BY DOMINIC WIGHTMAN
Rugby is a beastly game played by gentlemen. Everyone knows the great sport teaches so many life lessons from bravery to team work to stoicism. Rugby is a fantastic sport for youngsters, building their confidence and character and introducing them to values that will help them in rugby and throughout life. Which is why – as my father did for me – I signed my son up to play rugby as soon as he could catch a ball.
And as any rugby player knows, by this time mid-season players are carrying more bruises about them than a cantaloupe that has plunged from a tree and rolled down a bumpy lane. There are bruises on the shoulders from tackling, bruises on the legs from being tackled and if you’re one of those Neanderthals who plays in the scrum you’ll have cuts, scabs and bruises all over your body. That is the price of being a bruiser as every good rugby player should be.
This week, after hearing from my son – a second row Neanderthal who, dear selectors, qualifies for England, France and Venezuela – that his shoulder had gone black after making a few stinger tackles in a game, I thought I’d better head off to the hospital to have him checked out.
After a bit of a wait, he was seen by a doctor who decided that he required an X-Ray as my son could hardly lift his left arm. So, we bought some teas and waited a while longer.
While we were waiting for the X-Ray a fierce-looking nurse approached me and asked if she could have a private word. So, I popped into a side room where she had some notes from the doctor we’d just seen. She proceeded to ask me, very professionally and politely, why my son was so covered in bruises.
I worked out pretty well straight away that these were standard questions for the father of a bruised young boy. Hospital staff were obliged to question me. Were I a child abuser I may have reacted badly. As it was, I remained calm, gentlemanly and stoical.
I replied ‘rugby’ to each and every question and reached the end of the nurse’s inquisition without spitting out any of my tea.
I suppose the facts that I was wearing a scarf for my son’s team and that he was still in his muddy kit assisted the nurse in concluding the bleeding obvious. Nonetheless, she asked some useful questions and I do believe that if I had been guilty of beating up my son then she would have found me out. We parted amicably and the experience was not so bad – improved by my son’s X-Ray results which showed all bones intact and the need for just a week off contact training.
After dropping him back at school it occurred to me that other rugby parents should be aware that you’ll get an inquisition. Kids get injured every week in their numbers playing rugby and other parents will have to go through the same rigmarole as I was put through.
My advice?
Keep calm, buy some tea and make sure your son – or daughter – is still attired in their muddy kit.
Rugby players by partaking in rugby are privileged. They earn that privilege. They can sport bruises. Never forget this as molly-coddling wokeistas come for our mighty sport played by great men, heroic women and some intrepid trans.
Dominic Wightman is Editor of Country Squire Magazine.