Ah, spring. The magical time of year between summer and winter where everything hits that Goldilocks zone. Not too hot, not too cold, and a trail of breadcrumbs leads right into the stepmother’s shoe. Sorry, I’m confusing my fairy tales again. The point is that spring is nice for a lot of reasons, but it isn’t quite all it’s cracked up to be. One of the supreme disadvantages is that rugby season is slowly starting to wind down. With only two or three games left, I’m starting to consider what life after rugby will be like. And the consensus shows that it’s going to suck. Here’s why.
1. It’s usually the only thing that gets me to exercise. Like many of you on this campus, I too have mastered the modern art of talking myself out of going down to the KAC. Some old reliables include “It’s so far,” “I’ve got too much work to do,” “I wonder what’s new on Netflix,” and most recently, “I’ll just walk down there and – oooh, Peirce has chicken patties tonight!” But having a team sport to play that’s really fun holds me accountable to roll my ass out of McBride and get down to the pitch (I say pitch, but I mean “patchy, weedy field that smells like shit on occasion”). At least around 40% of the time.
2. It’s a great outlet for my slowly boiling temper. Rugby is, hands down, some of the stress releasing/inducing things I’ve ever done. It’s great to come down to the field after a long, frustrating day of work and literally smash into other people as hard as humanly possible. Anywhere else that’s called “assault and battery”, but down there it’s just “an aggressive style of play”. It is legally the most violent thing I’ve ever done and gotten away with, and if a great way to purge some of that anger over petty stuff. Without it, I’m going to lose my primary mode of exercise and catharsis. I’m slowly going to turn into Jabba the Hutt with a temper. Great, that’s going to be pretty.
3. I lose my immediate go-to excuse. Rugby, if you aren’t aware, is a game where players tend to get injured with some frequency (more on that in a bit). AS such, my immedaite, go-to excuse for not doing something as become some minor rugby injury that I need to rest. Example follows
Friend with terrible taste (FWTT): “Hey Reed, wanna come over tonight and watch the first season of Amish Mafia tonight?”
Me: “Oh, I’d love to, I pulled my…uh…latis..gluetimus..maximus muscle at practice today, I really need to rest up. Sorry!
FTWW: “But we’d just be watching tv…”
Me: “Nope, gotta go, bye!!”
So maybe it isn’t the smoothest maneuver ever, but it gets the job done.
4. I’ll have too much free time. On weekends where we have a game, my time is limited. Friday and Sunday are spent catching up on on the work I’ll be missing out on that Saturday. Because Saturday’s a rugby day (seriously, there’s even a song about it). The entire day is basically down the drain as far as productivity goes, because I can only end up doing five things: rugby, drinking at the social afterwards, napping after the social, getting and drinking again, and then going to bed. And I wouldn’t have it any other way, but with rugby ending I’ll have no idea what to do my time on Saturday. whole 1/7 of my week will be resorted. Maybe I’ll take up basket weaving. Could be fun, right?
5. I can’t motivate myself without the threat of debilitating injuries. I honestly have never seen more people get injured in horrible ways until this year. Sure there was the odd YouTube clip on occasion, but I’ve never actually watched someone get stiff armed into the ground by 6’4″ 240 pound forward and think to myself “Well, that’s concussion number 3 this season.” (I’m looking at you Cole). Until this year at least, where I can now say I know exactly what the sound of someone’s shinbone snapping is like. And that really the kind of motivation I need to et out there and play my best. Quite frankly, I’m a lazy person, and if I can cut corners I will. If I miss a lazy free-throw in basketball, for example, I get another, not that big of a deal. But if you try and tackle someone the wrong way in rugby, you’ve got a pretty decent chance of breaking your neck. Which usually ensures that I’m as attentive and focused as I can be while playing. Nothing like the prospect of spending life as a paraplegic to keep you focused. Though I would get one of those hoper monkeys I guess, so it wouldn’t be all bad.