What the What?

What's that?  An article from the BBC that's actually interesting, mediated and articulate - without pandering?  Surely an impossibility!  Alas, it's about sex; a topic I fear will mean very few people will read it and of those who do, none will be the targeted 'problem,' audience.  Read it and you'll see what I mean.

So we had training on Saturday with Lion.  I didn't pick up any shampoo this time (I'm running out!) but I did get a bottle of water (shhhh, don't tell anyone!).  It was pretty hot, as it always is.  There's nothing much else to report really.  Sunday is when the fun started.

I played with the Tokyo Gaijin in the first game of our shuto league season.  The shuto league is the easier of the two leagues we play in, despite it still being over thirty degrees.  This game was against a French ex-pat team who have exceptional hearing, because they must have listened in to my frog jokes beforehand; you'll see why later.

We played them in a friendly six months ago, we won 100-0.  A pretty impressive victory, and the biggest win I've ever been privy to (I've lost 130-0 before, a world record for rugby league in case you were wondering).

The game started with the humidity pushing the absorbency of my clothing to the limit, but our forwards immediately put the hammer down meaning I didn't have to run much.  They rumbled it up the field with the help of a couple of crash balls from our centres.  After a few minutes they pushed over the line, a great team effort.  The forwards were completely dominant for the whole game.  Regardless who threw into the lineout, or who fed into the scrum, our forwards won the ball.  To say it was a dominant performance is underselling their push.  The french were down and out with only ten minutes played, making the rest of the match substantially easier for everyone else.  My first contribution was to skin the inside centre, then the full-back and finally get bundled over the line by their team.  The video replay was inconclusive, but I maintain downward pressure was generated.

This move started from their ten metre line, which deceptively named, isn't actually ten metres away from their try line.  It was incredibly selfish because there were several people shadowing me the whole way, but in fairness there were also opposition players between me and them.

The second try came from the number eight peeling off the back of the ruck and drawing just about every player on the pitch - I came in for a switch (scissors) and took the ball with acres of space.  The defensive line opened up as if emulating the various, pustulating grazes I received from the bone-dry ground.  This was around our ten metre line, which is very far away from their line.  Luckily their defence was pretty disinterested even at this early stage, and they didn't put up much of a chase.

The third came from Nikola Pavesic, a Croatian (maybe the first I've ever met?) forward who is as ungainly as he is good.  He is the other foreigner who plays with Lion, the other team I'm currently part of.  He ran a sideways line across the backs (always discouraged wholesale when you're a kid, always effective when used properly) drawing in, once again, their entire team.  He passed the ball out of the tackle - it was somewhat awkward because I'd gone too early and it hit my shoulder.  I caught it after a couple of attempts and ran in under the posts.  Again, there was no defence to speak of.

The fun started early in the second half, after I'd posted a hat-trick (I think that might have something to do with it) and after I'd monstered a couple of their team, forcing a couple of turnovers when they were in promising positions.

They broke down the right wing, using their backs to send a prop, of all people away and unmarked.  I was already there, so lined him up perfectly.  He saw me, and I swear to god, this big fat french prop was smiling.  He didn't try to step or swerve, he just ran straight into me.  So I obligingly hit him, stopped him not just dead in his tracks but lifted him up, drove him back a metre and dumped him on his ass.  Unbeknownst to myself, I'd also forced the knock-on, the big fat frenchie unceremoniously dropping the ball.  So a triple whammy.  This big fat frenchie was humiliated by an English back, a full-back at that; and he'd been dispossessed.  Well, that was it wasn't it.  He had me in a completely exposed position (he'd grabbed my shirt in the tackle with one arm, leaving his other free to let the fists fly; coupled with both my arms being around him due to the tackle having been enacted) while maneuvering himself into an advantageous position.  The fists started flying and I was fucked.  It took about three punches before I managed to cover myself up, and even then I couldn't get my arms completely in front of my face so he was hitting my nose and mouth with typical french aplomb.  I won't lie, he landed a couple of good ones.  He didn't split anything, nor did he draw blood, but I was dazed.  The tackle was perfectly legal, even the referee agreed which led to the opposing player being sent off, but only on a yellow card.  To be honest I was aggrieved that it was only yellow, seeing as he spent an eternity trying to re-arrange my features.  I was also too stunned (at first because of what was happening, then because of the blows) to throw any of my own, so I curled up like a girl and waited for the kicking.  A few of the lads jumped in pretty quickly though, so thanks to them.

Everyone was in agreement that it was a completely fair and legal challenge, even the referee - the opposition claimed it was a spear tackle (how his ass hit the ground first and it be a spear tackle is beyond me) and claimed to have photographic evidence (on of their ranks had a monstrous zoom lense and a big old camera) but I've yet to see the evidence.  If and when it does emerge, I'll put it up here for the whole world to see, regardless of who's right or wrong.

Anyway, I was quiet for twenty minutes, I got snaffled a couple of times, had the ball stolen once, and generally did nothing.  Then for the last five or ten minutes I was back in action, being fed a couple of balls to create breaks.  The fourth and last try came from a kickoff, one of our players gave me the ball, and skinning the first line of defence I ran away to score out wide.  It was a generally good game, and thanks to my brain rebooting after the beating, I was able to continue and prove effective late in the second.

All-told, an eventful day on the field.


On a non-rugby note, we've got speech contests coming up.  I've written and re-written the script for the second year student half a dozen times now.  The second year teacher just handed me a piece of paper; the script I've worked on is now unrecognizable.  Where once there was clarity, confusion reigns.  Where once there were simple, concise sentences, now rambling.  Where once there was English, there is now Japlish.

In an interesting twist, the second year overseer has asked me to speak into one of those, voice recordey boxes so there is a permanent record for the student to repeatedly listen to.  Fine, I say.  I'll do it as an MP3 and they can listen to it on their phone or ipad, whatever the cool kids are listening to these days.

What's an MP3?  I'm asked.  Oh jeez...  It's like a small cd player.  They can listen on their phones.

Oh, is the reply.  But no one has one of those.

I was unable to contain the look that obviously appeared on my face.  Whether it was shock, or purely stupefied I can't be certain, but it registered that she'd said something dumbfounding as she continued; yeah, only the really bad students have phones or MP3's.

A couple of seconds passed as I processed this information.  Oh, realisation suddenly dawning, she means at school, obviously they're not allowed to bring this stuff to school.

No is the reply.  At home too.  Only the really bad students have cellphones or MP3 players at home too.  They're not allowed them.  They only have CD's.

I'm using anecdotal evidence from my own personal experience here, but that means roughly 105% of all Japanese students are horrendous, awful people who should be put to death because not only do they all have mobile phones, they all have MP3 players too.  That's like a double whammy of horribleness.  Only CD's; really.  I'm pretty sure my grandad has an MP3 player, yet if he could purchase music on vinyl he would happily jack all this electronic stuff and retread the timeline fantastic.

I give up.  I'm going to make some token changes then give it back to her, this poor kid condemned to spending the next month learning gibberish - I feel for you, child.