Fat Blokes 7s -– Reading Abbey RFC by Singin Wasp

By Simgin Wasp
August 11 2004

Now, come on, tell me; who in their right mind sets an alarm for 6.30 on a Saturday morning, especially when you have a 13-week-old baby? It could only be attributed to temporary insanity or some other such failing. No, having reviewed the situation, it was definitely insanity.

Why? Oh yes sorry, well the time had come to dust off the boots - buy some new ones actually (I found my old pair covered in dried mud, and things nesting, in a carrier bag behind the immersion tank and should have donated them to the nearest museum - or the local dump). I really should have cleaned them eight years ago but you know what it’s like when you come in cold, wet and tired after a hard session coaching the U16s.

I quickly discovered that there were others like me, procuring a new pair of boots, sitting amidst an array of styles, colours and makes assessing the merits of each before picking the ones that made them look good.

Oh yes, why? Well ‘twas the night before Christmas … no no, getting carried away again, it was time for the world-renowned Fat Blokes 7s Tournament. Now for those of you who have hidden in the wilderness and followed tennis or cricket during the summer months, this is a massive event equalled only by the Middlesex 7s at Twickenham.

OK so I lied, it’s a bunch of ‘old’ men who seem hell-bent on a path of self-destruction in a vain attempt to rekindle the days of old when they were aspiring to be the next Dusty Hare. None of that applies to a lithe young man like me, of course, I was simply lending my hand of experience to the rest.

So having realised that nobody likes to be woken early on a Saturday morning – especially not the wife – we set off in a rather small convoy laden with kit to our hosts for the weekend, Reading Abbey RFC. As we were also providing the medical cover for the event everything was ready for the trickled arrival of the DW - even the captain was late in true DW style.

The Wasps’ HQ was set fair, treatment area, stretchers, tape, deep heat, ice packs, blankets, sun lounges, banners and, of course, our telescopic flagpole adorned with a fearsome DW flag; what a prime spot we had - with the arrival of our resident barman, Golly, the ‘Land Rover’s Return’ was set for opening time, well the tailgate of his Lightweight was.

Now it was clear that the opposition were intimidated by our organisational skills for here we were, almost the 18-man squad, gathered together in Black and Gold spinning three balls within our huddle, what they couldn’t see was that they kept bumping into each other most of the time.

With the Flatulent Fairies (London Irish) resplendent in their pink and green shirts, looking on with worried eyes we set about our warm-up, two lines of men ball in hand, from touchline to touchline passing the ball and looping round. Well what a sight, by the time we had raced the first 15 metres, balls had been dropped, people were looping the wrong way, some had stopped to catch their breath and others were calling for the trainer! I can’t quite remember who laughed more, our audience or us - of course, this was all part of the game plan.

Now you must understand the nature of how this tournament is played. It is for those elderly gents mentioned previously but as the name suggests involves those who have at some point enjoyed one beer or pie too many. Ostensibly the simple entry rules are for those over 40 or those with a 40-inch waist, I was allowed to play under an exemption you understand.

Now we do think that there was a typo somewhere along the line, we were watching fit, young and very muscular chaps getting out of cars, they must be the refs or fellows helping with the organisation, surely? No, meet our first opposition team the Fat Cats, otherwise known as East Grinstead RFC. Aaaaargh.

After chasing the first ball of the game some 20 metres towards our line in the hands of their winger, I was dead on my feet. At that moment I knew it was a typo, they read ‘Fit’ Blokes 7s - they should have been banned but they weren’t the only team of such calibre, fortunately we weren’t to meet any more of them. Needless to say we came a commendable second place in that game.

We shared our pool with The Flatulent Fairies and also Jason’s Leopards (Harlequins), the first of our ‘real’ games as I like to call them was against the boys exiled from the exiles. We had a plan. After watching knees scrape on the rock-hard ground and witnessing the results we quickly made off to bandage our knees. Guffawing from the opposition ceased when they realised our beautiful skin had remained intact throughout.

This was not the last laugh for the DWs as we ran out determined to replicate the last meeting of these two fine teams, at the Mad Stad last December where the DWs came out on top with the only try of the match. This contest proved tougher than the last, this was full contact rugby, this was on hard ground, and this was on a full-size pitch!!

The game started well, the crowd rejoiced as the DWs ran in five tries in the first half, spurred on by chants of Allez, Allez Allez, Wasps,Wasps, Wasps. I know now how the players feel when it bellows from the Frank Adams’ stand. Considering the less than excellent support last year, this was a sea change, a very well-rounded and watered crowd had followed the boys as eagerly as they would the 1st XV, we even had enough to put out a team this year. In actual fact the DWs arrived with 18 players (well 18 chaps in shorts and rugby shirts trying to remember the rules).

Given such support we adopted a very successful buddy system to capitalise on the rolling substitution rule – see I told you it was for fat blokes. When any member of the playing team felt like a rest perhaps after a knock or trying to run more than 10 metres, they would signal to their buddy and be replaced immediately. This worked particularly well up front with the entire pack sticking together as one; the benefits were clear, I could almost remember the name of my props, Stu the Kiwi was unforgettable even for somebody as bad at names as I and the other, er … hmm … well you know who you are.

We had developed some excellent routines for the lineouts through this idea of keeping the packs playing together, with Stu throwing and me, the lightest (well the lightest forward anyway) jumping with some assistance. Of the lineouts we were awarded, it worked like a dream; range, height, grace and a fantastic catch by Yours Truly - shame the ref called them “Not straight”. Tough call sir, tough call! I don’t think that Mr Ashley Rowden would have called it, but then he did manage to avoid refereeing games involving vocal Wasps’ supporters – Bless.

The second half of the Fairies game is probably best avoided. After being forced to start from our 10m line we seemed to be pegged well and truly inside our own 22 and watched as the Fairies brought on fresh legs for the slight uphill run to score two, or was it three tries? Whatever the score, the result was a fantastic win against a fine team; we were justifiably proud.

If you had to name the Wasps’ nemesis it would be Jason’s Leopards, and by God did we match our own Premiership team. Clearly up for the game, the Leopards launched headlong into the ball, the turf and the opposition with vigour and gusto – I am being polite. This was a grudge match fair and square. There was certainly no love lost on this pitch and it wasn’t long before they were challenging our line. A combination of stretching the rules and our own amazing defensive efforts saw the DWs make their last stand on their own tryline and even over it, the referee judging three tries in all as held up.

Not surprisingly in such a fearsome game there was dissent and after one famous defensive effort the Leopards were marched back three times in a row; this made the battle even more important for them to win.

The intensity of the match increased and so did the physicality, the mauls became wrestling contests, the challenges hard and the ruck a dangerous place to go. I still bear the stud marks on both legs and an arm as well as a fearsome boot mark on my thigh, I wouldn’t mind so much if I had been in the way of the ball, but hey that’s rugby.

I think I came off lightly, although I also suffered a hefty punch to the jaw in one ruck, poor Stu saw a well-executed forearm smash heading straight for him. Please remind me not to be near him when he comes around next time, that was rather scary, as it was he was back on the field in the second half, definitely not RFU rules, but he’s a tough bloke and all credit to him.

The half-time whistle was a welcome relief and gave us an opportunity to regroup and rethink. Fight fire with fire was the order of the day from that point on, every man was expected to do his duty for Wasps, stand up and be counted. The scrum, which was difficult to control, became the focus of attention and in the best traditions of the game it separated the men from the boys before it settled down.

Praying on their weaknesses James (Gurney) made another excellent kick into space closely followed by our new (very tired) hero Ron – why hero? Well he was one of the few fit enough to chase a ball and had scored previously – it could have been a slo-mo replay at Twickenham, reminiscent of Rob Howley’s try in the Heiny Cup; Ron chased, others chased, we gave up gasping for air, but Ron was there closing the gap on the now slowing ball.

Bouncing perilously close to the dead-ball line it was shadowed by a Leopard, waiting with ‘Poitrenaud’ precision to ground the ball or watch it go dead; like Rob himself, Ron was there every step of the way and made a superb grab to ground the ball for five fantastic points.

At this point we tried to be clever, 12-year-old William had hardly missed his kicks all day on the practice pitch and attempts to bribe the ref into allowing him to take such a crucial kick were futile; I said we should have offered him money. Our captain and kicker James (nobody else could drop kick with any accuracy) heartily took his mark and slotted it neatly over the bar, 5-7.

The tension grew ever stronger as did the physicality of the game, the Leopards were determined to score again and every man on both sides bravely stepped up to the mark laying their bodies on the line for their team in what had become a hard and tough encounter, played in the spirit of the game and with grit and determination rather than maliciousness.

After a further two stoppages, Chris’ ankle (meaning he was stretchered back to Wasps’ HQ after the game), and a knee to one of Jason’s men, the shaved head of their hooker made a fearsome break down the left wing. Outpacing or handing off two tackles only James stood in his way after I had shepherded him towards the touchline. Spectators scattered as the beasts grew closer together. Thud! A perfect tackle, wrapping up the man top and tail, brought him to the ground and with it victory for the DWs. Now that was a hard game on both sides but in the best tradition of rugby what happened on the pitch, stayed on the pitch meaning we could all run out together for a beer or three later that evening.

Before the serious business could begin, there was the small matter of the knockout stages. As we made it into the Shield competition for finishing second in our group, we were pitted against the Yaks from Northampton. A well-rehearsed team with only one substitute, this might be a possibility. Sadly we discovered that we had cooled down rather too much and were soon trailing by three tries to nil.

This game was just as intense as the last albeit from a cardiovascular point of view as they exposed our weakness to maintain the defensive line and spun the ball out wide. A serious chat was in order, why not repeat what had been so successful in the past? Put the ball in the gaps behind their defence and bring on the young(ish) guns who could run.

It worked with poor old (young) Ron being forced to chase a long kick for the second time, but for the second time it resulted in another fantastic try after he picked up and ran round the defence. Now at this point we are arguing in our house as to whether it was indeed Ron or John, but as they both made excellent runs and scored excellent tries, we shall give them both the credit that is due. Why not do it again? With the clock ticking down rapidly there was time for one last play, Stu received the ball from the back of a maul and took off like the scalded cat down the wing. What a sight! He frightened off two of their tacklers, demolished another three and sadly got caught before he was able to release the ball to me on the outside.

The ball was recycled. The space was there. The kick was made and it fell right, off I went and out of the corner of my eye I could see Ron or John (I can’t remember who was on at the time) chasing from the left wing. As I reached the 22, the ball dropped over the tryline and was being watched by a Yak. His head was down, he was concentrating on the ball going dead, I sped up (foolishly) and tried with all of my might to reach the ball, but the bounce was cruel and the ball went dead and with it our hopes of closing the gap.

I would love to be able to tell you what happened in the finals but we were busy dealing with the only real casualties of the day and thus missed them. Now I have been in rugby club changing facilities all over Europe (admittedly not for a long time) and without a doubt after several of the lads have showered the supply of warmish water has gone. Not so at Abbey RFC; the most hilarious part of the day was watching big strong and hard rugby types turn on the shower only to scream like schoolgirls as the unusually very hot water hit their sunburn with fearsome force.

Thanks are due to our hosts the Reading Abbey RFC (please water the pitches next year - less injuries), Eek the Weeble from the Flatulent Fairies for organising the weekend, all of the guys who laid their lives on the line for the honour of our Club, the supporters and my medics who seemed to enjoy rubbing deep heat into the boys (they are female if you hadn’t guessed).

Next year? Well book your time now for the weekend of 23 July. The Wasps’ village has been planned, we have a hospital, ambulance and fire station, shop and, of course, the ‘Land Rover’s Return’ Public Vehicle. Passports will be required as we intend to declare independence and set up a tax haven. Come one come all, come and have a great weekend camping, eating, drinking and watching rugby. See you there.

The Team

Front Row: Kevin (Waspie Vegas), Meanie, Mellie (Mr Little Nell), Mike (Singin Wasp), James (Gizzy) Gurney (capt), Paul (Crockers), John (Stinger131), Simon, Steve (Waltham X Wasp).

Back row (L to R): Richard (Christchurch), Logi (the sleepy one), Stu (Bullet), Squittus (It's a miracle, he walks!), Ron (the shorts), Dodg, Shawn (Spils), Jim (DubsRes).

Find out more about this strange bunch of fools who not only upset the general public by wearing shorts but who are also avid supporters of everything Wasps including organising trips to away games both domestic and European by logging onto www.waspies.net

One word of warning though. Next year we are going to pinch Trevor so he won’t be available for Poland (again). Sorry Warren.

Mike Mulroy (AKA Singin Wasp)