Ahhh…Rugby, a gentleman’s game. A noble sport.
To a man, the craziest people I’ve ever met were rugby players. I’ve always asked, “Why would you do that”? “What’s the appeal?” “Where’s the logic?”
I’ve never heard a remotely satisfactory explanation.
Until now. From Breitbart/AFP.
A 71-year-old Frenchman survived a perilous 30-metre (100-foot) fall into a ravine in the Alps, escaping with only minor scrapes, emergency services said Tuesday.
The holidaymaker from the southwestern Perigord region was walking on a mountain road Friday night in the town of Saint-Martin-d’Arc, when he was surprised by the lights of an approaching car and tripped over a barrier into the gorge below, the Dauphine Libere said.
He was recovered by emergency services at the foot of the ravine, and was treated for light injuries on his arm and head.
“I played rugby for 14 years… so I knew how to roll up for the fall,” he told the paper.
There you have it, rugby provides you with survival skills that will that will help you navigate your golden years.
A lady came in for refreshment
I asked her what kind she preferred
Liquor! she said
And……
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Tags: noble sport, rugby, rugby players, southwestern Perigord, survival skills
Axe Victim wrote,
Hey Jack, I played rugby all through my childhood, teens and into my early thirties. I gave it up when I got spliced because I didn’t think the all day Saturday drinking binges would go down well with my Mrs A. I miss it a great deal, but it’s a young man’s game. England won the World Cup in 2003 and came runner up in both 1999 and 2007. Not bad considering that we invented the thing. I love NFL football, but I have always wondered why all of those pooftas want to wear all of that equipment? It took me ages to figure that it’s simply because rugby is such a fluid running game that is played until the ref either stops play due to an infringement or the ball goes out of play. You can’t keep that level of intensity up for that long with all that NFL type of gear on. Those poor fellows would need hospitalisation after just ten minutes of uninterupted play! But the Frenchman is quite correct. Learning how to fall correctly can be a great aid when one gets a bit on the elderly side!
Link | August 12th, 2008 at 6:30 pm
Phelps Phan and Friends wrote,
Some people would think that age 71 is over the hill, but not for this French Rugger… which is by the way an oxymoron. He was over the hill and down the slope, just another loose ruck to him.
27.10.2001 MATTHEW DEARNALEY
Take up swimming young man, or golf… it’s bound to be safer.
Link | August 12th, 2008 at 11:29 pm
Pribek wrote,
pooftas…heh heh…pooftas!
Link | August 13th, 2008 at 12:31 am
Phelps Phan and Phriends wrote,
Thanks Axe!
All though I cannot for the life of me sort out why we have so much discussion worldwide about homosexuality, I will just burrow along with it. This is my contribution to the homo-sex needed to build a regular Rugby Club that functions like a heterodox chain: it is what it is, why all the fascination?
…crouch, hold and engage… my Swedish boss, and his brother, of yester-decade gave me the hoe down on European homosexuality, but I did not let “them” demonstrate. I was graciously able to bow out of the discussion before the slobs could show the dance of the Swedish Pooftas. I was about 38 when these two described: “We Swedes generally have our first homosexual experience by the time we are twelve,” said Johansson’s brother.
Poofta
I thought this one was poncey, and kinda cute, also from Urban Dictionary, reminds me of some mustache criteria previously in Pribek.nation. I like the new fez you are wearing, Pribe’s, but I cannot find any way to search archives. I want to steal some more quotes, pictures and stuff…
Poofstache:
A particualarly large and obnoxiuos moustache, ala Harry Reems, John Holmes, or John Oates.
Dude, 1976 is over, shave that poofstache.
Link | August 13th, 2008 at 1:17 am
Kenski wrote,
My parents were generous enough to spend their last penny each month sending me to a prestigious school with a decent rep, espectially when it came to rugby.
I made the team a number of times. Okay, not THE team, but, like the third team or something. My credentials at the time were my studied use of the laws of physics… primarily the one about Conservation of Momentum. The speed of light never came into it! Being in control of the majority of the mass on the field, I was well suited to carrying the small, oddly-shaped leather ball from one end of the pitch to the other. I didn’t need to run fast, just stay upright and move forward despite being hung off by a hoarde of kicking, screaming, scratcing oiks.
No matter how much my team members screamed for me to pass the ball I knew that my best bet for survival was to just keep putting one foot in front of the other until I passed the line, often collapsing to the floor (I still hear the whistle blowing, signifying a try had been scored), wheezing and on occasion even enjoying a near-death experience.
Amongst the lower echelons I soon became the go to guy in a cinch.
“Give the ball to Ken, he’ll even the score”
And I did. Many times. I was never the thrusting young jock, but hey, my name’s up on a wall, somewhere. That must count for something, right?
Link | August 13th, 2008 at 2:46 am
Pribek wrote,
Oiks! that’s beautiful Oiks and Pooftas.
See children, there’s a lesson here.
All of our present contributing commentators are former rugby players.
To my knowledge all are productive members of society and all are swell guys. Now, I never said, that rugby players couldn’t go on to be assets to the community and even accomplish great things. But, take a look at the above photo that depicts very typical rugby behavior and look again at the comments from our former rugby players and it becomes obvious that they are all quite mad.
Link | August 13th, 2008 at 3:10 pm
Phelps Phan and Phriends wrote,
The guy in the photo still has one good eye, eh?
I like how Kenski talks like he is having a cigarette out on the “floor” [I had forgotten that term] when the scrum half drills a pass to him.. then he holds that butt in his teeth till he crosses the goal, and drops a bloody lung in the turf. Classic!
I may have said before, my program name was “Two Minutes Darnell,” because I am a very convincing actor. I carried little vials of merthiolate in my socks. I would be called out like when Kenski needed two minutes to revcover, I’d fake an injury… rules allowed two minutes to writhe on the ground, or scream “My Eye; my eye!!! Some one find my EYE!!”
We had another guy, who could bust up a loose ruck just by passing wind. He used to eat Texas Chili, and drink LoneStar Longnecks the night before games to prepare, name? uh, er… [you know the] Drill Dave or something.
It is possible I was a mad person back then. I still feel fortunate that I had opportunity to be a rugger. I knew it was all over when I showed up one weekend in Austin for a thankless grudge re-match, in the mud, and I no longer had any hostility in me. I hung up the stein after that day. I suppose there are only so many hits on the head one is given in his lifetime.
Thanks Pribek and other “real ruggers” for letting me retrieve some strange memories. BTW there are only two kinds of rugby Players– Players and Dead.
Your phriend, Phelps Phan
Link | August 13th, 2008 at 7:35 pm
axe wrote,
Now don’t go getting me wrong about Pooftas here Phelps old chap. If I was going to engage in a discussion about homosexuality I’d have simply called a spade a spade. Besides, some of my best friends are homosexuals and I would never dream of describing them as Pooftas. No, they’re ‘ass bandits’ and make no mistake! Yer actual poofta is simply a way to describe an effeminate straight type. Trust this clears the matter up? ;)
Link | August 14th, 2008 at 7:55 am
Kenski wrote,
Oi, Axe. Y’know, in these totally PC days it’s no longer acceptable to use the term ‘ass bandit’. The correct term is now ‘rump ranger’, don’t you know ;-)
Reminds me of an old joke…
Lady goes to see her priest to complain about her husband’s language (why she went to a priest, I DON’T KNOW)…
…anywho, she went to a priest to complain about her husband’s language and the priest says to her that she should be more understanding, that her fella’s just more direct than most and tends to call a spade a spade.
She replies “I wouldn’t mind if he called a spade a spade, but he calls it a fukkin’ shovel!”
Did I say it was a good joke? Did I?
Well, then, you have no reason to complain…
Link | August 14th, 2008 at 9:34 am
axe wrote,
That made me howl out loud old boy. Rump Ranger? Ewww that doesn’t sound too cool. At least Ass Bandit has some level of comedic appeal.
Link | August 15th, 2008 at 5:06 am
Pat Darnell wrote,
But, did they find the bodies?
Link | August 15th, 2008 at 8:13 am