Why the dislike for the divine bryl-creemed one? Well….. where’s to start? Just recently (this week, in fact), Mr. Church made a high profile move from Ospreys (Wales) to Saracens (England). Fair enough. His two very young children live with their mother and he obviously wants to be nearer to them. Ms. Church, the former child soprano once voted ‘Rear of the Year’ (no, I’m not making this up) is based in London for her singing career and took the wee Hensons with her after the wonderful Welsh couple split earlier this year. Naturally, a transfer to an English club by the beautiful one was on the cards. Meanwhile, Mr. Church (let’s call him Gav) has been partaking of a Saturday evening BBC show called Strictly Come Dancing as a ballroom dancing contestant with a serious chance of winning (no, really, I’m not making this up), and Gav has stated that his move to England will diminish the attention he has been garnering back in Wales as a result of the show (so, nothing to do with rugby then). Apparently, he is not so well-known in England. In Ireland he’s really well-known for gifting the Irish national team a 6 nations fixture a few year’s back after a piss-poor performance in the no. 10 jersey.

So, what do the Saracens think of his turn on the floorboards doing the cha-cha and the bossa-nova? Have they told him the fun is over and to stop poncing about in those skin-tight keks, now let’s get back to playing some rugby, okay? Well, here is the official release from Saracens camp: “The player’s path back to full match fitness will dovetail with his participation in the show.” (Jesus, you really couldn’t make this up).

Gav seems to be getting more royal treatment than Maradona and Cristiano Ronaldo put together. But it doesn’t end there. Earlier this year the WRU launched their new national jersey for the 2010/11 season by hanging a giant photo of a Welsh player resplendent in the new attire the entire height and width of one side of the Millenium Stadium in Cardiff. Who did they pick to wear this jersey? The record try-scorer and darling of Welsh rugby, Shane Williams? The utility back and handsome James Hook? The captain, Ryan Jones, even? Ha, you’ve guessed it. They picked the player with the famous ex who hadn’t touched an oval ball in anger in more than a year. There were more than a few people scratching their heads in Cardiff (and around the rugby world) that day.

Gav strongly believes that he can make a difference at Saracens and get back to the top of rugby union, cure cancer, stop the cavalry for Christmas, and play for Wales again. He is completely oblivious that Warren Gatland has not included any Welsh players from England’s Aviva Premiership for the autumn Internationals (the primary selection process for the 6 Nations). Undaunted, Gav believes that he will be selected again for the national side if he is “top of his game and playing really well” (No, really. He actually said that). His belief is based on his signing for a club that “know my desire to play for Wales again is really strong. That is basically why I got back into rugby, because I missed playing for my country, so they won’t stand in my way because they know how keen I am to play for Wales.”

That said, we really should get used to seeing the ex Mr. Church more in rumba trousers than in rugby shorts for the foreseeable future.

I wonder if Gav is related to the late, great puppeteer, Jim Henson, because he sounds like a right fucking muppet.

Note the date and time. This is the first Bremen rugby derby of the 2010/11 season. And, being played on the day before hallowe’en it’s guaranteed to produce some scares, more blood and, dare I say it? some gruesome spectres (haha, see what I did there?).

In the red corner, Union 60 host 1860 Bremen in the green corner. The age and experience of Union face an undaunted and youthful 1860 in what should be a pretty physical encounter. We may even see some rugby played. Coach Spencer Ryan is always game to raise a smile (or a smirk, at least) during the game, whilst 1860′s John McLaughlin may pass a wink and a jovial laugh from the sidelines in between crunching tackles.

To win? You can never tell with these two. They are about as consistent as an England team but more loathe to kick (the ball, that is, but don’t count out a few wild swings at each other over the 80 minutes). The telling difference will be Union’s secret weapon (to be revealed on match day) which may inspire the 15 to whiteline fever and a famous victory (or a desperate defeat – either is equally likely).

Whatever the result both teams will retire to the Bayern tent at the Freimarkt to drink copious amounts of south German beer and partake in another annual rugby tradition that is bound to shock and surprise.

One thing’s for sure. Union would win any drinking on the night event hands down. Well, we have been training just as much in the bar as on the field.

What’s this? The High Tackle is starting to cover non-rugby politics now? Not a bit of it. This has a lot to do with rugby. In the early post-war years garrisoned British Army rugby teams offered valuable opposition to the replenishing rugby teams, first in Northern Germany (then the FRG) and later throughout the rest of the country.

The revival of rugby in Germany post-war cannot be attributed solely to the British Army, but they can claim, legitimately, to have helped through their participation in ‘friendly’ derbies, cup matches, and invitationals. Demobbed squaddies and other assorted servicemen have also decided to remain on and contribute their skills and experience as coaches (the head coach of our club included), and players.

Sadly, any further team participation will cease in nine years from now, and with recent military budget cuts by the British Conservative/Lib Dem government it will be highly unlikely that these teams will be allowed to continue to contribute teams to the established competitions, albeit officially.

Another era draws near to an end.

Moss Keane, a name known to a generation of Irish, and respected across the rugby community passed away at the age of 62 after a long battle with cancer.

Maurice ‘Moss’ Keane was unusual for a rugby player of his time. A late-comer to the game, he came from a non-rugby family and originally played Gaelic Football up to under-21 level for his native county of Kerry. A friend in university introduced him to rugby, which he quickly mastered thanks to the jumping and ball-handling skills of Gaelic, rising up to provincial level and becoming a mainstay for the Munster team throughout the 70s and early 80s.

Moss Keane lines out for Ireland v France in 1983

He made his debut for Ireland at the late age of 26, not so unusual in the amateur era when players often made late debuts making only a few appearances. Moss Keane played a then record 51 times for an Irish forward, and was never dropped. Success on the international stage came early with a debut Five Nations trophy in 1974. He was rewarded towards the end of his career by being a member of the Irish triple-crown winning team of 1983, retiring from the game shortly after.

But it was for Munster that he played his most famous game. In autumn of 1978 the New Zealand All-Blacks toured the UK and Ireland defeating not only all of the home sides (England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales) but every club and provincial team in between tests. Midway through their tour (October 31st) they travelled to Thomond Park to take on Munster. Until that date no Irish team had beaten the All-Blacks (Munster once held them to a 3-3 draw) but Munster incredibly went on to beat them 12-0 (one converted try, two drop goals), in a game that has entered rugby mythology, so much so that it inspired an award-winning play – Alone It Stands, the name deriving from the Shannon RFC song The Isle.

Moss Keane challenges in the lineout against France in 1983

In the amateur era of the game it was necessary to hold down a full-time job. Moss worked as a milk inspector at the Department of Agriculture, a position he held until his retirement in July 2010. His transfer to Dublin required a change in clubs and he selected Landsdowne, a club he had grown to love and respect when he travelled to Dublin on International duty. Munster’s loss was Leinster’s gain and it was when he made the move that I first got a glimpse of the big man in the flesh. Moss Keane was an inspiration for all the schoolboy players of the time. In school everybody wanted to be the scrum-half, a position that imparted power and usually came with the captaincy, but for Ireland everybody wanted to emulate Moss, the second row lock who was in all-likelihood the inspiration for the current Irish locks of Paul O’Connell, Malcolm O’Kelly, Donnacha O’Callaghan, and Leo Cullen. He was the Chabal of his day, fast, strong and athletic in the air, and a real workhorse who was always dedicated to his game. Off the pitch he was eagerly sought out by autograph hunters and fans who were in awe of his presence, and he always obliged, such was his temperament (sadly, my personal autograph is long lost).

Maurice Ignatius “Moss” Keane (27 July 1948 – 5 October 2010)

Moss was interviewed a few times since his retirement from rugby, particularly to give his opinion on the game since professionalism, the new generation of rugby players, and to reminisce on his time in the game. I was most shocked with how much he had aged, looking far older than he should have. But the Moss I remember is the one of him running across the field of Landsdowne Road, rucking and mauling and rising for the ball in the lineouts. And after the game, my ten year-old self running over to the tunnel entrance with a pen and paper which this giant snatched from my hand, scribbled his name and handed it back to me as I watched, wide-eyed, as his steam-covered silhouette walked gingerly down to the dressing rooms.

It is an image I will take to my grave. Thanks, Big man.

Ar dheis De go raibh a anam.

Think you know some better ones? Let me know.

In no particular order……

Sebastian Chabal v Namibia in the 2007 World Cup.
Sheer power and determination. No wonder the French call him ‘l’animal’.

Welsh captain Ieuan Evans scores against England. Great counter-attack from nothing.
And the voice of rugby gives his wonderful commentary, as always…

USA v South Africa, world cup 2007.
USA steal the ball off their own try line and beat the eventual world champions with style and power.
The best counterattack I have ever seen. Truly try of the tournament.

France try v England in Five Nations, 1991.
This wouldn’t happen today but it was a joy to watch 19 years ago.
A big lesson in following up the missed penalty.

Brian O’Driscoll for Leinster v Wasps.
I could have picked any of dozens by Drico, but this was a real beauty.
I also had the pleasure to be in the crowd to see it live…

Hope you enjoyed my choices!

Me, I’ll be watching the women’s sevens rugby – and rooting for Brasil.

South American champions, great rugby players and, well, damn, they’re Brasilian.

Meninho, meu coração velho pobre……

2016 can’t come any sooner.

A few weeks back, after the first game of the season I was asked if I was interested in taking up the position of sevens coach for the club. Naturally, I was. Coaching my own rugby team has always been a dream of mine. Of course, in my typical self-deprecating style, all I could think of was, “Wow, they must really be hard up to have asked me”. But, as anyone that knows me knows, I actually do take my rugby very seriously, and knew that by thinking of me they hadn’t made their choice lightly.

Before I plan to start in October I have decided to do a lot of preparation to make sure that my players got the most out of the sessions and that my time and theirs will not be wasted. In the past week I have also taken part in some newbie training sessions as coach, and a Verbandsliga (beginners league) training session as assistant coach. The Newbies course is a joy. Touch rugby, focus on fun and basic skills (so lots of passing), ball handling in general, and learning the attack, defence, and counter-attack methods. Pretty much everything I had been teaching in my summer touch rugby classes for the past two summers. The players learned fast and worked with the skills I taught them, and improved from mistakes.

Verbandsliga was something different. Young, eager, fit and strong. Good for rugby players but they also lacked skills and discipline. Fine, that was the job of the coaches to sort out and I was duly handed the task of demonstrating, teaching and supervising tackling. With several different levels amongst them I decided to teach the schoolbook tackle, what every schoolboy rugby player around the world is taught at the age of 9, so simple and effective and which never fails to take a down an opponent. Approach the attacker with small steps, crouch low at the last moment, keeping shoulders above the hips, step slightly to the side of the player and put a lead arm straight across their midriff, throw the shoulder into their hip and head against the arse and push whilst encircling with the other arm, bringing them to ground. If done right this will take down an opponent of any size or shape and will, most importantly, neither injure you nor your opponent. Then get up on your feet and steal the ball. Simple.

I demonstrate on a player or two. They then partner up and give it their best. Some problems are evident but I’m walking the line and offering advice and encouragement. Next thing there’s a bit of horseplay going on. Lifting and carrying the other players. I shout them down and tell them to get on with the task in hand and keep the tackles as I showed. One questions me and asks why we are not doing forward contact tackles and I remind him that I am the coach and know what they need to learn. Next thing the same player is doing a forward tackle into the midriff of the other player with head against the ribcage. I shout at him that if he does that again he’ll break his neck. He rubs his neck and apologises. Some are tackling around the legs, taking just one leg in hand and, naturally, get dragged along the ground effecting no tackle. I demonstrate again that the tackle will only happen if both legs are taken and they immediately improve.

Things are going okay and they all agree that this tackling method is effective, but I sense that they want something a bit more physical. We put them into two training lines and do attack/defence training, effectively a game of five on five. They learn fast with three coaches shouting at them and, eager to succeed, effect the moves promptly and efficiently. Ten minutes from the end of the session, however, disaster strikes. One of the players goes for a half-forward/half-classic tackle and gets only one leg of an attacker. The arm between the legs gets caught by the trailing leg and his shoulder is rendered, dislocating it. It is a huge blow not only because the player showed great promise throughout the session but, as we would later find out, the injury was worse than though putting him out of the game for six months.

With just two weeks before they play their first match this team will be facing a massive uphill task to reach a level acceptable for playing competitive rugby. It’s not really a pratical goal and the best that three coaches can do is try to minimise the mistakes the players make and to ensure that there are no major injuries. This is no light statement. If a player gets seriously injured in a training session then I hate to think what will happen in a competitive game, espcially if there is a rush of blood to the head. I get the impression that in Germany (and not just in the verbandsliga, but in senior teams, too) there is a tendency to misunderstand what rugby is actually all about. It is by far not a simple game to learn and, although appealing to players attracted to a physical game, it does also attract the overly aggressive and even the violent who see it as a legitimate way to vent. When this happens the game often takes on a violent air and descends into nothing more than a method to seriously hurt opponents while occasionally scoring tries.

There is also an indifference here to the necessary skills such as passing which is often seen as a boring and only occasionally useful part of the game, and a very dangerous tendency to play players that are considered experienced when they clearly are not.

Let’s take them in order.

Rugby is a safe game. There is actually a reason we don’t wear armour. Whilst American football encourages often life-threatening hits requiring protective armour, there are laws in rugby preventing dangerous play and penalising it with penalties and/or cards. A referee has the right to call off a game if conditions endanger any or all players.

Tackling, believe it or not, is not always about hitting your opponent as hard as you can and inflicting injury. It is meant to be physical, sure, but tackling requires bringing a player to ground and the most effective way to do this is by unbalancing him. Once tackled the tackled player must release the ball and the tackler then takes the opportunity of getting to his feet and stealing the ball. I can imagine many of you rolling your eyes and muttering “Yes, we know this, John”, but I don’t see this happening very often in a game, or even training for that matter. Tackling seems to be taught as a way to charge the mid-riff of a ball carrier and to then pick the ball away from his fallen corpse. Not a very effective method if the tackle goes wrong and both players end up injured, which is very likely in this situation, espcially if the players are of different body builds.

Passing is, with tackling, one of the two most important skills in rugby – if not the most important. Everyone, at some time or another during a game, will pass or tackle. All the other skills, such as kicking, rucking, scrumming, lineouts etc. are specific to certain players in the field. And yet, passing is generally accepted as being both boring and good enough only for training purposes – for warming-up, if you will. Astonishing. No wonder there isn’t anyone I watch playing here that can actually pass. However, it is always the first skill I teach new players and the first thing they practice before each new session with me. Passing drills, running lines, one-hand passes. I drill hem for at least a quarter of an hour before we do anything else. I see you rolling your eyes again, “But John, I CAN pass!”. Okay, you know how a ball can be passed, but do you know when to pass? Who to pass to? When not to pass? Where to pass to? How to make space and draw in a defender so that the receiver of the pass can take advantage of that? What to do when you can’t pass? Do you go to ground? Kick for space? Kick for touch? Do you try to maul? These are all the options that make passing more than just spinning a ball to a teammate. Passing opens the game, gives you more options for scoring, disrupts the defense, and allows for penalties caused by a desperate defence that may infringe. Apart from an attacking line from a scrum and a very rare back line attack most German rugby offensives consist of a pick and go, ruck, pick and go, ruck, a lucky breakout with a player running a beeline through the defense (but with no support), followed by a tackle, lost ball forward or won on their feet, and a counter-attack. No passing. Just big hits, recycle and ground by metres. This is WWI trench tactics. Not pretty, and a good opponent will sense your weakness and punish you for it. If you are in my coaching class you will learn tackling (my way) and lots of passing before you learn anything else. Otherwise you can go and play soccer.

Finally, I have often been told about a player that he/she is ‘experienced’. From this can mean that they have attended several training courses, and have played a few games. The Verbandsliga player who got injured this week was one such ‘experienced’ player. Apparently he had played a few games. But from what I saw of him he could barely tackle and had only basic passing skills. So, any time in future that I hear that a player is experienced I will instantly assume that they are a novice. It is a better assumption to make than putting them in to play against a real experienced player and ending up calling for the Krankenwagen again.

In my books an experienced rugby player is not only someone who understands the rudiments of the game, but also tackling, passing, the tasks of all of the different players on the pitch and how they affect you and vice versa, the objectives of the game, the laws of the game, at least basic tactics of the game, and how to enjoy the game. It is also quite mind-boggling how many players tell me that they enjoy playing in their position in rugby without knowing anything about what they are to do!

I don’t know who or what is responsible for all of this. Is it a general confusion with the game? Is it poor coaching? I think a bit of both. It took me 33 years to learn rugby and I am still learning. I also had great coaches from the age of 9 and so I was taught well, but it took me nine years in school to bring me up to an acceptable level, so it was not quick, and I was lucky to learn the game in digestible amounts. That is not a privilege available anywhere in Germany. The coaches here have an unenviable task of teaching a relatively unknown game in Germany to enthusiastic but inexperienced youths in a ridiculously short time. These coaches need to assess what to teach first and what is most important for their team to succeed and win games. Unfortunately, in some cases this can also lead to apathy over important skills I have already mentioned, and a disregard for safety, resulting in unnecessary injuries.

The majority of coaches are usually very experienced but also unpaid and the responsible ones deserve more than just thanks for sharing their knowledge and skills, not to mention their time. However, their greatest reward is watching many generations of new players taking up a beautiful game that is far more than just big hits and hard tackles.

I am one of those coaches now and have my own daunting task ahead of me. I’ll do my damndest to make the people in my team great players but I hope they’ll do their bit and help me to become an equally good coach.

Vexed and frustrated she would write
disgruntled letters filled with spite
That called the author a work-shy fop
and threatened him with a riding crop.

Grown vain on fame from all over town,
The author won’t take this lying down
And, finding out where Tiffany lives,
goes round and does her in with shivs.

In summary, my tale makes clear
that Patience is a virtue dear.
So, gentle reader, know your place,
and don’t get on my ****ing case.

I managed to get a coffee into me before leaving home, which was pretty much the only energy I had for the duration of the game. Schwalbe, I’ll remind you, are the team that beat Union 60 in Hannover the previous weekend. A large, physical team, with a remarkably fast winger (and a couple of overly aggressive forwards) and a cross-eyed hooker who was still throwing in crooked lineouts and doing his team no favours five or ten metres out from 1860′s line. 1860 are no pushovers themselves with a collection of large forwards and backs, all of them runners. Funny how they still managed to lose so comprehensively in their first game just six days previously. Well, they made up for it in a fast, physical game that saw one of the best defensive tackles I have seen outside of the professional game. The flying Schwalbe winger ran an exceptional 20-30 metres and was just short of a certain try-scoring opportunity when a full-back in kamikaze mode came in hard and crunched him about three metres into touch. I was just glad that I wasn’t able to keep up with him or I would have been caught up in that particular car-wreck…..

1860 came out with a comprehensive four tries to two win and I was thankful to finally tuck into some wurst and beer and chill out for a while. About an hour later the news came in that Union 60 had won against Jesterburg 25-22 with 14 men! Two tries to our American flanker of inderterminate heritage, Michael, who took a bit of the shine off his performance by spending 10 in the sin-bin. Happily, it didn’t affect the overall result and Jesteburg had one of their own sent off for 10, too, alleviating any possibility of two consecutive defeats for Union.

Our boys were informed, once off the train, to meet at Eisen and then move on to Hegarty’s for the Rugby Bremen joint celebration, and I grimaced at the thought of punishing my liver for the second night in a row. Still, I couldn’t let the team down so I showed up for a few, and then a few more, and then a few more and, well, then it’s too late to go so, being the trooper I am I stayed the distance. While Union 60 are quaffing beers in the traditional rugby manner, the lads from 1860 are getting out of it and, inevitably, things get pretty wild. I won’t describe what happened on a main street in downtown Bremen (I don’t need to, I made a movie – but I can’t share it as impressionable children and other assorted minors are known to read my blog) but take my word for it, you really don’t want to know. Grown men saw it live and baulked.

Once things quietened down somewhat, and I was quite enjoying my umpteenth beer, Boris bid his farewells and said he’d see me tomorrow for the ladies’ game. Sure, I said, I was looking forward to taking some good photos. He kind of smiled awkwardly and reminded me that I was the referee. My innards melted. I had completely forgotten. And while a doomed expression crossed my face my company partook in what they call in these here parts schadenfreude. Suddenly, my appetite for beer disappeared and I felt it might be better if I went home myself and got some sleep (and had a quick scan over the laws) before the game the next day. Luckily I live a straight line away from the pub so, closing one eye, I did a bee-line along Vor den Steintor, and got in at the healthy hour of 11.30 at night.

Sunday, 12th September. I wake up in a seated position, my legs dead from lack of bloodflow. How I fell asleep on the toilet I can’t remember. I looked at my watch. 7am. Eight hours until kick-off. Great. But I still feel drunk. God knows when the hangover will kick-in. I make it back to bed and crash out. I wake up and it’s still dark out. Hmm.. Must still be night. I look at my watch. 12.30. Shit! I’ll never be ready on time. Then I remember Boris’s words that he will step in if I don’t want to do this. Hell, no, that’s the pussy’s way out. I’m motivated. I WANT to do this. Another coffee, a hot shower, and I’m ready. 2pm. Feeling pretty good. I pull on my kit, decide to wear the Australian flanker jersey to stand out on the pitch, and then for some reason I sit down, switch on my computer and start to check Facebook and my email. I must still be out of it because while I’m reading about all the ladies making their way to the game I’m about to referee, I’m calmly sitting like it’s a normal Sunday afternoon. I finally decide that it’s maybe best I leave and cycle the ten minutes to the pitch. It’s drizzling a little but still warm so the conditions for playing are great. I needn’t have worried about being late, though. St. Pauli have yet to arrive from Hamburg, and our ladies are still warming up, doing some nice drills and passing practice out on the pitch. I must still be out of it as I am not the slightest bit nervous. Some of the lads have turned out so I chew the fat with them and then I turn to Arne and Boris (my two touch judges) and we go through our routines for the game. Three thirds of 20 minutes each, non-contested scrums, ten players to a team, 15s rules. Simple.

St. Pauli arrive looking damned smart and eager. I brief the two captains that I’m using English (because even if I use German I’ll keep slipping back into the terms I know), and we get ready to start. First problem. The groundsman, in his infinite wisdom, has marked out the pitch the night before and the overnight rain has washed away all of the lines. It takes me a few minutes to find the very faded centreline (not for the only time in the game), and Union 60 ladies then get us kicked-off. My first 20 minutes are not the best, to be honest, and some of my decisions confound even me, but reffing is HARD! At least I’m keeping out of everybody’s way, and keeping things smooth. Second twenty minutes takes a while to get going again. I’ve given the teams their five minutes but the coaches are abusing it to give longer team talks, and they take their time coming back for the restart. I can’t blame them. The ground is starting to break up and running is becoming a chore. Already some of the ladies are looking breathless.

The second twenty starts well and the game is becoming more fluent with some jinky runs and good play from both sides but it’s St. Pauli who are running in the tries and Union 60 are defending desperately. And then something happens that shows a unique divide between ladies and gents rugby. A player knocks-on and I give a scrum to St. Pauli. The front rows form and I’m about to give the commands when, all of a sudden, the six ladies start having a chat between themselves. ‘Ladies?’. Natter, natter. ‘Er, ladies?’. Natter, natter. ‘LADIES!’ Natter, natter, giggle, giggle. A sharp blow on my whistle and I have their attention. ‘Ladies, we have this game to play. Crouch, touch……’.

Final 20 minutes and I’m running around like I’m ten years younger. Tons of energy, not missing much, I’m in my element. I’m almost sorry it’s coming to and end now I’m into my flow. I can’t say the same for the ladies. They are mud-streaked, panting, cheeks flushed pink from exertion, muscles bruised, and sinews stretched but still giving their all. Last minute and St. Pauli kick a ball into the 22 and chase. Lena, playing at full-back runs to cover it but it’s too far forward to catch and she gets a bad bounce, the ball falling nicely for the onrushing attacker who scoops it up and runs it in for the final score of the match. ‘How much longer?’ I’m asked as the kicker lines up the conversion. ‘This is the last action of the game.’ The kick hits the bar and drops back. Union pick-up and run towards the centre and I blow for full-time. They look surprised but I clarify that the conversion was the last action. They look crestfallen.

The two teams then line up facing each other and I discover another unexpected custom. I must deliver the scores to the team and also make some comments about the game. I congratulate both teams for a good game, give some cliche about rugby being the big winner on the day and make some excruciating joke about invisible lines before deciding that it would be best to round it off by saying something stupid about barbecue and beer that gets a cheap laugh. I look at a large divot in the ground and wonder if it is large enough to crawl into.

Both captains address the other teams, make some (rather flattering) compliments in my direction before ending with the mandatory team yell at each other. I am just getting ready to walk off to the clubhouse when someone suddenly runs at me from behind the line with a bucket of water (which I realise was used for washing wounds and rinsing gum guards) and dumps it full over me. My first game as ref in Germany. I have been baptised. I have mixed emotions….

While everyone tucks into the barbecue, Arne, Boris and I grab a few beers and post-mortem over the officiating in the bizarre surroundings of a kiddie rollerskating competition. We rejoin the rest for some food and I realise that it’s six in the evening and this is the first food I’ve eaten all day. I get an energy rush that leaves me refreshed and revitalised. I am (not unusually) one of the last there, and those left decide to finish the night with a few more beers at the local bar. I get home just after midnight and collapse exhausted in pretty much the same state I’ve been in all weekend (barring the match time).

Monday morning, 13th September. Can’t feel my legs. That’ll teach me not to warm up and to warm down (not to mention break in my boots). I’ve woken up twice during the night with the pain. I crawl out of bed and into work. Having a look at Facebook I see that most of the ladies are in the same shape as me (but they were actually playing, John…). Then I remember reading somewhere that women feel twice as much pain as men and then I sit and look back over the game and think: ‘Respect, ladies. Respect.’

No. 10 (out-half in most countries, fly-half in England):

A backline player pivotal to the role between forwards and backs, who receives ball from the scrum-half, kicks for position, passes to the three-quarters, and occasionally kicks penalties and conversions.

In England, an injury-prone player who scores all of the team’s points.

No. 9 – scrum-half:

A generally smaller player present at scrums, rucks, and mauls, who interfaces the ball between forwards and backs, recycles at the breakdown, goes on sniping runs, and commits to first and last-level defence.

In Italy, an openside flanker.