Friday morning on the UAFC messageboard and the grown-ups plus the not so grown- ups couldn’t keep still in class due to the pending Magners kick off involving Ulster and the Ospreys. Ways of wiling away the hours before kick-off were being discussed, invented and implemented, whilst others posted in lyrical motifs as if awaiting going over the top.
Meanwhile in the Park household no such tales of boredom permeated the daily routine ahead of the big match. Rising at approximately 6.45 a.m. Mr. B. Park had his customary shower before donning clothes, casual/smart and being driven to work by Mrs B. Park. Due to ongoing technical repairs to his car Mr. Park was being chauffeured to work for one day only.
A busy day at the office ensued ending with an afternoon meeting and a few exchanges with the boss along the lines of whether he would be at god’s own country this evening. It turns that the boss would be there and in the unaccustomed location of the Terrace.
Following some advice to the boss along the lines of bring baseball cap, shades and scarf for around the lower part of the face to avoid embarrassment of being seen on the Terrace near the riff raff at the halfway line, Mr. B. Park was on his way. Having collected the repaired car, it was home for a quick snack and out the door to Ravenhill, chauffeured once again by Mrs. B. Park.
Having picked up Ron the Spark at the Four Winds it was time to enter the hallowed ground and purchase pourage. Several pourages later and Ron & Mr. Park found themselves standing on the Terrace behind a group of chanters and flag wavers. The match itself passed quickly. It was a tense affair and Ulster just about shaded the result leaving the assembled masses on the right side of happy.
Soon it was back into the balmy evening air of Mount Merrion and the taxi arrived, driven by Ron the Sparks’s wife to take Mr. Park home. After collecting a carry out, he headed across the road to a barbecue hosted by near neighbours Mike & Barbie.
Most of the punters at Mike’s barbecue were clearly becoming tired and emotional even at the early hour of 9.30 p.m. and by about 1.00 a.m. it spilled over into a blazing row between the neighbours and another couple. Sitting outside on the patio Mr. Park and Mrs. Park could only look on as the warring factions engaged in much finger pointing before the visiting couple stormed out.
With so many tired and emotional alcoholically muzzled punters around and Mrs. Park diplomatically trying to be far too jolly, Mr. Park snuck out the rear gate with Mrs P in tow and headed home to watch a recording of the match.
Waking up just as the last minutes of the game faded from the screen and remembering not a single element of it, Mr. Park headed to bed at 4.00 a.m. Saturday morning.
Later it transpired that Mr. Park hadn’t been the only punter to fall asleep in the wee small hours whilst watching a re-run of the match. Many of the UAFC’s excitable children had also succumbed to deep and meaningful slumber after the first days excitement, back in the old schoolyard of the Ravenhill terrace.
An Encounter of the Weirdest Kind!
I bumped into the lifetime appointed Chair of the Supporters Club on Friday evening near the Supporters club marquee. Speaking in the 3rd person, the Chairman related how the Chairman of the URSC was found near the supporters club marquee with a can of petrol and rag in his hand, late in the evening on Friday week last.
Fearing a tale of botched suicide or aborted arson I listened in appalled silence. The chairman it seems had indeed been seen by the Chairman with petroleum and cloth but only to wipe out the tape marks left by sticky tape holding up URSC posters on the side of the marquee.
Incidentally the Chairman‘s crown of worst dressed second barrier member, won on the opening day of the season for wearing a Perpignan bandana and dubious shades has, just like the bandana, slipped from his forehead.
This sartorial award has been won by the sanguine Moondance for the second week running, due to him wearing ¾ length trousers which make it look as though he is saving up to buy the remainder of the material.
If he appears in this attire again, he win will the trophy outright and I’ll organise a whip round to buy him about 300 mm of Saville Row’s finest material to complete the renovation of his trousers.
BJ’s Tweeter Emits Whining Noise
Prop for all seasons, well maybe just summertime, mountain biker, blogger and Springbok, B. J. Botha has had a strange whining noise emitting from his tweeter recently. It all started with BJ sounding like a Canadian Goose when he tweeted he was migrating to winter.
The following day hisTweeter blubbed that he had arrived back in wet and windy Belfast. His last tweet was he hadn’t been back at the house in Belfast for 3 whole months.
Having been out displaying my artworks al fresco on Saturday morning my attempt at selling my art in a public place was aborted amidst driving rain and I know who I was blaming for this rain lashed debacle. None other than BJ, whose arrival in Belfast has coincided with the end of the sunny and warm weather.
I fully expect BJ’s next tweet to be a request for a French polisher and new curtains to restore his bleached furniture and faded window shades, turned pale these last 3 months by the burning Belfast sun.
This Weeks Note to the Mote!
Did I say I. Humph was peerless? – No!.
Am I advocating the return of the roly poly prop who ambled from 1st phase into the marauding hordes rampaging towards 3rd phase? – Absolutely not.
Writing in the Daily Telegraph none other than Will Greenwood has elaborated my comments last week about the demise of the traditional tenets of rugby union. Here’s what he had to say:
‘Want to know how far this can go? Then how about this – scrums and most definitely line-outs could become side issues of lessening importance. It’s not that the scrums will be depowered, the line-outs ignored, it’s just that if you don’t make a mistake, or kick the ball out, then why have them? The new rules mean you have a very good chance of retaining the ball and scoring.’
Almost wistfully he concludes:
‘What I worry about is that the diversity in shape and size that made rugby so special will have to be sacrificed to produce players who can compete on an international level.
The lumpy, slow scrimmaging prop may well disappear, as will the hunt for the 7ft second row, or light but lightning fast three-quarter. In their place will come the robo-player who can do all the physical stuff, sidestep like a winger, and run a sub 10-second 100 metres.’
His ode to the common rugby man finishes with:
‘The dark arts, the real technical stuff that purists so love, will disappear because the ball will never be in one place long enough for any niggle or cunning to develop. And the gap between the elite and the rest of the rugby playing public will grow even wider.’
Well said that man, you speak for the sports traditionalists who want the preservation of the game in all its varying hues of diversity.
Corrections, comments or questions?