You're My Girl

Rugby is to New Zealand what pizza is to my sister.

Ok, that may be a bit extreme, but honestly Rugby is the absolute of absolutes here on this island of 4 million. On billboards, it is common to see a few All Blacks (the NZ rugby team) flexing their demi-god muscles down at the passersby. In bars, one can gaze at cardboard cutouts of the hulks suggesting a certain type of New Zealand beer to sip on for the night. On TV, it is difficult to go an hour without spotting a commercial or a news update containing one of their monstrous thighs. In regular conversation, whether it be on the bus or on the street, the All Blacks are constantly praised and compared to France or Australia with mocking knee slapping laughter. In short, rugby is life to these people, and the All Blacks are what make it most worth living.

If you have never played/watched rugby before, such as me, you may be, just like me, wondering at all this hype. Fortunately I got the chance during orientation to learn how to play rugby, and I now wish for you the same opportunity.

All 50 or so of us lined up along the rugby line for our lesson and were split into two teams for practice. I was a little confused at first when our “instructor”—a guy technically from Kuwait but who had decided to adopt the Kiwi lifestyle—explained to us that you are never allowed to pass the rugby ball forward. The player with the ball can only pass backward. How do they get anywhere?? I wondered.

Sure enough, our team wasn’t getting anywhere. We would pass it back and back, getting further away from our goal, confused as to how this was supposed to score any points. After some coaxing from our instructor and a whole web of rules wound around my confused brain, we stopped doing drills and started scrimmaging. Eventually the passes backwards stopped being thrown so far back, and a bit of running forward ensued. Apparently, this meant we were ready to play a real game.

We lined up across from the other team and attempted a sad Haka that mainly consisted of mumbles and slapped chests. Finally, we started playing.

It was a bit rough.

There were a lot of turnovers as we went back and forth between moving not at all and moving a few feet. Suddenly, our instructor has the brilliant idea of utilizing the fact that no one ever passed to/guarded girls (per usual) to his advantage. He beckoned me over with big windmill motions.

“You’re my girl!” he whisper-yelled at me.

I half nodded half confused-stared at him, like I usually do when trying to decipher thick accents and strange use of terms.

“You’re my girl?” this time it was more of a question, and I realized he was asking me to actually take part in a play. I frantically nodded yes, made the most intimidating face I could muster, and grunted a little…

He explained to me his plan, appointing two other girls as my “protectors.” I was to stand along the sideline where the other girls had flocked to talk, he was going to throw the ball as hard as he could and I was going to catch it and run run run!

I walked over to the line, apparently not quietly enough in the grass, because I heard him shushing me, and turned around to see him gesturing with his finger to his lips for me to be quieter. I tiptoed to the sideline, seemingly more acceptable behavior as the shushing stopped.

I didn’t have to wait long for my moment of glory. He caught the ball, turned his body to the side and heaved it toward me. It was spiraling above my outstretched hand. I jumped, or rather leapt, and straight-up Randy Mossed it. I heard a few wow-gasps from the girls around me as they admired my catch. Naturally, I squealed as I ran as hard as I could, a bit terrified at the thunder of 25 kids running from the middle of the field toward me to tag me. I made it almost to the goal line before a few rough “touches” (it was touch rugby not tackle thank goodness) took me down hard. I was too ecstatic to notice, I had not only successfully caught a ball, I had made a good Rugby play, it was exhilarating. From the middle of the field I heard a loud yell ring out, “That’s my girl!”

I hope to start my professional Rugby career soon. I’ll send out preemptive autographed postcards to anyone who wants an invaluable item for the future J

Cheers!