Bums and Boots

The Ruck

The ruck. My nightmare. The contact player's dream. Things happen that go unnoticed by those who watch the game. Richie McCaw and Bakkies Botha love the ruck. This is where they intimidate. I have heard stories where Bakkies has initiated new players to the game in the ruck by a little twist of the finger or a shove of the elbow. This was his way of telling the newbies that Loftus was his play ground. I have heard about pokes in the eye, the 'accidental punch' from the bottom of the ruck. All unproven of course. Merely, the words of those on the receiving end.
When a ruck is formed all I see is a mess of bodies. Boots in the air, heads squeezing through legs. It is for this reason that my hand holder, Lorraine, termed the ruck as being about boots and bums. Not much else can be seen.
I hated the ruck. A ruck is formed when a player is tackled. The players will 'go to ground'. This means that he will fall down, his back facing the opposition and place the ball on the ground so that players from his team will huddle around him to pass the ball to the team. I have heard primary school coaches yelling from the sidelines to the players to 'pyle, pyle!'. (Arrows).The aim is to get the ball out from this mass of bodies before the opposition can get their hands to the ball.
All well and good at professional level. The disarray of bodies in the ruck is part of the strategy. Work through the phases. But at schoolboy level it can be a parent's nightmare.
Once a ruck dismantles, I would wait with baited to see Matt emerging in one piece. I count the players in the backline: left wing, centres, right wing. Oh God! Where is the number 10?
Sometimes, I sigh with relief and let go of Lorraine's hand which has turned blue from the squeezing. Matt runs to his position on the field and all is well. Lorraine takes it in her stride. She is a big girl with a heart even bigger. She understands. Her boy plays prop. He is right in the front, a whole lot of kilograms pushing him forward into the opposition in the scrum. A position I hate even more than the ruck. I thank God every day that none of my sons play in the scrum. I thank God for my skinny genes that place them in the backline. They do not have enough meat on them to be a forwards player. A male friend once told me that the workers in rugby were the forwards and that the backline players were merely glamour boys. I thought he was jealous. After all, he had cauliflower ears and a round body. Just wait until he has children, I would think. I am sure he would rather his sons sat bench out of harm's way.
There have been occasions that Matt has not emerged from the ruck. He was the prone figure lying on the far side of the field. I remember a game when he was 13 years old and was playing for the Trinity Prep First Team (which is actually the U13As but it sounded so much better to say First Team). My hand holder at the time was Toni Sanders.
Toni was a calm mother. She was my side-line comfort when our sons played rugby at primary school. Her son, Sean who happened to be Matt's best friend, was a strong boy. He made Craven Week when he was 13 years. He had the Sports Directors from Monument High and other rugby high schools trying to convince him that their school would get him ahead in the rugby world.
Sean was fast and strong. Unlike Matt who was skinny but passionate. So, most of the time Toni did not have to worry about Sean emerging from the bottom of the ruck. He was the guy most likely lying on top of the ruck. Or running to the try-line with ball under his arm.
On this occasion, Matt was lying still on the field.
'Oh my God, Toni! He is not moving.' I could feel hysteria rising. I tried to remain calm.
'It is ok,' Toni would tell me. She was always calm and I appreciated this calm amidst my neurotics.
I remember the paramedics, coach and assistant coach crowding around Matt. I could not see what was happening. The mass of bodies around him made the situation worse.
'Toni, I have to see that he is ok,' I was hysterical.
'Well go,' she said.
'But we are not allowed to. You know Mr Scott said in the meeting that parents must stay off the field.' Next to Matt getting injured, I was scared of Hilton Scott. He was in charge of rugby at Trinityhouse and he had that look. You know the one that a headmaster would give you when you walked into the office. It did not matter whether you were there for a good work stamp or not. You still were scared to walk in his presence. And Hilton Scott was not even a headmaster!
'I will go on with you,' Toni said. A wave of relief washed over me. I could do this with Toni next to me.
Holding my hand, Toni ran with me across the field towards the huddle around Matt. My heart was pounding; my throat dry. God please let him be alright. Please. Please. As we made our way halfway across the field, Matt stood up. He noticed Toni and me making our way towards him.
'I am fine, Mom,' he shouted. I could see he was irritated. By the angry look on his face I knew he as ok.
'Thank God, Toni. He's Ok.'
Toni grinned. 'I told you. These boys are tougher than we give them credit.'
I just sent a silent prayer. 'Thank you,' I whispered. 'Thank you for looking after my boy.'