and beautifully turned the player’s back to his own side and I ripped the ball off and span it out to Little John. He hit it up so high I expected ice, ran past me to put me on side, and this time the full back didn’t get up for nearly a minute. When he did, I smiled at him.

His kick this time was so bad it went straight up and the poor sod had to catch it himself. Needless to say, we met again and the ball bounced forwards towards us as I hit him. Ed picked it up one handed and ran round behind the posts. A simple kick, seven points and the end of the scoring.

The game was on for eighty minutes, plus copious injury time, but that was it in a rather large nutshell. We were clapped off the pitch by the losing Central Region team, then returned the favour, and I sneaked away to where the Woodruffs had secreted their car. Geoff looked dazed.

“Remind me never, ever to upset you, love”

What utter bliss it was to get out of the body protector and then---oh joy–the strapping. Fly free, little breasts! I stood and soaked in the shower until I felt a presence. I really, really didn’t want this…I had no knickers on, being in the shower, and it was not something that felt comfortable to me around Geoff. He could obviously feel my tension as he soaped my back, and stepped out for a second to throw my cycle shorts in. I hauled them on, and whilst they made no real difference, I at least felt that I could face him.

It’s very nice having a man wash your back. It’s even nicer when they do your front as well. Would you all mind going away for a little bit?

Geoff joined Bill to get all suited and booted while Kell and Jan fussed around me. I have no idea what it was they were doing to me, but I ended up with my hair sort of piled up on top of my head, with tendrils of it coming down around my face. Jan had had a number of disagreements with Kelly, who seemed to want to use what can only be termed a “broad and very, very full brush” approach to the make up, and I was rather relieved when Jan won the day. It would have been nice if they had actually spoken TO me rather than OVER ME, but never mind. Eventually, I was done; powdered, perfumed, painted, and they revealed me to myself in a wardrobe mirror, and, well, oh.

Ooh. Ah. Oh god, just keep thinking “not waterproof”

The effect was slightly spoilt by the stud mark on my left cheek, though. The girls were not going to my extremes of gown and general primping, and when the taxi arrived we were all, rather amazingly, on time.

My cunning plan was to stay out of sight until the awards were given and we were called for our winners’ medals, so while Jan and Bill secured their table, Kelly and Geoff waited with me at the bar by the disco. And the speeches started….and continued…and carried on for some more. It was the Director Central, and he did seem to love his own voice. Eventually, though, he wound down and Dave stepped up, in blazer, tie and black eye, to be presented with the Inter Region Shield.

The Director drew breath again.

“Now, before we present the finalists with their medals we have the Match Officials’ choice of Man of the Match. This is what they had to say on the matter:

“We had a number of players in mind for this award. We were particularly impressed by the competition between the visitors’ loosehead and the home tighthead. They had a magnificent personal contest, but neither allowed their personal duel to overshadow their responsibilities to the team as a whole.

“The kicking from hand by both sets of half backs was exemplary, but it was the result of that kicking that allowed the visitors’ openside flanker to demonstrate his extremely destructive tackling ability. Elsewhere, his ground work at the tackle was excellent, but it is a not often that we have seen any player taken out of a game as comprehensively yet fully in compliance with the laws of the game”

The Director put down his piece of paper and picked up a small cup.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the Man of the Match, South’s Number 7, Miss Stephanie Jones”

WHAT THE HELL?

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I walked into the hall in a daze, Geoff on my arm, Kelly slipping off to her parents. All I could hear was the click of my heels ,and then there were a few mutters of “Fuck me!” one of which came from the opposition full back. I stopped, and looked at him and gave him The Smile.

“I rather think I did…..”

There was a roar of laughter, and my team stood and applauded, quickly followed by the losers. I got up on stage, the Director shook my hand and very quietly said

“Vanessa thought she’d get her own back, and that you would understand”