Rugby

College, freshman year, start of the spring semester, all the college clubs, fraternities/sororities, and intramural sport teams have tables set up on the quad with information for prospective members.

Mary, my roommate Jeanelle, and I were wandering about. Bored. I think it was Jeanelle who spotted the Women’s Rugby table.  Staffed by a couple of team members and their coach. His name was Richard, and he was Irish, in his mid-50’s, weedy. I guess I find weedy attractive.

None of us knew anything about the sport. But because it was intramural, it was more about having an excuse to run around and socialize. Although, from the appearance of the women staffing the booth, the team was largely made up of lesbians. (Which turned out to be true. We let them think that the three of us were all lovers.)

Plus, they were desperate to add more members, because, well, how many women do you know who would play rugby? What sealed the deal for us was that after the games, Richard would take the team to a bar, and they would get loaded and sing rugby songs.  At that time, the drinking age varied by state. In Pennsylvania, it was 21. We were all 19. We immediately signed up. 

We showed up for practice the following week. Mary and I are about the same height and build. I was a good 10-15 pounds heavier then and I was big into strength training, and working out almost every day. So, we were assigned to play defense and be the second row in the scrum. 

I really enjoyed learning and playing the game. I like that as rough as it could be, the only protection we had was a mouth guard. (The local rugby club here in Austin has a bumper sticker that says, “Give Blood. Play Rugby”) And the other women, even though there was a constant current of sexual tension because they just could not for the life of themselves figure out whether we all were or weren’t gay, were smart, funny, and tough.

We played home games on a pitch that was usually used for lacrosse. Lacrosse is a big deal in the Northeast US, not as big as football of course, but big enough that we had to work around their practices and games. 

This particular weekend, we piles into Richard’s van and drove to Shippensburg College, about an hour away. The pitch was a nightmare, basically just dirt and rocks. No grass at all.  We’ve all milling about, jackassing around, warming up and waiting for the game to start. I got distracted, who knows by what, but the next thing I looked up and see that the game was about to start. Our scrum was forming, and I was about to be late. In my hurry to get into position, I tripped and take a nasty fall. I got up, dusted myself off and ran like mad.

Do you know what a scrum is like? When I’m describing it to people who know nothing about rugby, I say it is like a human battering ram, with all the components linked together. Mary and I locked ourselves together, heads between the hips of the girls in front of us, arms between their legs, grabbing their jerseys. Behind us, a girl's head between our hips, her arms between our legs. (Hmmm. Perhaps this is why it attracted so many lesbians?)

If everyone is not in perfect formation when you start pushing for control of the ball, that can be quite dangerous. Well, someone wasn’t. And after some really intense pushing, kicking, and fighting, the whole scrum collapsed. People cursed and worked to disentangle themselves. Mary whispered to me, “Anna, Mary Ann peed on my arm!” I guess it was the excitement and/or the pressure of Mary’s arm. We discussed the likelihood of each possibility when she gasped and said, “My god, there’s blood everywhere!”

And there was. Smears of blood on her legs, on the legs and arms of most of the other scrum members. Everyone was looking, trying to identify the source. Until Mary looked down and screams, “OMG, it’s you!” I had a deep gash in my shin and the lower part of my leg was bathed in blood. In the heat of the scrum, I'd felted nothing. 

Richard bandaged me up. (Did I mention he was very attractive. And that accent!.) In all honesty, I probably should have had stitches. 

I don’t even remember whether or not we won the game. 

So, after we went to a bar. And Richard got us beers. Pitchers of it. The men’s team had a game with the same school, so they joined us. We got all got quite drunk and rambunctious. I don’t remember all the songs we sang, but I do know they were all filthy.  And we sang them very, very loudly. This is the one song that I do recall. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?

He put his hand upon my toe
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
He put his hand upon my toe
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
He put his hand upon my toe
I said
"Hey Rugger, you're much too low!"
Get in, get out, quit f**kin' about
Ya Ho! Ya Ho! Ya Ho!

He put his hand upon my knee
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
He put his hand upon my knee
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
He put his hand upon my knee
I said
"Hey Rugger, you're kiddin' me!"
Get in, get out, quit f**kin' about
Ya Ho! Ya Ho! Ya Ho!

He put his hand upon my twat
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
He put his hand upon my twat
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
He put his hand upon my twat
I said
"Hey Rugger, you're hittin' the spot!"
Get in, get out, quit f**kin' about
Ya Ho! Ya Ho! Ya Ho!

He put his cock right in my mouth
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
He put his cock right in my mouth
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
He put his cock right in my mouth
I said
"Hey Rugger..." (choking/gagging sounds)

So, now I lie in a fine pine box
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
So, now I lie in a fine pine box
Ya Ho! Ya Ho!
So, now I lie in a fine pine box
from sucking too many Ruggers’ cocks
Ya ho! Ya ho! Ya ho! 

We played on the team for a couple of years. Haven’t played since. But I have the dent in my leg and my rugby jacket to remind me. Good times!