Rugby: The game of real men

A little venture across the pond to the land of the rationale and superior is all it
takes to unearth the cream of the egg-chasing sporting crop, i.e., the far more artistic
and classier big brother of football–rugby.

For a start, the lack of imagination in not even having the presence of mind to
come up with an original name for your “football” is cringe worthy. Something like
“Handegg” would be far more appropriate, albeit a little less comfortable rolling off
the tongue.
You seldom kick the ball. It is a minor part of the action. I guess that is fitting
though because football does only contain minor periods of action amidst the
continual stoppages and commercial breaks, compared to the fast and frantic
rugger.

Still on the subject of names, do anything but steal the name of the rest of the
world’s beloved pastime. A wee piece of me dies inside every time I am forced to
cheat on the universe’s beloved sport, as I grudgingly misuse the word “football” for
your faux-macho parade of over-compensating testosterone.
No imagination and enforcing your own standards of irrational mediocrity on the
rest of the world regardless of conventional tradition–Oh, how very American of
you.

It almost seems cruel to talk negatively about football, which must be a real
touchy subject, because football is just the American attempt to replicate and spice
up rugby and do a really bad job of it.

Rugby is a man’s game. It is a gentlemen’s game. All the cotton wool and padding
that those monsters on the football field are bound up in might ensure that they do
not break a fingernail, but it does nothing for their case as hard men.
Rugby players do not need motorcycle helmets to take the pain because they are
not soft. They are warriors. They are true men with hair on their chests.

It is quite unfortunate because if you guys had not ruined it, America would
probably be an incredible rugby force. The likes of Adrian Peterson could genuinely
call themselves champions if they stopped hiding behind those big, girly pads and
outmatched the best of the best, New Zealand, at the real game.

A game of rugby lasts 80 minutes. It is full flow and full force all the time. This is
what a sporting event should be. It is exciting and breath taking and enthralling for
the entire performance. The start-stop-start-stop-timeout nature of football makes
me want to gouge my eyes out with a spoon at times. When a 60-minute game lasts
three hours, there is something far wrong.
Further, what does it say about your stud athletes when they do one run down
the field and are then found sat on the sideline, hooked up to an oxygen tank. The
stodgy Americans could never match the physical and cardio-vascular prowess
of the top rugby players. If football were continuous, the entire offensive and
defensive lines would have strokes in the first five minutes.

Finally, the athletes on the rugby field are not just physically superior, but
technically too. The rugby players can do it all. One team can attack and score, and
the same team can defend and tackle.

So next time you stumble on one of those obscure American sports channels and
rugby is showing, do yourself a favor and watch it. Sit back, relax and watch the
real men, the real athletes, do it all in the complete and polished version of your
“football.”