Rugby isn’t violence, it’s warfare with rules. And for boys, it’s a game, played with passion and purpose, that could change their lives for the better. By Sean O’Connor
I have two sons. One is twelve, the other two. Let’s call them that: Twelve and Two. In rugby terms, that would make them Centre and Hooker.
Twelve bounced into this world like an odd shaped ball. He was a big, strong healthy child, prone to adopt the pose of the Buddha when he came to rest. Like his young peers in Grade R, he played tag rugby and enjoyed it.
Then he shifted schools, and that became a thing of the past. The new school was too democratic, in my mind, with sport. It gave a taste of all, but a meal of none. Twelve drifted into a medley of hockey, soccer, softball, tennis and swimming. No rugby.
Then I got divorced, and Twelve went into his shell for a bit. He was bullied at school, and recovered well. He found his place with his peers and is happy, most of the time. But he is also explosive and has difficulty concentrating. He carries a lot of anger in his bones. It isn’t that easy to engage with him, without him becoming emotional.
Rugby offers a place to deal with that. The bumps and bangs and bruises are a kind of physical therapy, an endorphin high that only rugby players can experience. There has been much written about this lately, with a bevy of health professionals in the UK calling for rugby to be made a non-contact sport.
Putting your body on the line is a privilege. It is not, as The Times suggested, state-sponsored violence. It is ritualised warfare, yes, but with rules. Occasionally, aggression is uncontained, and that is pause for reflection and learning. And sometimes, but very, very rarely, tragedy – often as a result of poor coaching or refereeing. But aggression, channelled, is a powerful thing, which can move mountains.
Twelve plays hockey. Hockey is okay, I guess, but lacks the binding aspect that rugby provides. In a scrum, for example, you go down and grunt together. You feel the impact of the opposition collectively and immediately, as it tremors through your body. There are other sports much more ‘violent’ than rugby – American football, despite all the protective equipment, is one. Hockey, on the other hand, is like weak glue. It doesn’t really bind. Sorry, but that’s my opinion.
The other sport Twelve plays is tennis. He could be quite good. Fortunately, they play doubles at school, so there is an element of teamwork and strategy. Being part of a team, learning what that’s all about, and your role in it, is a life-lesson some learn best on the field, physically and emotionally, not in a cerebral class environment.
Two is a hale little chap. I sit on the steps with his mother, we watch him, and agree. He should go to a local school, boys only, and it would be best if he played rugby. If he, like Twelve, doesn’t want to, that’s fine. I’m learning to like hockey too. And I love tennis.
Tennis is an individual game, demanding concentration and self-discipline in an almost internal dialogue. Rugby, on the other hand, is intensely communicative. You contribute to the team’s energy and feed off it, with a more external kind of dialogue. That’s what makes rugby such a great game. As a team sport, it’s specialised, passionate, unpredictable and gutsy. Watching little people with big hearts is to see some nascent strength in them, and for them to see it in themselves.
Perhaps it’s an ego thing, and I want my son to experience what I experienced, so that we have a bonding connection. The truth is, it’s up to him, and whatever he chooses, even ballet, I’ll support him. Twelve does the most amazing pirouettes on the lawn! And Two might just become a shotputter.
Wouldn’t it be great if someone had the ability to assess each child and candidly say: “You’ll never get much enjoyment out of cricket, so just give it up. Focus on athletics.”
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