SCRUMMING DOWN AT DE LA SALLE

SCRUMMING DOWN AT DE LA SALLE
When I think of my playing days, in the far distant past, I wonder that a vertically-challenged guy like me, living in United mad Manchester(I was delivering newspapers on the night the news of Manchester United's fatal plane crash in Munich came in) ever took it up.
The first influence was-going to North Manchester Grammar School where, as well as being exposed to new wonders such as-Chemistry, Physics,Biology,Geometry, Algebra,French,Latin(yuk!!!) wearing a uniform, hot showers and sport played on grass, rather than the brick-shale of my home suburb's sports ground(the "red rec"-bit hard on goalkeepers knees-sissy if you wore pads!!)-I discovered rugby. As one gets nowhere in soccer in Manchester without beiung able to kick equally well with both feet and (unlike my hero, Sir Bobby Charlton) being an incorrigable right-footer, I found that being robust, having an excess of stamina and being not too short(at age 12)compared with my peers, I could play this game and hold my own.
Secondly-an aptitude for this sport at school added to my academic performance, a reputation which won me both the captaincy of my house(Scott-named after the famous Manchester Guardian editor and owner, soon to feature in a book I am planning) and ultimately Head Prefect of the thousand-boy school, with all that meant in terms of social kudos and positional power (Yes I know that you will undertand the heady nature of that,Julia). Also it provided a controlled and legal outlet for all my suppressed teenage angst and bottled-up explosive violence(probably why becoming a Teddy boy thug seemed mild stuff compared with scrumming down against the "left-footers" at De La Salle-scene of many epic inter-denominational battles and post match cameraderie)
Thirdly-it saved my first year at Selwyn College Cambridge( our founder,Bishop Selwyn, "Christianised' the Maoris-hence the pectoral cross set in the college chapel alter-all that remained of a missionary who was "eaten" in course of his duties and a college of the same name being in Auckland) where I was all at- sea, lonely and feeling very academically and socially inferior(those public school blokes really knew how to throw the born-to-rule barbs and appeared older and smarter than they subsequently proved to be.) All of that changed on a dark, foggy, cold and rainy afternoon on a mud-bath of a pitch when, playing for the college second XV, I distinguished myself with numerous suicidal falls on the ball, to the frustration of the opposition's marauding pack ( stamping and raking with aluminium studs was acceptable if not always endurable) and by saving the reputation of our Welsh fullback (who despite being all weaving,kicking-elegance but lacking in physical courage, went on to represent the University second team) by covering his feeble attempts at tackling(not wanting to get his short-shorts muddy) and becoming the last line of very stubborn(thankless) defence. When, GOD in the shape of Martin Bell,a giant and fierce Scot who, as well as being the Oxford and Cambridge heavy-weight boxing champion ( much like Tony abbott at Oxford) was Captain of Selwyn rugger, invited me to "drinks" in his "rooms."
After overcoming my embarassment at arriving in my school blazer when all others wore dinner suits(typical one-upmanship or was it put-downmanship?) and asking for beer when champers was the go, I discovered that I was to be in the first XV on Saturday playing in London against United Banks and that most of those present were not much if at all older than me and though much "smoother" spoken were by no means smarter. I was soon told how to "muck' up my new gown to look like a veteran , where to buy cheaper text books and which lectures( especially those about medieval "technology",on Saturday mornings) could be safely avoided. Life was suddenly sweeter and I headed home for the Christmas vacation a dedicated Selwyn man-with one of the most God-awful hangovers I have ever suffered-so bad that endeavouring to cool it, I stuck my head out of the train for much of the journey north to Sheffield and when obliged to pull it back in by a ticket collector, it was capped by snow!
Subsequent social rewards were tours of Holland and Belgium where we played at the great universities of Delft and Leiden and even against a somewhat lacklustre Belgian team. But the beer, joke telling and singing were more than just memorable.
The first game I played(appeared in) in Australia was at the Drummoyne ground in Sydney in 1968 where I trialed for North sydney. I was an unfit 25 year old, very pale-skinned Pom, trying to run and tackle 18 year old sun-tanned surfy giants on an "Autumnal" 30c Sydney afternoon, on a ground whose surface had more in common with a concrete parade ground than the green, green grass of home. At that moment I perceived a preference for the joy of becoming a regular spectator at my local Coogee oval,sitting on the grass, basking in winter sun, enjoying several beers and hot meat pies whilst watching Randwick's(and Australia's) Ella brothers weaving their magic for a modest entry fee of less than $5. I never played again(took up squash instead.)
But now,in Melbourne, where rugby missionaries are hoping to emulate the triumphant incursion of the Melbourne Storm Rugby League team into the tribal homeland of Aussie Rules football, Quade Cooper and James O'connor of Wallaby fame are to join 'The Super-XV Rebels' next season. So, I am tempted to become a spectator again. Buying a membership is a bit steep(although one is under cover and gets a seat) but I can still manage to buy a beer and a pie.
So, I am off to Aucland on Friday to see the cream of the world's players perform and hopefully at tournament's end there will be a green and gold glow over the land of the Long(All) Black Cloud.