Tokyo 7's OR Fijians Drink Like Fish

So this particular edition of the blog will consist of photographs.  A few of the photographs have me in them but most were shot by me using a random camera.  Thanks to the guy who let me borrow it!

The tournament was awesome.  It was amazing fun.  There's nothing else to say really, it was superb in every aspect.

The first day was horrific weather-wise; it forced me and one other guy to hide under a tarpaulin (alas I don't have any photographs of that) for about five hours, as our team slowly left the stand.  With about three hours to go it was just us sitting there, with practically the whole stand empty.  Needless to say I was freezing, but it was still immense fun.

Anyway, onto the pictures!

So the pictures are randomised.  I managed to nab pictures with pretty much the whole team.  There were a couple of guys taking pictures, so I'm always looking in the wrong direction.  I'm also pulling stupid faces in half of them.

This little guy cried whenever I looked at him, which was unfortunate because I was sitting next to him and his dad.

This was during the after-party on the Sunday night.  Who is that in the banana outfit?

This tall ginger guy was a definite fan favourite.  On a rugby note: he gave the team huge amounts of ground and was a great source of momentum.  Definitely a good 7's player with a work-rate that belies his height and weight.

So this photograph is actually on the Tokyo 7's facebook page.  The guy on my left owns the camera I was using.  He's also Australian, which is unfortunate considering the outcome of the competition.

No idea who this guy is.

A lot of the 7's players are tiny, speed and nifty footwork being prized on the circuit.  They still have to tackle guys who are pushing 110 kg's though, and they're all shifting at a phenomenal pace.

Another stupid face, another really nice English player.  A lot of the americans were dicks, but the other teams  generally stood out as being genuinely nice, engaging with everyone they came across.

Dan Norton was on my radar prior to this event, as was the no-show Gollings.  They're both supremely talented 7's players, I was lucky to snag this picture with him.

On the Saturday there were about five people in my stand, so it was completely quiet.  I was running up and down the length of the field screaming at these guys - I was loud enough to be sure that they heard me, and I made a couple of them smile.  In no other stop of the tournament would this have been possible, a massive reason why it was so much fun.

This is the first of a sequence.  The eagle-eyed among you might well recognise this kick (assuming you watched the final on TV).  It's the kick that clinched the game, with seconds left on the clock.

The Fijians have massive support wherever they go, which is amazing considering the island is so tiny.  They're mad for 7's.

Two of the american guys on our team, being typical americans.

Some more of the England team.  Despite looking drunk or stoned or something, I was actually completely sober.  Nary a drink passed my lips on the Sunday (during the rugby).

One of the american players who was actually willing to stop for a photo.

This was right at the end, after Oz had won the final.  They were a really friendly group (it probably helps that they'd just won) who didn't mind the hideous slime green jerseys.

One of our guys is painfully Welsh, and he's somehow convinced his wife to deck out in Welsh gear too.  Luckily they were knocked out early so we didn't have to listen to any of his nonsense.

Another one of the 4th placed England team.  At the risk of repeating myself - they're all bloody nice guys.

This is quite possibly the second in the winning dropkick.  I didn't take these ones, by the way.

Natsu is our club treasurer, or organiser or something.  He also plays, and is one of the biggest Japanese guys I've seen play the sport.

This is Oz pushing for the final score.

The South African on the right let me stay round his house for the whole weekend, which is awesome obviously.  This was taken on the Saturday, so the weather is atrocious.  It was blowing an absolute gale, and it rained for hours.

Some of the Welsh players doing the lap of honour.  They were knocked out early on the Sunday, so there weren't many people asking for autographs or asking for pictures.  Plus, it's Wales, a niche market at best.

My nose is massive.  like an eagles beak or something.

Honorary Welshman.

Actual Welshman.

Alistair is the club captain.  Bi-lingual with an eye for style, taste and elegance (I'm not trying to suck up to him because he's captain, honest).  He also let's me stay round his house if needs be, which is nice of him.

This is the South African, sporting a fetching pink shirt.  Shame about the glasses though.

Another shot with Dan Norton.  A player of pure class.

We're nearly at the end of this line of photographs.  Nearly there...

So this Yoko Ono was there on both Saturday and Sunday.  She was absolutely hammered.  Completely wasted.

There's nothing more to say about her really, beyond being a terrible drunkard.

I think this is the last one.  It's interesting to see where his arms are when he's kicking, I can't imagine that's a particularly stable kicking position.

He's got the biggest neck muscles I've ever seen.

I had to include this one because he reckons the cap was on.  Lies.

The guy on the right is a Croatian mafia kingpin, the guy on the left is his hitman.  Inconspicuous.

This guy often plays fly-half for our team, and despite only being 5 foot nothing tall, tends to get through some defensive work.  I've never seen him without a smile either, which leads me to suspect that he's a crazed murderer.

Another one of Dan Norton.  Once again, a great player.

The team probably felt pretty disappointed at being dismantled by the aussies.

It wasn't the last one.  I think this one is actually the first picture, him testing the bounce of the ball.

Every cup winning player gets a tankard and a black eye.

Alistair telling the referee off.

This is quite early on the Saturday, look at the thousands of people who aren't in the stands.  By about three O'clock it was just the two of us there.

The guy in the blue hair was a complete nutter, too.

There were a few England supporters in the crowd, this guy was one of them.  He was a rare England supporter in that he didn't have a massive beer gut.

This guy was one of the Welsh players, again knocked out nice and early so there was plenty of time to take a photo.

This guy stayed with me right till the bitter end on Saturday.  We were both shivering, and I couldn't feel anything below my knees.

It must be strange to see someone outside of Wales supporting the Welsh team.

This guy got the players player of the year award for the season.  He plays at flanker (I think) and gets around the field on attack and defence.  There's nothing else to add, really.

I think this is after Wales won a match.  I can't tell whether that's delight or surprise.

This is on the Sunday night, banana suit and all.

I was going for a sense of scale (this guy is the biggest England player, and he's not that big) but he's signing an undersized kids ball; so it didn't really work.

D.J. Forbes is a fan favourite, despite being a massive dick.  It's strange, because the players everyone likes generally tend to be the flashy try scorers, but this guy does a ton of hard graft and unseen work.

And that's it.  I'm waiting to see if any more photos turn up, if they do I'll put them up too.

Some Rugby Pictures

So today we have a bumper collection of photographs.  There are a lot to get through, so let's get cracking.

They're not in order, so this one is after I scored under the posts, my first try of the game.  As someone pointed out on facebook it's funny to see that all the supporting players are all forwards.

I have no idea what's going on with my face here.  I think that I'm moving so fast the wind is messing up my cheeks... maybe.

This is the trophy for the league we won.  We're currently competing in a cup, so this is unrelated.  We won the league a fair while ago, but we'd never seen the trophy up until now.

Alistair is the club captain who plays scrum-half.  I included this one just because it's a cool photo.

I've no idea what's going on in this photo.  It looks like I'm passing the ball rather than receiving it, and I'm definitely being tackled.  Aside from that, you can create your own caption.

This is after the second try, that guy gave me the ball from a perfect run down the wing.  Everything went right, everything happened perfectly.

Their scrum-half is about to be tackled.  More on this later.

I think the person tackling me is their number 8, so it shows the size disparity (or lack thereof) between the forwards and backs of the two teams.

This is after one of the tries.  This time the winger is with me (as should be the case, instead of forwards).

Look at that hair.

More flowing locks.

This is the after-effect of me hitting one of their players and turning over the ball.

My face just poking out from behind the ref.

This is the scrum-half being hit, the follow-up to an earlier photo.

Back to the first try; there are a few in this sequence.  For some reason the pitch opened up in front of me and I essentially walked over the line.  Anyone could have done it, I'm just glad it was me.

The second try, a twenty metre dash setup by the forward breaking the line, giving it to the winger who then passed it onto me.

Back to the first try.  (I don't know why they're all mixed up)

The referee wasn't too bad.  He sent three of our players off with yellow cards for no apparent reason, but considering the alternative is penalising a team out of the game (as happened a few weeks ago) I think it could have been worse.

Breaking out from our own line.

This is me hitting the guy and turning him over, with help from Nic - the lankiest flanker you ever did see.

The guy without the ball is the winger who setup my second.  Special mention to him for sure.

This looks like it could be during the warmup, but the lack of opposition belies my position (on my own try-line).

This is the build-up to the try.  Apparently I'm an idiot who didn't know where to be for that particular pass, so he pointed to show me where to go.  I do it too, it helps considering he can't speak English and I can't speak Japanese.

Another breakout from a kick.  Time to shift.

T.R.Y time.

The guy with the ball was the first to be sent off.  He also scored a try, so I guess it makes up for the yellow.

More buildup shots for the second try.

Running sideways, I might have got some go-forward from it so I think it's okay.  (Maybe)

Another breakout from our line.

More shots with the cup.

A strong forwards performance provided the platform, despite everything being extremely even in the first half.  (First half score: 0-0)

 That winger, again.

Imagine that's the world-cup.

Let's dance.

Emphatically ensure the ball touches the ground with downward pressure.

The Finals

So for the past few weeks, the rugby team I've been playing with (Tokyo Gaijin) have been working their way through the ranks of a knockout competition.  It's the cup-winners cup; having secured victory in the league we played in, we were entered into this competition against the best of the area.  Tokyo is our area, so we're quite fortunate to play against some of the best around.

We also have to play against the referees, touch judges and instilled racism - but that just galvanises.  I wonder if the locals would persist if they realised that their insistence on trying to fuck us over at every turn made us stronger?  I'm fairly certain they would, hard headed by nature is a term reserved for the Japanese.

Anyway, the match we played at the weekend featured the referee from three weeks ago.  Luckily, (and here is where the mis-direction comes into play) he was a touch judge.  Seemingly relegated from the lofty position of pomp and importance, he was deserving of the trip he suffered at the hands of their full-back as someone was bundled into touch.

Of the game itself, the entire first forty minutes passed without a score.  I hadn't eaten much prior to the game (very stupidly, my own fault) and that caused me to experience highs and lows like no other game I've played.  I hit a guy one minute, only to later fall over.  I passed out right there on the pitch, like so many injections or blood samplings, the tunnel-vision closed in and I went down like a sack.  Luckily I was standing at full-back so none of the opposition saw, it would have been a hole immediately pounced upon by a competent team.

Anyway, I snuck a bite of someones banana at half time (to then be offered one moments later anyway) along with some chocolate and I was good to go.  Except for the whole being completely knackered for ten minutes, then bouncing off the walls for ten minutes, then back to being knackered again.  It was a bizarre experience.  Ups and downs like I've never felt during a match.

Ultimately I came off in the 70th (ish) minute after I banged my knee.  It hurt like hell at the time, and I was petrified that I'd redone an injury from three weeks ago.  Now I've had time to reassess however, it seems less serious than I first thought.  Ice appears to be the key, if anyone is wondering.

So the match itself.  The first forty minutes were a textbook account of defending a tryline.  We started brightly, with a clean break and some nice hands - the bane of the opposition defensive play was the quick off-load, something we generally excel at.  Despite the opportunity, we somehow managed to balls it up and this play would come to summarise the opening half.  I made a couple of breaks in the first half, and a couple in the second half, but they ultimately gained us nothing.  We would knock-on, or get pushed into touch.  Our conversion rate for tries versus clean breaks (by clean breaks I mean showing a clean pair of heels with only a couple of defenders to beat) hovers around the ten percent mark, which means we need to break ten times for a single try.  That needs to go up, we need to convert far more clinically if we're going to win next week.

From an entirely selfish perspective, it's extremely frustrating to see that last pass go to ground when you've put the team through.  It's even worse when you are the one dropping it, everyone has been there.  What it does create in a positive sense, is a will to do more.  If that one went down, I'll just have to do it again and get further this time.  I'll do it again, but ten percent faster, get ten percent further.  What might seem an initially negative reaction to the team can be positively reinforced by flipping it over - the final next week will take everyone firing on all cylinders.

We had a couple of scares in the first half, which considering the amount of time we spent on our line (we were probably staring down a barrel for about thirty minutes total) is exceptional.

The first scare came from a quick switching of attack by the opposition.  They made a break down the blind that was expertly shepherded into touch by our winger.  They also had prime ball on a dozen occasions, the backs were shut down quickly enough that the ball never made it out far enough for any real danger to arise.

The second scare came from a break and kick.  They had a winger (who was reasonably pacey) chase down a ball with three of our players surrounding him.  I assumed our players had him well marshalled, but he kicked into fifth when the ball bounced up, and the covering defence were left wondering where he went.  At this point I was running full-tilt at the corner flag, trying to ward him off.  I hit him with everything I had (except arms) and managed to push him into touch, just shy of the line.  My head was down so I couldn't see whether he grounded it.  To be fair, if he held onto the ball during the tackle I am impressed - I hit him with my best neutron bomb impression.  The referee adjudged him touch bound, the day saved despite reticence on my part (assuming someone else will do my job for me) and everyone breathes somewhat easier.

I made another big hit on someone in the first half.  I hit him with my chest, knocked him back and turned the ball over.  Normally I wouldn't condone a chest-first tackle, but on this occasion I approached the situation from a poor angle and my zeal got the better of self-preservation.  It worked out in the end, at least.

So the second half went much better.  We managed to break through a few times, and the turning point came from one such break.  We'd managed to get in behind them and had set a ruck about ten metres from their line.  We went through a couple of phases, bringing it to five metres.  Then something happened.  I have no idea what, but the ball bobbled, one of our locks went for it but saw me coming up, opting to leave it (he had his back to the opposition so was in a disadvantageous position to say the least).  I managed to catch it on the bounce (at least, I think it was bouncing when I got it) and everything opened up in front of me.  I don't know where their defence was, I don't know why I was in the line (I was playing full-back) but I just strolled over.  Anyone could have scored it, to be fair.  It was a great relief for the whole team, we'd been under the hammer and unable to convert the attacks we'd manufactured up to this point.  I think we just ended up grinding them down.

From a personal perspective, my second try came from a break down the wing by one of the forwards.  He broke the line, off-loaded in the tackle after a couple of metres gained, giving it to our winger.  He then bombed down the wing with one man to beat.  I was in support (just like the Foden try at the weekend, but of course, much cooler) and he passed it inside with perfect timing.  So many of these two on ones bomb when playing amateur rugby, because everyone panics.  You either hit the man and pass out of the tackle, or draw him and pass before the tackler.  The second option is much safer, unless you wait too long, in which case they will get an interception and will definitely score.  Also, the supporting runner often tends to overrun the carrier, meaning when/if a pass is made, it ends up being forwards.  This winger kept his cool, passed at the perfect moment, and I was in for an easy twenty metre stroll under the posts.

In all, I coughed up a few balls again, something that will ultimately bite me in the arse soon.  I made about four clean breaks in total, none of which came to anything.  I didn't miss a tackle, which is always a big objective.  In all I had an indifferent game, but one that put the team forwards, rather than backwards.  It certainly wasn't an all-encompassing performance by any individual, but as a team we eased past them in the second half to put 39 points on the board.  That points tally was founded upon the forwards work, and one of the second rows deservedly earned man of the match.

I have no qualms about saying that every game I play, I aim for a man of the match performance.  I want it every single game, and to not get it is a blow.  I'll just have to try harder next time.

The final for this competition is next week, so we'll see how preparations go.  I'm off to the gym in fifteen minutes to get some recovery weights in.

To end on a positive note, I passed the ball out of the back of my hand a few times, real cool like.  It was pro.  You had to be there.