So all this happened because Rory wanted a bit of a kiss and a cuddle with the okes.
Obviously we wouldn't comply, so he arranged some full-contact
rugby on the beach - four a side - seven little girls and I.
Who won? Who cares. I know we were losing when Tim realised
we were on the comeback trail and pulled a sickie.
He was obviously scared that I would try and get revenge for the
stiff arm to the face he gave me earlier in the game.
The fact that his toe was lying at 90 degrees to his other
toes did not convince me he was injured. Nor did the photo
he sent me the next day of his foot. I know for a fact that
Morag's feet look just like that. Just more hairy.
She must have shaved them for this photie.
Anyway, there were no big hits as far as I remember.
Rory was obviously a bit bigger than the rest of us lightweights
but he likes it like that (softy), but we just ganged up on him
and lifted him off the ground, ripping the ball off him.
Needless to say, I was the best player on the beach.
Buff wasn't bad, but you can't take someone seriously
when they wear swimwear to a rugby game.
He tried to show me who was boss and he did - me.
Buff's a big girl. He goes down like a cheap prozzie.
Buff knocks on... again.
Buff runs away from me (I'm in the blue shirt). Look how scared he is.
Matthew makes a break.
These three shots show me making tackles (did anyone else make any tackles?) Top left, I'm obscured but Tim actually wet himself here as I homed-in on him. It was pretty gross.
Top right, Buff, with ball tucked under armtries in vain to fight me off.
Bottom left, having already made a tackle on Tim, I'm about to jump up again and make the next one too.
The ultimate leader marshalling his troops.
Buff illegally getting in some cheap shots after the whistle. I would never stoop that low myself (or be caught doing it on camera certainly).
Rory kicks off.
Steve cringes at the thought of being tackled by me.
Before and after: The Carew express steamrolls Ian.
The panoramic beach shot.
Struggling to breathe?
Tim tries to round one of the youngsters. Don't be silly Tim, you're not me.
Afterwards a few of us stayed around to sign autographs to the clovelly locals. Steve and Ian helped get the fans into an orderly line for me and I signed.
Nicole brought Patrick along to watch me beat up his Dad - pretty cruel if you ask me - but maybe it was a lesson in... 'Don't count on your dad to protect you' - in which case, fair enough.
Tackle of the day I hear you ask? Me of course - too many to count really but Nicole managed to get this one. Normally I would dislodge the ball but butter-fingers Carew managed to hold onto this one. I think he's pretending that the tryline is close. Ian is smiling cos he's not getting kop-stumped this time. Notice that no one is running to help Rory - they know it's a losing battle against me. They're hoping he'll pass. Silly silly. Rory can't pass.
1 comment:
I am only writing a comment because I don't want you to have the feeling that you are shouting into the wilderness, in much the same vein as you ran for the wilderness (touchline) when I bore down on you for yet another devastating tackle. Who knows why your "team" mates even passed you the ball - but I suspect it was for humour value alone.
Your recollections of the game are certainly the result of the some serious impacts you received. For the record, all of which felt to me like a meat mallet smashing a ripe avo.
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