The Good, the Bad and the Bruised
My first ever game of rugby was at Pigeon Mountain in Auckland. I was 6 years old. I remember running around not really knowing what I was doing or where I should have been running. I don’t remember actually touching the ball, but I do remember that we lost the game 49-nil, a result that fortunately left our team with ample room for improvement.
During the following few years, I was quite small for my age, but I was agile and had good ball skills. A standout recollection of those early rugby days was when I was playing for my elementary school first fifteen at the age of about 11 or 12. It was during the annual match against the old boys who were in their first year of high school.
Of course, they were a year older than us and naturally a lot bigger. I played fullback and was the last line of defence, entrusted with stopping any attack by the opposing team. Well, during this game, my defensive skills were tested to the limit. My most vivid memory was standing there watching the opposing loose head prop, ball in hand, come charging towards me. I remember his name. It was Goldwater. He wasn’t that fast, so I could cover him, but unfortunately for me he was huge and I was tiny in comparison.
My tackle training kicked in, and I reminded myself to grab him around the legs and place my head behind his buttocks not in front. I did that and felt him falter and slow down but sadly my arms weren’t long enough to reach right around his legs and he managed to stagger over the line and score a try. I was battered and bruised but managed to keep playing. After the game, I was complimented on my bravery for attempting the tackle. Looking back, I am not sure whether I was brave or stupid, considering the possible serious injury that could have resulted. Today, I wonder at the survival skills of smaller players, like All Black Damien McKenzie who, despite his size, throws himself at men far bigger and stronger than himself. I hope he avoids serious injury.
At high school I finally started to grow and by the time I reached my final year, although quite skinny, I was big enough to be included in the first fifteen. High school rugby entailed playing against players who in a year of two would be playing for their province or even for the All Blacks. I remember when our school played against Mt Albert Grammar, seeing future All Black winger Bryan Williams run onto the paddock with tight shorts covering thighs almost as thick as my body. I hoped I would never have to tackle that. Fortunately, my hope was realised.
I’ve heard that these days high school rugby is becoming extremely competitive, even to the point where many private schools are now offering scholarships to talented rugby players from less affluent areas. This obviously benefits both the players who receive the scholarships and the schools which achieve better results in the rugby competitions. However, one could ask the question, “Is this fair on the less affluent schools without the funds to finance such scholarships?” Does money ultimately determine the winner?
After high school, club rugby beckoned and quickly became the foundation of our social life. After each practice, which happened twice a week, there was usually a beer or two downed and after each game on Saturdays it was beers and pies in the club house together with the opposing team. Sometimes, on-field disputes were settled there and then. The rugby culture mantra that alcohol was king resulted in some ugly violent scenes. After the club house, the party often moved to a local pub.
Drink driving laws were not strictly enforced in those days, which together with cheap fuel, faster vehicles, and a rising population of young drivers, resulted in horrific road death statistics. In 1973, the total was a shocking 843. Compare that to 2025 when it was 271. Stricter policing of alcohol is definitely working, although I am surprised at how much alcohol you can drink and still be under the limit.
Our club team was called The Pigs, named by our illustrious captain, Dave, who was also founder of the team’s tea-chest band. Dave encouraged us to take the field wearing party hats and singing our team song which he wrote. Some referees demanded that we ditch the hats before play started and that we stop singing. Despite our antics, we had some exceptional players and won enough games to reach the Auckland fourth grade competition final which was to be played at Eden Park as one of two curtain-raisers before an All Blacks versus France test match. Of course, our families were excited that their sons would play at Eden Park. Unfortunately, our team decided to celebrate the night before the game, instead of the night after, just in case we lost. Dave hosted a party at which alcohol once again was king, together with a green herbal substance which was becoming more and more popular in the early seventies. The party went on till the early hours and come kick-off time we were a motley bunch of hungover players. Of course, we lost the game badly and were subjected to well-deserved derision by those who had fostered high hopes of a glorious victory. Luckily the party had been one to remember.
After a couple of more years of club rugby, my enthusiasm started to wane, especially after our team’s fly half, Mike, was tackled heavily and suffered a badly broken leg. I can still remember the sound of a loud crack and the image of his broken leg bone forming a large bulge under his sock. Other injuries were also common, like deep sprig marks raked down an unfortunately placed back in a ruck. Rucking opposition bodies was allowed in those days and high tackles were treated much more leniently than they are today. There were no yellow cards. I realised that with my skinny body, I could get seriously hurt if I continued playing. My other hobby, surfing, seemed much safer, so I stopped rugby, much to the disappointment of my dear Dad who loved watching me play.
Today, I really enjoy watching my grandsons play the game, happier in the knowledge that they wear both mouth guards and head gear. I find professional rugby great to see on the tele. It is highly regulated and much more safety conscious than it was in my day. There are yellow and red cards for dangerous play and sensors inside mouth guards to detect high impact contact requiring an HIA (head injury assessment). These are all positive aspects, developed as the game has become more professional. However, now and then we hear reports of professional players being stood down after breaching team protocol. Some of these incidents probably involve alcohol. I am not sure if drinking is still king in club rugby. I would hope that things have improved since my playing days, although recent incidents in Whitianga, allegedly involving some local players, leaves one wondering.
Words by Ross Liggins
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