An OT match report of sorts

Rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated…

For those who remember the start of the season, such high hopes, such enthusiasm, I had started to give the occasional report from Gateshead RFC IV team (a.k.a. The Flatliners). I had noticed a little stiffness around my shoulder around October, which by the start of November had prevented me from doing anything meaningful in the gym, let alone taking to the pitch. 

So, being a man of a certain age I left it until sleeping was becoming problematic before going to see the G.P., who referred me on to the practice physio, who within 30 seconds had diagnosed what I had, a subacromial bursa, for which he diagnosed a length of rubber for exercising with & a shot of Cortisone. 

Now, by some happy coincidence, I got an email at work at the start of the year, asking if people were interested in a veterans team, representing the fine, upstanding body of men & women that form Durham Constabulary. 

That was how on Wednesday night I found myself getting changed with a bunch of people I barely recognised, but slipping straight back in to the same sort of banter that I had been deprived of since October, at Houghton-le-Spring RFC. Donning Houghton’s shirts & our own socks & shorts felt a little like a Lions tour…well a Lion Bar tour, maybe. 

Sunderland vets had offered us the game, so we trooped out for a few runs, calls & to test the general fitness levels, which being entirely fair & accurate were pretty poor. But when the mind is willing, it matters little if the body is weak. 

The game was split in to two halves of 20 minutes each way, with rolling subs on both sides. I started in my usual position, bench, before ambling on to the pitch for one of the lads who though he had popped a rib. Slotting in to the hooker’s berth the difference between Sunderland & ourselves was clear in that they were supple enough to pack down lower than my tighthead’s belly button. Still, it is always good to get the first scrum over & weigh up how difficult the game will be. I heard somebody ask the ref how long was left after Sunderland had scored under the posts, for the first points of the game. “Seven minutes” the ref said. Whether that was seven played or seven to go I have no idea, but the remaining time before halftime felt like an age, trying desperately to haul my Christmas (un)fit body round the pitch, from ruck to ruck in the mud. 

I swapped back out for the first 10 of the second half & finished the game on the field, final score was 42 to Sunderland, 7 for Durham. The score wasn’t important, the game was, for being what I came back to rugby for, fair, hard, sporting & blooming good fun. The vets team will be playing once a month, & whilst I’m a bit battered & bruised, I’ll tell the physio that the shoulder is holding up & hopefully be back in the gym next month, ready to reclaim my place on the Fourth’s bench & recount our ascent of Northumberland League 3a. 

Onwards & upwards, as somebody once said…