Panama (spwebdesign) wrote,

I don't know which will kill me, the rugby, or the party afterwards....

Today was a "light" practice. It sure wasn't light for us forwards, though. Light maybe in that we did less running, maybe only about a mile all told. But my arms and back will be hurting tomorrow. We finally practiced lineouts, which, as a prop, involved me lifting one of the other forwards as high as possible so that he can catch the throw-in, and then forming a ruck around him when he comes down. We also finally learned how to do scrums. I'm going to be a loose head prop, which means I'm on the front line with my head outside of one opponent's head (as opposed to being on the other side with my head wedged between two opponents' heads). I may be big and strong, but rugby is a game of leverage, and I am having trouble getting low enough. Sometimes I can compensate with my strength, but that is also asking for a neck or back injury. The guys have drilled into me constantly that I need to get as low as possible to gain leverage and then drive forward from my legs, keeping my back arched (hollow) and my neck straight, eyes looking up. One guy even said to me, "Sacrifice your nose, your face, be willing to eat dirt. That scrum is gonna collapse at some point, and you don't want to break your neck, so you have to, absolutely have to, keep your neck like this." What have I gotten myself into?!

On Thursdays after practice the team gathers at Punter's Pub for some team bonding and cheap beer. I was able to stay under the radar most of the night without drinking a beer, but eventually I was spotted and given a glass. Of course, these pint glasses have a way of filling up if you're not too careful. (And, in the spirit of wanting to seem like regular old bloke, I'm not going to turn down every beer offered me.) Then of course I joined a trio of sexy young ladies in a shot of tequila because it was an excuse to get friendly with the best looking one, who just so happened to be named Emily. (I wish the guys had told me a little sooner that she's dating one of the other rugby players. I wonder why she gave me her number when I asked.) Anyway, I only had maybe two pints of beer and the shot of tequila, all within an hour, but that was enough to make me a little unsure of myself. I wasn't drunk by any stretch of the imagination, nor probably even all that tipsy. I was told I wasn't slurring my speech or anything. But I just didn't feel that I could trust my reflexes or motor coordination. In my opinion, I was in no condition to drive -- one can't be too careful about that. So I called Tubby to see if he could help me out. When he couldn't, I asked briganski, despite the expired license. He said it would take him an hour and a half to get to me, so we decided he didn't need to. I didn't know who else I could call about this, so I ended up staying an extra hour, drinking nothing else but water, until I felt fully in command of my mind and body again. But what happens if I've had more to drink than just two beers and a shot? I will never gamble with people's lives and drive if I'm even the slightest bit out of sorts due to alcohol. But the thought of leaving my truck, essentially my only asset, parked somewhere downtown with some valuables inside isn't all that appealing either. I mean, if I have to, I take the T or call a cab -- that's a no-brainer. But I wish I had someone I knew I could call if I ever needed the help (not that I anticipate having this need very often).
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