*Warning: Today’s post contains implied foul language*
Uh oh. I’m in love.
(No, not with this guy, although I took his photo because I think I recognized him as a super-fan from a promo of Blue Bulls fans.)
Not even with these guys…
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a hockey girl, and specifically Pittsburgh hockey at that.
But rugby is now my second favorite sport.
How can I explain, in the span of one night, how Rugby replaced American Football as my second favorite sport?
I guess I’ll just explain it in my very best, western Pennsylvania trucker mouth: F*ck the helmets. F*ck the shoulder pads.
Even our beloved Hines Ward of the Pittsburgh Steelers says “If you want to prevent concussions, take the helmet off: Play old-school football with the leather helmets, no facemask,” Ward said. “When you put a helmet on you’re going to use it as a weapon, just like you use shoulder pads as a weapon.”
So yeah, F*ck the helmets. And I would add, F*CK the sissy-a$$ time-outs every ten seconds in the game. If there’s a pile-up, keep that d@mn ball moving! Get the game over in 90 minutes without all the p*ssy-a$$ time-outs and breaks, and contesting this that and every other whiny-a$$ tidbit. And half-time? How about just 10 minutes!
Just. Play. Ball!
And oh man, they did!
Don’t get me wrong. I can’t really tell you a scrum from a bum (except that seeing bums is how I remember scrums), or why the little guy is “the 9” is “the hooker?” No, that’s not it. The 9 is not the hooker but there is a hooker and he’s not part of the dancing girls.
But I’m going to learn.
I was on the edge of my seat watching that ball move. I loved watching the guys launch each other into the air. Kurt was likewise fascinated by the remote control truck delivering a little tee onto the field (small, shiny objects 😉 ) and the bouncing dancers, which I can only describe as “if U.S. cheerleaders created choreography in their living room and had no evident gymnastic ability, but really great bras” (medium, shiny objects 😉 ).
No, really. It probably sounds like we should insert a giant “meow” right there, but let’s face it. I’m used to watching American Football, and I was expecting something like the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, who have incredible choreography and are part contortionist. These dancing girls have beautiful bodies and nice faces, and I’ve heard they’re actually very nice ladies as well, but my bar is already set to American cheer standards.
Actually, as much as we were both drooling over the cheerleaders (me lusting in envy of those tiny waists; him in, um, er, well…lust), Kurt and I could not stop watching the match! It was great to learn the names and faces of the players since our friends had grabbed us a program. I’m pretty sure I even recognized one or two from the Hazeldean gym. Fortunately for them, my stalking is limited to writers, and I turn into the ice queen while working out anyway.
Okay, well it’s off to the gym for me right now, actually. My usual 07:00 workout is a 16:00 today. I’ll try to find a “Rugby for dummies” book before I post on it again.
Love, Marla
