Ten Commandments of Rugby
1. Thou shalt not hesitate at the Breakdown, but be mighty in the seizing of your Rightful Ball; for though it is written that the meek shall inherit the earth, this is verily but a poor translation, the meek shall assuredly be trampled unto the earth.
2. Thou shalt not speak profanely of the Whistler, nor question the purity of his birth, even though he be blind to the transgressions of thine enemies at the Ruck and the Maul, and whistleth them not.
3. Thou shalt not smite thine enemies with an clenched fist, yea, even in retaliation; for it is written that the Whistler and the Flag Waver shall assuredly be blinded to the coward which delivereth the first punch, and only see that which avengeth it second. Have thou faith that what goeth round shall surely come to pass again, and verily, in the fullness of time, the evil among men shall be found at the bottom of the Ruck.
4. Thou shalt not kiss thy Teammate on the mouth, even when he hath Scored; for such is an abomination unto Rugby, especially he that kisseth in Tongues, unless it cometh to pass that thou shouldst play with the circular balls, or the four posts, for then it is truly expected of thee.
5. Thou shalt not take the Word of the Lord thy Coach in vain, for blessed is the Word of thy Lord. Verily, thou shalt wonder at His mighty wisdom and sticketh thou then to His Game Plan lest He acquainteth thee with those of his disciples who labour in the lower grades.
6. Thou shalt not Chip nor Kick for Touch if thou be numbered amongst the props or if thou wear any jersey below that of the number 9; for this is an abomination unto the Word of the Lord thy Coach, and surely shalt thy soul and thy body be His at Training, perhaps in everlasting pain.
7. Thou shalt not run across the field with the ball in hand, but see that thou runneth straight ahead upfield; for it is written in the Word of the Lord thy Coach that the touchline is the best defender.
8. Thou shalt not Kick the Ball unto the hands of thine enemies unless thou first maketh it to bounce; for then the Spirit of the Bounce of the Ball shall bring confusion amongst them, and if thy heart be pure shall command that it bounceth back unto you.
9. Thou shalt not pass the ball to a Brother thy Teammate about to be smashed by thine enemies, unless it be known to all Men that he oweth you money, or hath rogered someone dear to your heart, in which case all shall be forgiven and then, verily, thou mayest pass to him right slowly and on high.
10. Thou shalt not vomit upon the Brethren of thy Team after the game, nay even though thou hast partaken right fully of the waters of Guinness or of the entrails of pigs in a pie or of the beans which baketh right slowly in an earthen crock, for this shall be deemed unmanly in the eyes of thy Brethren, and they mayest do it unto you.
Rugby with the Masters
By Rupert McCall
When the battle scars have faded And the truth becomes a lie When the weekend smell of liniment,Could almost make you cry. When the last rucks well behind you, And the man who ran now walks, It doesn't matter who you are The mirror sometimes talks. Have a good hard look son That melon's not so great.
The snoz that takes a sharp turn sideways. Used to be dead straight. You're an advert for arthritis You're a thorough bred gone lame And you ask yourself the question Why the hell you played the game?
Was there logic in the head knocks In the corks and in the cuts Or did common sense get pushed aside For manliness and guts. And do you sometimes sit and wonder How your time would often pass In a tangled mess of bodies With your head up someone's arse.
With a thumb hooked up your nostril Scratching gently on your brain With an overgrown Neanderthal Rejoicing in your pain. Mate, you must recall the jersey That was shredded into rags Then the soothing sting of dettol On a back engraved with tags.
Now it's almost worth admitting. Although with some degree of shame, That your wife was right in asking Why the hell you played the game. But then with every wound reopened As you grimly reminisce it
Comes the most compelling feeling yet Christ, you bloody miss it. You see, from the first time that you lace a boot And tighten every stud That virus known as rugby Has been living in our blood When you dreamt it When you played it All the rest took second fiddle.
There will always, always be a breed of people Hopelessly infected If there's a team mate Then you'll find him Like a gravitational force