An Honest Attempt to Understand Rugby

A few weekends ago I went with Chris to Durban and watched his rugby game. Here are some observations: There is a man laying in the fetal position with a crowd of men kicking at his head. A few minutes later, another man is hoisted up in the air by his shorts [which could not be too comfortable]. Now multiple men are smashing their heads together, taking the term "let's put our heads together" literally. And why is that man's head between that other man's legs? I then hear the other spectators saying words such as "scrum," "ruck," and "maul." Maul?! Are we mauling people now?

            I was introduced to rugby within 24 hours of arriving in South Africa [I wrote about this experience here]. I stared intently at the television screen, trying to understand why the surrounding men were cheering at what seemed to be an outward display of testosterone. Big men in small shorts, showing off their strength and prowess through pushing around other men and performing strange tasks is all I saw. I tried to relate what I saw to a sport I was a little more familiar with: American football. I am not allowed to mention that "sissy sport" out loud during this demonstration of masculinity, not wanting to taint the moment with thoughts of men wearing helmets and pads. Apparently American football is just a "watered down version of rugby"—but you have to admit when a 160kg man is running towards you, it is a scary sight, helmet or no helmet. 

            As I watched the rugby game I tried desperately to understand why this sport was so popular. I eventually started understanding bits and pieces of the game, and it became more than men just hitting each other, rolling around on the ground, throwing each other in the air. Then I started thinking, what if life was one big rugby match?

            If life was a rugby match, I could headbutt people whenever I needed them out of my way. If I couldn't see over the fence, a group of my friends would just hoist someone up by their shorts and that person could look for me. When there is something that I want to keep, all I need to do is lay in the fetal position on the ground as people kicked around my head, hoping my friends would come by and I could pass my treasure through their legs.

            If life was a rugby match, I would always be going forward but handing things to people behind me—I could run through the grocery store and throw the bread to my friend behind me. In order for a product to be made in an assembly line, we would all have to walk forward toward the packaging as we passed backwards to finish the product. When waiting to be served at a restaurant I would be forced to stare at my waitron's rear before I received my food. 

            Life would be good, because if I was just physically too tired to continue with task I can call in a replacement as I sat down for a while. Someone would even bring me some water as I watched my replacement tackle the challenging tasks for me.

            If I was angry at someone, I could use all my physical force to knock them to the ground, perhaps find my shoe in the eye of the person next to me. If I wanted to keep someone close, I could just pull their clothing towards me until there was no choice to be intimate. But, my life is ruled and regulated by a skinny man who decides if I have become too angry or too intimate. In that case, I will have to sit on a bench to ponder what I have done. When my time-out was over, I get to continue on with life pushing people out of the way and throwing my possessions behind me as I ran forward.

            Rugby is a very strange looking sport if you have never seen it before, but now I see its practical applications to every day life. I understand why this is so popular—who wouldn't want to the opportunity to give people wedgies? And at its purist sense, rugby is organized and glorious mayhem.

            Cricket on the other hand, is a whole new ballgame. Who knows how long that one will take.