Ugh.
Bad: we lost to Marist today by about six tries to three. Good: I only played the second half, in which we outscored them three tries to one. Bad: I played blindside flanker today, further confusing me as to what I'm supposed to be training for. Good: the man I replaced joked he's fearing for his job and said his rugby-obsessed family wondered why I wasn't selected for div-1.
Linwood got off to a shit start from the beginning and looked visibly broken for the better part of two halves. I admit I lacked a sense of purpose during my first ten minutes on the pitch. Back at flanker, I was bewildered about my positioning and played the game like an extra back; that is to say, not like someone whose job it is to get the egg for the back line. Once I got fed up with contributing nothing to a losing effort, however, I decided I would at least hurl myself into every breakdown available with reckless abandon and attempt to win ball. I have one piece of advice for my Guilford boys: that's exactly what works.
Lots of players treat the ruck like a fine dinner, waltzing in to set up shop before pushing, like a scrum. But the ruck looks like a bunch of idiots trying to kill themselves because that's exactly what it is. Treat the ruck like a multiple-tackle opportunity. If there's anyone on his feet near that ball, I'm going to stay on my feet and tackle him (at which point I'll leave my feet and fly all over the place.) It's a perfect opportunity to tackle someone without the ball, just because he's standing there, and it really does win ball for a couple of reasons. 1) Nobody wants to go near a three foot area that some other guy is running straight towards looking constipated. 2) Entering the ruck savagely means your body is tensed and ready, and you have momentum, so you're less likely to be injured and more likely to push someone else off the ball... winning it.
So we ended up with the ball for far more of the last twenty minutes. Besides running through my own backline like a blind fat man exiting a full church pew, I actually gained a lot of confidence in my play. This translated to feeling like I had a right to talk, which is what I should have been doing anyway. This could also have been due to my being an only child.** Once my voice rose, I could call for the ball and point out overlaps, both of which actually contribute to your team's effort, believe it or not. I ended up having a starring role in (though not claiming) all three tries of the final span of the game.
After the match, myself and Matt ("Scooby" on holiday, whose position I'd taken) watched the Senior div-1 team in their well-fought loss to Christchurch. Matt then took me on a mini-road trip up the Cashmere hill to a bar overlooking Lyttleton harbor, which was fantastic consistent with the rest of New Zealand. He bought beer, we played pool, and then went to meet his fiance at their house where she cooked an impromptu restaurant-class meal of chicken, broccoli, white and sweet potatoes, and corn. Matt also bequeathed unto me an older swankier Linwood RFC jacket, and is getting me a jersey as well to take back home. We three capped off our evening by swinging through Manchester street to gaze at the selection of prostitutes available. To quote Colin, "Just lookin', ladies."
My Canadian and French housemates moved out today, and my Irish and Australian housemates move out on Monday. They are being replaced immediately by three traveling dorks and a Dutch girl. In addition to all my excitement to come home, I'm finding myself wanting to spend more time in this country as I get to know my teammates and close a firmer grasp on how to enjoy my favorite hobby.
**Gottlieb, Drew. "Why You Say Things." Soapbox Publishing. 2008.
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