By Bill Wilt

The gathering and travels of the southern contingent of the Morris Masters to the final spring, 2019 old boy’s palooza (hosted by the anniversary-celebrating Bayonne Bombers) would provide several clues for the day that lay ahead. Throughout this summary will be hidden three carefully placed experiences acting as metaphors for the competitive rugby match that would follow: 1) a delayed departure; 2) diaper-talk; and 3) a rolling turd.

Most old boys will have the shared experience of searching for players on the morning of an away match. Did he collapse on the fraternity floor? Who did he go home with last night? These were once common questions as numbers were counted ahead of an inevitably late departure. So it was for the southern contingent as we waited for all our confirmed travelers to arrive. But late we were not. Instead, the sweeping arc of time had changed very little in our rugby world; disorganized and even later-arriving players passed on warm-ups to debate who was responsible for the missing Morris jerseys. But even as we began to debate the design of our next set of jerseys, we raided the back-up kit of the hosting team to become, simply, the Blues.

The Blues consisted of aging ruggers from Morris, the Gents, Lions and Long Island. We would take the field against a robust set of Bayonne regulars and reunioners, in turn joined by a few strict adherents to the rugby code of honor — late arrivers from other teams.

The first 20 (or, 25 minutes, it was never clear) was dominated by the raging Bombers. Artfully describing who scored and how requires more knowledge of the game than this writer possesses – but they were good and ended the first period ahead…15-5 is the best guess. Alas, as is often the case, all that running saps one’s strength which presented the Blues with an opportunity to narrow the gap in the…

…second 20-minute period (or 25, it was never clear). The Blues didn’t dominate the second period – the match was notable and enjoyed by all because there was no domination — but they did outscore the Bombers on quick taps off penalties near their try line. That a Morris/Blues master was the referee awarding those penalties was deemed sheer coincidence by those watching from the Blues’ sideline with vigorous disagreement voiced by the Bomber reunioners. After scores by the Blues’ scrummy Clint and Greeesack the score entering the decisive 3rd period (of either 20 or 25 minutes) was approximately 22-20. The extra 2 being the only hotly contested matter of the otherwise enjoyable day — were conversions agreed upon at the outset, or, even legal in old boy’s rugby? The Blues argued in the affirmative after Ryan vanN scored and made his kick.

The third period saw more back-and-forth with the score 27-25 in favor of the Blues after a try from reluctant forward Adam Brennan and smart passing by the Bomber line led to their score. Somewhere near the final minutes the Bombers were given the chance to steal victory from the jaws of defeat specifically because a Morris/Blue was heard on the sideline saying, “We might actually win!”. The rugby gods didn’t like that, and the Bombers surged toward the try-line. But a deal was quickly struck with said gods (heads up — it might be awhile until we win again); the ball was turned over and the Blues stormed back up the field led by the diaper-whispering duo of Ryan vanN and Dave Kettner. Both fathers of infants, their participation in the southern carpool had afforded them the opportunity to discuss baby percentiles and diaper sizes for much of the trip. Their fellow travelers — father of teens — thought them, well, idiots. But the joke was on us…their bonding put them on a special brain wave which allowed them to communicate perfectly on that final drive. One diaper whisperer would draw three defenders in to pummel him just after the ball was slipped to the other whisperer for the final score.

With the duo now the pride of the southern carpool, an assist for their score was awarded to the rolling turd. The rolling turd is the family name for the ‘station car’ that transported Morris’ southern contingent to the final palooza. A grim-looking vehicle from the outside, its interior isn’t much better with wrestling tape holding beige vinyl together in several places. The engine is ok, though it makes unnatural sounds while getting up to speed and sometimes needs a bit of help — premium gas — to make that special Saturday night delivery. But as with the 45+ old boys that turned out to recapture a bit of our youth at the final palooza, with a little rest and some maintenance over the summer, the rolling turd will return in the fall.

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