I've not broken a leg, don't worry.
I played rugby on Sunday, with a massively bandaged right hand. It looked like I was beginning a particularly unusual mummification process - particularly gruesome considering I'm still alive.
I didn't re-hurt that particular area, but what I DID manage to do, was get a massive headache. I was holding one of the little opposition players off the floor, when someone belted me with a forearm to the face. This put me out for a few seconds, and besides from the image of a big, fat, wobbly forearm coming towards my nose, I remember not much of anything for the next ten minutes or so. Apart from the headache. I also scored a try at this stage, apparently. Buggered if I can confirm it though, so let's all pretend it happened.
That try aside, I scored two others; definitely. One was from a sublime pass, I was standing extremely flat (as I'm wont to do in Japan, the defence holds off for far too long, allowing a head of steam and certain gain-line advantage) and one of the defenders chose to shoot out and try to nab the ball in mid-air. He failed, I walked a few feet over the line. It was all very easy, thanks to a sublime pass.
The other came from a break from the halfway line. I pushed away from the would-be tackler, ran outside the covering defence, scooted past the full-back (at this point I had slowed down somewhat) with about four cover defenders pushing me ever closer to the line (this was deep into the second half, and I'd been causing them troubles for about sixty minutes, whenever I got the ball there were four shirts in front of me). I dived, dobbing the ball down one handed while flying through the air superman style, lest one of them try to tackle me partway through. It was worthy of a television replay, alas none was forthcoming.
The real trouble started with ten minutes left. I once again broke through the midfield (having started at fullback I was moved to outside centre), beat everyone with the full-back to go, decided to ship it onto the winger who wasn't anywhere near me. My only option was to push a pass backwards fifteen feet, where despite a valiant effort, he was nabbed by a defender. A couple of phases later and I was ready for an inside ball, except, and I don't know why, I blew my hamstring. It exploded like a drag racer, I was short of disengaged pistons, but it felt quite terrible nonetheless. Why it should happen so far into the game is anybodies guess. Oh, and this was five minutes after I landed badly on my right wrist while I was diving at a try scorer to be. He was definitely going to make the line, but I was running as fast as possible and wanted to exact some revenge for being punched, beaten, kicked and generally done ill to. So I did. Childish, yes. Worth it? No. Now both wrists hurt.
I'm deliberately leaving the bad play until last, and as such, the last good thing to come from the game was some of my tackling. I stopped at least three definite scoring opportunities, one with a tackle that was perfectly legal, leaving the attacker winded. While he was on the floor making like a grounded fish, I dived onto the scrum half (at this point there were two defenders and fifteen attacker) which was perfectly legal, as no ruck had formed - causing him to spill the ball backwards, allowing my team to catch up and, eventually, poach some possession. I was particularly proud because milliseconds prior to the tackle I had slipped, causing me to be on one knee during the impact. As I rose onto my feet, the natural forward momentum and position I'd adopted were perfect. One of those lucky flukes that works, I suppose.
Now the bad - my first take at full-back was as inauspicious a start as is possible. I took the ball up, not realising my entire team expected me to kick. I took it into contact with no one there to help. They inevitably got the ball, shipped out it to the backs and scored.
Looking back, it was bloody stupid to run it in, let alone where I eventually chose to do so. I should have taken it onto the wings and let a few of them tackle me, allowing me to release an outside player. Or kick it. But kicking is no fun.
Other bad things - I gave away about forty eighty bajillion million penalties. No matter what I did, it was wrong. I was pinged for not releasing the tackler (I was on my feet, had let go, did a theatrical hand waving ceremony to prove that I had let go while jumping back over the tackled player, picked the ball up and ran off, (no one else was there) only for the whistle to go). I then tackled a chump, deciding not to let him touch the ground. In doing I again came foul of the referee for something. I don't know what this time.
Then, after another break (they happened all over the place, made by any number of players) I was a cog in the passing machine, taking a tackler out of commission, passing backwards to the next person. Except it was forwards apparently. It was only forwards insomuch as backwards is forwards in the southern hemisphere. But we are not in the southern hemisphere.
The one that makes me chuckle is the tackle when I got a forearm to the face (no broken nose, amazingly, although it is sore.) I had the player in the air, forearm to the face, went down, penalised for not rolling away. To be fair, I didn't roll away. To be fair, I didn't do much of anything.
So in summary, it was a game of mixed outcomes for myself. I scored a few, our team lost. I made some great tackles. I busted every part of my body. My running broke the gain-line. I was penalised more times than everyone else on the pitch combined.
It was lots of things, and interesting was certainly one of them.
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