PHOTOS TO FOLLOW.
The last game is over and I’ve managed to come through this tournament with a sore nose, shagged left knee and enough black bruises to make me look like a Dalmatian. But the last game proved a real test of courage. we started off doing pretty well, but the Scots had other ideas of how the game would play out. Their back line fast and furious proved a hand-full with a fly half weighing in at 18 stone, and all in the belly, was carving up our line like a hot knife through butter. I’d opted to take the second half of the game and watched with anticipation at the boys, forging forward heads down in battle. Stevie Shaw GPRC, was doing his best to tackle everything in his path, and if it wasn’t in his way, he’d chase it down until he caught it. Rowan just did what Rowan does, picks up the ball and smashes you out of his way. these guys are fun to play rugby with and their work load far out weighted any of the others. For me, I’m the pretty boy of the team and yelled encouragement from the sideline until I was called upon to take over yet another injured oldie, this time a puffed out golden oldie at fly half. Don’t be mislead with the name golden oldie, this game was anything but. Pride was on the line and we wanted a win to prove to our American playing buddies we as Kiwi’s were well worth the trouble it took to get us to Edinburgh. The game see-sawed from side to side, puffing and complaining about the referee calls was always on the cards, but we pushed on to be level in the second quarter.
The second quarter was just as intense as the first. Jim (the lawyer) the team captain taking the ball at the kick off goes to ground and the forwards power forward. Buzz the half back feeds the ball through the backs and before you can blink, we are over in the corner. We battle back and forth until finally we are down by one try. In the last dying minutes of the game we needed to peg that try back. Steve takes the ball forward and as usual Rowan is on his left side clearing the path like a gladiator on HEAT. (not sure what a gladiator on heat looks like, but it sounds good). I’m already on the deck looking up at the ball as it heads north towards the wing. Oh no, 12 second Bob Coyne is on that wing, I’m screaming internally, “you better score Bob or your bloody dead”. The ball reaches 12 second Bob, and my GOD, he catches it and is running for the line. With 12 second Bob heading for the corner, the hornets are zeroing in on him and I see they are wanting some honey, and 12 second Bob just happens to be the flower with the nectar. I’m starting to get worried as I see the vapour trail of the Scottish hornets as the cross hairs on their sights are narrowing. The first Sottish hornet reaches out and is a malt Scottish whisky whisper away from bringing down the 8 stone Bob (wringing wet that is). Then from out of no where, the after burners came on and the little wirey 12 second Bob, was off, veering to the right he dives and the try is scored (THE MYTH IS DEAD, LONG LIVE THE NEW MYTH).
Everyone is relieved especially Bob as he can now keep his testicles. (we won’t go there). The ref calls full time and once again the back slapping and cheers of laughter return to the valley. I cannot help but be proud of this day, as I’ve watch and played with old men, such as myself, as we stand in the cold, in the middle of Edinburgh and reminisce about the last 60 minutes of great runs, and fair play. The chortle of who provided the best tackle or tactical attack comes from the banter between the backs or forwards. The demeanour of post war analysis will always play a part of the rugby language, each story changing with grandeur as the caught fish gets bigger as the fisherman tells the tale.
TODAY has been a great day and the team dinner tonight will be had with alot more huff and puff. any way must go….ECM