Rugger buggers
On going up to secondary school, I discovered that the ball was now oval, and could be picked up. Fair enough, I'd always been a bit of whippet and if I got to it I could get a fair distance.

In my second term, Radgie arrived. You know the type: permanent scowl, hair trigger temper, a biter as well as a kicker.

We very quickly learned that if Radgie got the ball, he kept it. Not even the moose-like early shavers dared tackle him; he'd drop the ball and start punching.

One day late on in the game, Seamus Flynn got it in the line-out and started running. Radgie tackled him and Seamus must have thought "fuck it, just one try", and shrugged him off. Radgie gave chase, couldn't catch him, and Seamus touched down. Final whistle.

All the way back to the changing rooms I could see Radgie working himself up. I didn't see the attack itself; too quick. Seamus sat down and looked a bit white, then we saw the blood. Radgie had wrenched a plank off a bench and stuck it in Seamus's gut. Not very far, but quite enough to give Seamus a fortnight in hospital.

And that was the last team game of any sort I ever played. They beat me, they gave me detention, they even tried talking to me. Nothing doing; that stuff could get you killed.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 22:46, Reply)