Greg Bruce - Rugby Head

I never doubted I would one day be 45, but it felt so far off, right up until I was 42 or even 43, when I started to look at men in their 20s and realise I would never again be able to wear their pants. Although Id had a lifetime to get used to the idea that I would one day be middle aged, Id spent no time doing so, and suddenly it was too late. The speed with which my life passed roughly doubled between the ages of 20 and 30, and doubled again between 30 and 40. Im not saying Im unhappy with how my life has turned out, just that I thought it would feel more under my control.

Can rugby be said to be like life? Of course it can, and it must, because the existence of this book depends on it. Whenever All Blacks are asked about their first test match, they report how fast it went: they say, I couldnt believe the speed, It went by in a flash, etc. This makes sense. When an All Black debutant takes the field, he is physically, cognitively and emotionally overloaded, dealing with so much sensory information that whatever part of him is responsible for assessing the passing of time becomes overwhelmed, and his ability to locate himself temporally necessarily begins to warp and he comes unmoored.

If youd asked young me where I hoped to be at 45, I expect I would have come up with something quite close to reality: married to the love of my life and best friend, with three adorable kids and a satisfying career, possibly even as a writer, but in the same way an All Black debutant might hear the final whistle and look up at the scoreboard to see his team has won and think, Hmm, yes, seems about right, the result says nothing about the way the metaphorical game was played, or how it felt, or about the periods of darkness before and after half-time when nothing seemed to be working, defeat seemed certain, and the metaphorical French forwards were simultaneously gouging ones eyes and squeezing ones nuts.

This book is an attempt to understand the ways in which rugby and rugby culture have shaped us, and more specifically me. I have always loved rugby. It has thrilled and hurt me, filled me with joy and despair, given purpose to many of my relationships and driven my choice of career. Through the winters of my childhood and youth, and even quite deep into adulthood, my life was heavily influenced by the gravity of the weekends big game. Rugby acted as something like salvation, or maybe just distraction, from a life I frequently didnt much like. My emotional state would rise in line with the news cycle and general buzz of game week, and it would peak, static and crackling, at kick-off. My love for, and knowledge of, rugby was a key part of my identity.

This is the story of my obsession with the game, the pain derived from its frequent failure to deliver the feelings I desired from it, and the search, as I grew older, for a way to find those feelings elsewhere.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent and a few assholes.

1.

BUCKS NUT