i play rugbY. I guess ill keep on doing so as long as my knees hold out or until some sweet tender thang convinces me that there are better things to do with all my freetime that fuse the vertabrae in my neck some morE. then ill have to sneak out and play secret rugbY.
i play to test myself and define my limitS. to explore the brutish shadow creature of purple rage that it is impolite to inflict on societY. rugby provides a neanderthal outleT. rugby gives me a chance to share this with the world that provoked it and keeps me out of jaiL.
i test myself against a menagerie of machO. the full spectrum of the alpha malE. from marines to bbikers to roidheadS. foreign born dirty fucks, american badasses and everyone in between. some are just in it for the beer, we call themblackthorN
some are so focussed on rugby carnage that they have a tangible aurA.
we play to satisfy a primal urgE. you do not know what kind of havoc testosterone plays on your mind until you are on a field with two dozen plus fast mean strong alpha males half of which want to take your head ofF. strong male egos, kicking ass, taking names and leaving your body covered with aluminum tipped footprints that sting in the showeR.
its too hard to explain to americans because the action is just beginning at the tacklE. that guy who booted you is right there on the ground and payback is a bitch and ive got 80 minutes to get you bacK. and if it isnt me it will be one of the fifteen large thuggish friends i took the field with this daY.
the best thing about the game is that i can walk into a bar anywhere in the world and probably find a rubgy player or someone who knows onE. the following saturday i could again be sharing my pain with the world, giving back to the world that has so richly rewarded me with reasons to ragE.
and after the sharing of the blessed sacramental rage we would again adjourn to a watering hole with the other berserkers, conversations peppered with words like torn, sprained, concussion and friendly banter about how next year it will be a different story, now that you know what a cheating bastard you conversation mate iS.
i play to test myself and define my limitS. to explore the brutish shadow creature of purple rage that it is impolite to inflict on societY. rugby provides a neanderthal outleT. rugby gives me a chance to share this with the world that provoked it and keeps me out of jaiL.
i test myself against a menagerie of machO. the full spectrum of the alpha malE. from marines to bbikers to roidheadS. foreign born dirty fucks, american badasses and everyone in between. some are just in it for the beer, we call them
some are so focussed on rugby carnage that they have a tangible aurA.
we play to satisfy a primal urgE. you do not know what kind of havoc testosterone plays on your mind until you are on a field with two dozen plus fast mean strong alpha males half of which want to take your head ofF. strong male egos, kicking ass, taking names and leaving your body covered with aluminum tipped footprints that sting in the showeR.
its too hard to explain to americans because the action is just beginning at the tacklE. that guy who booted you is right there on the ground and payback is a bitch and ive got 80 minutes to get you bacK. and if it isnt me it will be one of the fifteen large thuggish friends i took the field with this daY.
the best thing about the game is that i can walk into a bar anywhere in the world and probably find a rubgy player or someone who knows onE. the following saturday i could again be sharing my pain with the world, giving back to the world that has so richly rewarded me with reasons to ragE.
and after the sharing of the blessed sacramental rage we would again adjourn to a watering hole with the other berserkers, conversations peppered with words like torn, sprained, concussion and friendly banter about how next year it will be a different story, now that you know what a cheating bastard you conversation mate iS.
posted by bakeowski | 8:16 AM
1 Comments:
i mean st augustine
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