I *heart* Rugby!!

After my abyssmal Friday, which even beyond getting mauled by the Guru was not stunning, I needed a pick-me-up. I'd gone out for a few with the coursemates and we'd tried to go to the Bobbin, a very near-campus studentie bar, but when I went to order my soda (I wasn't even after a beer, as I've given up such for lent-- not all booze, never you fear, just beer) they carded me! ME! I can count on one hand the number of times I've been carded. I asked the bartender (who looked like he was about 15) what form of ID he wanted, drivers' license, student card, etc., and handed him my somewhat battered Michigan drivers' license. Not good enough. He wanted my passport. Now, I don't carry my passport around with me-- I don't think that's particularly bright, to keep it on you so if you get mugged you lose it-- so I was bounced. Not for ordering booze underage, not for being unruly, no. For ordering a diet coke and not having my passport. Thanks, Bobbin.

ANYWAY. on Saturday-- as most of us know, my dear invisible readers, it is the height of Six Nations Rugby. Italy, France, Endland, Wales, Scotland and Ireland all battering at each other to win the tournament, and it's heaven for the rugby fan. Multiple matches on a Saturday, cheering and jeering, and lots of good reasons to drink. Beautiful things. Through an incredible stroke of luck, Alpha was able to obtain four tickets to the Scotland v. England match down at Murrayfield in Edinburgh. WOOT WOOT! So, Spunkin and Loz (a couple who really shouldn't be a couple anymore but that's a whole seperate story) and I jumped in Alpha's car and chatted the whole way to Edinburgh. A quick pub lunch where we caught the beginning of the Wales v. Ireland match, and then off to the stadium to collect the tickets and bask in the glory of a live rugby game.

Things took a decidedly negative twist when, upon rocking up to the ticket counter, the powers that be informed Alpha that the tickets had been cancelled and we could one purchase two currently. WHAT. She had a bit of a spaz and tried to work it out, but the gentleman behind the counter was spectacularly unhelpful. We regrouped outside the booth, tried to figure out what to do, and had partially decided to just hike back into town and find a pub where to watch the match when Alpha decided to give it one last go-- while she was in working with a far more helpful manager, Spunkin and Loz met an enderly couple from near Inverness. Their two friends hadn't been able to attend and they had two extra tickets. We explained that we'd love to buy them, but didn't have any money on us, really, as we'd been expecting to purchase nothing more than beer at the match itself. "Well, I'm an old man," he said, "and this would make me happy." And he just HANDED THEM THE TICKETS. Alpha and I bought the two remaining tickets available from the booth, and Loz threw her arms around the lady wife of the generous farmer. So, a 120 pound gift of tickets later, we were IN.

It had been gloriously sunny all afternoon up to that point, but as Alpha and I purchased a beveridge a piece and sprinted to our exceptionally good seats, it began to POUR. No worries, nothing could dampen our spirits-- we were IN! As we sat down, two fighter jets flew over and literally as we took our first sip, Johnny kicked the ball and the match began.

At one point there were two rainbows literally IN THE STADIUM, and the rain was intermittent, but it didn't bother us any-- our seats were in the West stand, under the roof bit. In fact, our seats were amazing. We were close enough to the pitch to recognize the players not by their numbers only, but also by their faces and hair. Absolutely incredible.

A line-out won by England, but was quickly turned over to the boys in blue...

Maybe the rugby itself wasn't spectacular, but being there was INCREDIBLE. Even Alpha had to admit that she'd never been to a better match, simply on account of how supportive and upbeat the crowd was, the songs that were sung, the whole general atmosphere-- positively brilliant.

The stadium was packed and I know it's difficult to tell from the pictures, but the amount of blue and white in the crowd was a sight to see.

A veritable feast for Scottish eyes...

With only one serious injury (stretcher and hospital required) for a nasty knock to the head, the match was surprisingly not as bloody as it could have been. Scrappy seems to be a word a lot of people are throwning about to describe it-- I just say, perfect.

There were a few tense moments, but all in all the boys carried the day. One of the things I truly love about Scotland fans is that they, like so many of the fans at home, cheer when the other team screws up! I love it! It's not just we Laker students who cheer when the other team bobbles a pass, oh no-- when Johnny missed a kick, the stadium positively roared! To be honest, he is an impressive player, I'm sure England is justifiably proud of him, but it did happy things to my heart when he fell over post-kick. *insert meniachal giggle here* Also, I would just like to take this moment to point out that our very own Chris Patterson hasn't missed a single kick since LAST AUGUST. If this holds out through the end of the Six Nations, I will seriously consider bearing his little rugby babies.

At the end of the day, neither team had a try, but this scoreboard was a dear sight:

Just in case you can't read it clearly (CB, this is for you and your old english eyes) it says: Scotland 15, England 9

What does this mean? It means, as the gentleman in the row in front of us loudly proclaimed: "See thar, ye English Bastards! Ye can tek your chariots an' shove em up your arse!" Well said, good sir, well said. It also means that we're not shoo-ins for the wooden spoon, the consolation prize for whichever team comes in dead last in the Six Nations. And, perhaps most importantly, it means that Scotland won the Calcutta Cup! Take that, England!

That big, shiny, cup-shaped object? Yeah, it's OURS!

After a rousing rendition of Lock Lomond, and the Flower of Scotland, and I believe 500 Miles as well, we made our way out of the stadium and met back up with Spunkin and Loz and hiked back to the car. Alpha completely lost her voice by the time we rolled back into Aberdeen, but I think we all agreed-- absolutely and competely worth it.

I plan on spending about 12 hours in O'Neils next Saturday watching three seperate matches, and anyone who wants to join is more than welcome. I believe the lineup is Scotland v. Italy, then Ireland v. England, rounding out with Wales v. France-- title match-- and I plan on indulging myself and watching all three. Maybe a pub lunch before the first to stake out a prime table, and then let the games begin.

ps-- I love my life right now. I'll write something more reflective on why I think I enjoy sports so much, probably focusing on the equalizing nature of cheering, community unification and an approximation of a just society. But not now. Right now, I just like watching men smash each other in pursuit of a ball. :)