Zombie Pirate Ninja Monkey

Self-aggrandizement

[Edit: Pictures added]

As a rule, I don't use this as a "what i did today" type diary.  Looking at the server logs, I only know about a tenth of the people who come here, and I have grave doubts over the interest-value of scenes from my life.  Or at least the scenes that won't get me blocked from my own site by Websense.

And if I were to populate this blog with scenes from my life, it is highly unlikely that I would include my rugby games from Saturdays: a minority sport even here, and about on a par with Kabbadi in terms of US awareness.

However, Saturday had some fun moments, one of which I can't help but mention.  In brief, leaving out as much technical language and extraneous detail as possible, it went like this:

The opposition scored, to move within one score of us.  They failed to kick the ball over the posts to get the extra points, and I caught the ball above my head and started to run back to the halfway line.  At this point, I should have waited for the rest of my team to run to the line, given the ball to a kicker, and gone to my position.

Instead, egged on by a crowd that fell silent when it saw from my grin that I was going to actually do it, I decided that I - by myself and with the rest of my team stil 40 yards behind - could take on the 15 opposition players who were lined up to receive the kick.  I kicked the ball for the restart myself towards the opposition goal line, and tore after it.

This is, by the way, a very stupid thing to do.  The odds of success are as bad as they sound.

Four of the opposition got back to the ball first, and turned to face me.  The one with the ball is having a laugh - where is the possible danger? - and jinks left and right to dummy me.  I just hit him, doing almost 30 miles per hour.  The ball goes flying back to the next player, who - carried by my own momentum - I also hit.  He drops the ball forwards, which means I've got a guaranteed 95 yard gain: the worst that can happen now is we get the ball five yards from their line.

Unfortunately, that was the very worst thing that did happen.  I pick up the ball and run between the posts to score the try (touchdown-type thing) of my career, only to hear the referee, who should have given us the advantage and let play continue for the score, whistle for the scrum from his position, panting 40 yards behind the play.  He thinks he is being kind.  He hasn't seen me score.  For the second time that game (I'll spare you the first) he has robbed me of a try.

For those who know me - and who are aware of what might charitably be termed my over-developed sense of personal justice - the astonishing thing is that I grinned at the ref.  I have yet to punch an official of the game and if that didn't provoke it, I guess I never will.