Why I Am Not Allowed To Watch Rugby
To those who know nothing about the game, rugby highlights are the funniest damn thing ever broadcast.
It helps if there's booze involved, of course. But taken out of context, moments of rugby brilliance come across as a combination of schoolyard-era "kill the man with the ball" and Princess Bride-style Brute Squad recruitment videos, often performed by huge men wearing what appear to be tiny vinyl jockstraps on their heads.
I know, I know. It's really a very deep game with a great deal of strategy. But to the uninitiated observer, who has just spent ten minutes watching #8 for Agen fall down like a deranged rodeo clown in flip-flops on what seems like every single play while balls squirt out of piles of waving legs that look like they've gone straight past Human Centipede into something on the sea anemone aisle and brightly shirted referees make arcane hand gestures that look like they're summoning Pazuzu by way of the macarena, and throw in some hits that looked like a steam locomotive broadsiding a herd of buffalo, and, yeah. Wow.
Though to be fair, the whisky might have helped.
And seriously. #8? Every single highlight. It was like watching Elvis "Toast" Patterson reborn, except in tight, muddy shorts. Next time, dude, dive and get yourself off camera quick. It's safer for everyone that way.
It helps if there's booze involved, of course. But taken out of context, moments of rugby brilliance come across as a combination of schoolyard-era "kill the man with the ball" and Princess Bride-style Brute Squad recruitment videos, often performed by huge men wearing what appear to be tiny vinyl jockstraps on their heads.
I know, I know. It's really a very deep game with a great deal of strategy. But to the uninitiated observer, who has just spent ten minutes watching #8 for Agen fall down like a deranged rodeo clown in flip-flops on what seems like every single play while balls squirt out of piles of waving legs that look like they've gone straight past Human Centipede into something on the sea anemone aisle and brightly shirted referees make arcane hand gestures that look like they're summoning Pazuzu by way of the macarena, and throw in some hits that looked like a steam locomotive broadsiding a herd of buffalo, and, yeah. Wow.
Though to be fair, the whisky might have helped.
And seriously. #8? Every single highlight. It was like watching Elvis "Toast" Patterson reborn, except in tight, muddy shorts. Next time, dude, dive and get yourself off camera quick. It's safer for everyone that way.
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