Rob Rattenbury: Rugby ‘simple enjoyment’ back in the day

In his rugby-playing days, boots were black not "fancy-schmancy" colours, writes Rob Rattenbury. Photo / Alex Burton

OPINION

Cold as gyp here - 3C. I have to write a light piece about rugby. Well, I don’t have to but if I want paying I’d better.

This cold weather reminds me of younger days playing rugby union, starting as a midget or bantam at the old Hutt club, my dad’s club, and finishing at about 35 after the police national rugby 7s tournament in 1987. The body was in a world of pain. No more. The old OBs went into the rubbish tin.

For those who don’t know OBs, they are footie boots. Not these modern fancy-schmancy boots in bright colours. OBs came in black. The only other colour was white, the laces. Real boots, not slippers with sprigs.

Lightness and rugby sort of don’t go together. Oh well. I will need to call on some distant memories.

In recent years, a bunch of guys I went right through school with have re-established contact after years of just living and working. We are all 70 or 71 years young.

When we meet occasionally, it doesn’t take long to get into rugby. Every one of us played. It was that type of college. No footballor league. Just union. There were 450-odd boys and 18 or so teams.

Most of the guys who still meet played eventually at first or second XV level. In our day, the firsts played in the open U19 grade with certain other mainly boys’ schools and the seconds played the first XVs from surrounding state schools.

One guy is still miffed, more than 50 years later, at being dropped from the second XV to be replaced by another guy in the group. Needless to say, he gets a bit of a teasing about it. Both were good players in their time.

A few carried on after school into senior grades and rep teams. No All Blacks, sadly, but tasty players.

I still look at these old guys and see them in their rugby gear as fit, strong teenagers. Even at our age, you can look at a photo of us and pick our positions from our body types. The reason union was so successful in boys’ schools is it caters for all body types. A place for every boy from gangling bean frames to the more sturdy units.

I have a photo of four of us somewhere. A 6ft 4in retired secondary physics teacher. A 6ft 2in retired accountant - locks. A 5ft 7in muscle ball of a retired businessman - hooker. A 6ft slighter-built retired cop - wing/flanker. We played those positions pretty much all our school days.

The hooker, being a hooker, is standing on tiptoes in the photo but is still the short one. I’d never tell him that of course. Wings don’t give hookers cheek.

The locks still tower over us. The wing is still trying to not get dirty. Memories.

Rugby was the focus of my life for many years as both a player and a spectator. I even coached schoolboy rugby for a couple of years. I don’t watch much rugby at all now, just the odd test. I might get wound up for the Rugby World Cup though.

What I am enjoying, but do not watch enough of, is the Black Ferns games. It is a totally different style of rugby - exciting, fast and so skilled. Women and girls have brought a new dimension to rugby. Well, to all sport actually but union in particular, that last bastion of male pride in the sporting world.

After coming to Whanganui I stopped playing club rugby. It was hard to get time off anyway. I still enjoyed the social rugby that is played in our police, inter-station in the large centres and against the fire service, the railways, the army and other local big firms who could field teams. We also played a bit of football too - same gear, who cares?

All the players had come from rugby backgrounds, some very skilled but most there for the fun.

You see, the other thing about union is that you did not have to be highly skilled or intensely fit to play it. You soon found your grade or it found you. You tend to play against others of similar ability and outlook.

You played for the simple enjoyment of it all. The culture, the smell of liniment, the saveloys, bread and tomato sauce, perhaps with chips, after the game with a couple of bevvies with old mates. Even trying to get those darned laces white again every week.

As young family men, our wives and kids would be there enjoying themselves too, the long-suffering wives listening to their dear spouses bang on about rugby.

I have no idea of the state of club and age-grade rugby nowadays. I hope rugby still thrives for young girls and boys.