Rugby Old Chap?

Yesterday, I spent the morning, in the cold rain watching a Rugby game. I heard one of the players say quite seriously "What a great day for Rugby." Since Rugby was started in England, it was a true statement. I am not a neophyte to the sports world. With two teenage sons, I have been to more sporting events and watch more sports on TV then I care to admit. I am not sure how Rugby was able to stay off my radar screen for so long, and quite frankly, I am not sure if that is a good or bad thing.

Rugby first came into our lives several weeks ago. At the dinner table, Pete announced he wanted to play Rugby. I have to admit, my husband Mark and I exchanged the same glance that countless parents have given each other the - "he must get it from your side of the family look". My apprehension deepened when I read the waiver that mentioned serious injury or death. Oh, my. After getting his parents permission (when he got the broken leg or concussion, we wanted to be able to point to them as the consenting)

The game of Rugby started in Rugby England at Rugby School when William Web Ellis picked up the ball in a soccer match and dared his opponents to tackle him. What a concept. True to its origins, this is basically what rugby is about. To be honest, it reminded me a lot of when my son was 5 years old and playing soccer. You couldn't always see the ball, but you always knew where it was because of the mass of kids that moved around the field like a lumbering bumble bee.

It was like a slow moving choreographed dance, this mass of manhood, running in the rain. By the end of the hour, the sparkling white shorts were an ugliest grey color. Coming to the car, covered in mud from head to toe, the only white showing was his huge smile, I realized that Rugby truly was a boys sport - a sort of catch me if you can and then throw me down, so to speak. I may never understand the rules, but I do understand the camaraderie and the pure enjoyment the players bring to the sport.