To promote the growth and development of the game of Rugby

Masters First Game of the 2016 Season


6 Nations has passed.  Easter has passed.  My gas has passed.  It means that the true harbinger of Spring has come – a dropkick beneath the Triboro Bridge to start the Masters season.  It means Papi’s first muster.  It means my first match report of the season, or as one person calls it:  foreplay (but more on that later).

The day began with ominous overtones.  Papi had predicted that the day would be perfect for rugby.  Now we all know that Papi is never wrong when it comes to scotch, cee-gars and rugby.  It’s just that in some very rare instances, he is less right than others.  Meteorologically, he was correct – if we were playing the Texas Ex’s – in Texas.  As I woke up yesterday morning and looked outside, it was a perfect Spring day – once you got beyond the 40,000 foot storm cover.  Even in Mid-August, Randall’s Island will be cold and windy.  Add rain to the mix and you have one atmospheric wet blanket, sort of like a cold, wet environmental yoga pant.  Sorta like that feeling you get when you roll over in bed in the morning and discover that you were too sound asleep/drunk/lazy to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.  (Well, NOT that I can speak personally of this, of course, just merely trying to convey the feelings that OTHERS have expressed).

BUT, Mother Nature cooperated.  By the time we kicked off, the rain had stopped and the wind had calmed down.  As our 2 host clubs, the Village Lions and the Gentlemen of NY, both had enough sense to take their time kitting up, it was up to us to face the Greys.  With the twin mottos of “you can never have too many Drew graduates on one team” as well as “you can never have too many Ralph’s on one team”, we eagerly accepted the services of Ralph Sorrentino and the other Long Island Ducks that flew in for the day.  Couple with some young Columbia grads that Dave Kettner had brought, surely our luck would change!

Frankly (and never call me Shirley) we played the perfect game. . . . that is, if you count losing every scrum, not making more than 2 passes in a row and missing tackles as the perfect game.  Although it was our first game, we seemed to be in mid-season form.  The Greys jumped on us in the 1st half, running up 4 quick scores.  Our 2nd half was much better, as we only allowed 2 scores.  Due to the confined schedule of the day, this game was also mercilessly our last.

After some knoshes and pops on the pitch after the game, we would retire to Adam’s Not Beer Garden to further dissect our efforts. Thank you Adam for the hospitality.

Now, back to the foreplay.  Recently I learned that to the spouse of one of our members, my write-ups serve as a veritable verbal Viagra. This person has implored Doc Rich to schedule more games.  Not because he wants to play more, but because this would mean more game reports from me, and more opportunities to consummate the marriage for him.  If you had suggested that my words could have such an effect on the fair sex, I would have spewed whatever I was drinking back at you.  ChaCha will gladly tell you.  We are only together because many moons ago at a bar that no longer exists, she allowed me to pick her up.  Many years hence and other members are now using my words to pursue their amorous endeavours.  What can I say.  I am a team player. . . on. . . .and apparently off . . . the pitch.

Thus endeth our first week.  In 2 weeks, the travelling freak show will move to NJ to allow us to be host.  Many an opponent said yesterday that their mouths were already watering at the chance to dine on Big Al’s jambalaya.  The pressure is on Al!

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