Articles - Articles 1
Wives & Girlfriends
28 March 2010
I’m always fascinated about the people who choose to spend their Saturday afternoon watching level 8 Rugby and what vacant lives they must lead to place an Essington v Barton encounter higher than anything else that could occur at 3PM on a Saturday in February. These are people whose lack of exposure to sunlight has produced a complexion of unbaked pastry and who are further disfigured by systematic exposure to state education. You have others; the ones who shamelessly read the Guardian, wear elbow patches, and like bits in their Camra regulated beer, and then there are the Wives and Girlfriends (WAGs), deliberately looking pretty and trying to impress and support their latest Beau.
In my playing days my good lady would sometimes come down and in one friendly against Burton I managed to score twice for Barton then switched sides at half time and scored a late lucky try for Burton. I was well chuffed and after the match swaggered up to her, chest puffed out, bursting with pride and she said “did you win?”. I had to explain what had happened in a style that would have made Dave Rowe’s exploits seem terse and believable, and she replied that she’d really come down to see Debbie’s new baby and to talk to Sue Woolley and had missed it all. She forced a smile then turned away and patted me on the head like you would a faithful Labrador who had just retrieved a stick from a swollen stream, to say “that’s enough now, I’m bored”.
So not all WAGS are there to watch (or understand) the game, they are there for many reasons ; duty, devotion and sometimes just to look pretty, and due to the latter I have come to the conclusion that we have the cleverest and best looking touchline line up of any team in the league.
Many teams have come to play Barton just so they can have freeze spray administered by Jules or Rachael, and others come just so they can mingle with our WAGs. Some of our own spectators say they come down to watch a tightly fought contest, some say they want the fresh air and some say they want to watch Coxy yellow carded but in reality they all come down to admire our collection of WAGs. It’s like mixing with the VIPs at China White’s, it’s like brushing shoulders with the A list celebrities on the red carpet, it’s like sitting in the stalls with Megan Fox at the latest movie premier – yes, that’s what Saturday afternoon at Holland Sports Club is like.
Our WAGS are not just pretty, oh no. They are also clever and have letters after their name – BA, BSC, PhD and as one spectator said “Phooaarr”. No team can compete against this and no-one can say our WAGs are dim. I won’t mention names but there are ladies in our midst who have a better understanding of the intricacies of scrummaging than most referees, and when I try to engage them in conversation (like I know something about front row etiquette) I receive a polite, although forced, smile and a pat on the head. Again.
Some teams attempt to reach our stratospheric levels of prettiness using their own WAGs although the rough raw material means they need even more make up than I did last Saturday night, however their poor understanding of how to subtly combine foundation and mascara meant one Essington girl’s eyes looked like two crows had flown into a chalk cliff face. And their choice of attire is no better.
There are people designed to wear lycra (none should be on a rugby pitch by the way and more of that later), yet those who should, don’t, and those who really shouldn’t, do; unashamedly. I mean no fabric, natural or manmade should be expected to suffer such strain as trying to retain the hundredweights of cellulite carried round by some of the ladies from Hanford. Come on ! Use a full length mirror ladies !
There are exceptions and there was one lovely young thing from Tamworth a few years ago who caught my eye. After the match she sidled over to me but it transpired she only came over to question why I had thrown, and in this very rare instance, landed, a punch on her boyfriend who was playing openside. Now everyone in Tamworth and almost everyone in East Staffordshire, Warwickshire and parts of Derbyshire knows why one would want to punch this particular flanker and as such only a half wit would ask such a daft question, so although very pretty she had to be pigeon holed as “dim”. I smiled and patted her head.
That was the closest our opposition have come to the Barton WAGs and so I lay down a challenge to our future competitors ; until you can beat us with better rugby, better medics, and better looking touchline catwalk stars, then you don’t deserve the points.
28 March 2010
I’m always fascinated about the people who choose to spend their Saturday afternoon watching level 8 Rugby and what vacant lives they must lead to place an Essington v Barton encounter higher than anything else that could occur at 3PM on a Saturday in February. These are people whose lack of exposure to sunlight has produced a complexion of unbaked pastry and who are further disfigured by systematic exposure to state education. You have others; the ones who shamelessly read the Guardian, wear elbow patches, and like bits in their Camra regulated beer, and then there are the Wives and Girlfriends (WAGs), deliberately looking pretty and trying to impress and support their latest Beau.
In my playing days my good lady would sometimes come down and in one friendly against Burton I managed to score twice for Barton then switched sides at half time and scored a late lucky try for Burton. I was well chuffed and after the match swaggered up to her, chest puffed out, bursting with pride and she said “did you win?”. I had to explain what had happened in a style that would have made Dave Rowe’s exploits seem terse and believable, and she replied that she’d really come down to see Debbie’s new baby and to talk to Sue Woolley and had missed it all. She forced a smile then turned away and patted me on the head like you would a faithful Labrador who had just retrieved a stick from a swollen stream, to say “that’s enough now, I’m bored”.
So not all WAGS are there to watch (or understand) the game, they are there for many reasons ; duty, devotion and sometimes just to look pretty, and due to the latter I have come to the conclusion that we have the cleverest and best looking touchline line up of any team in the league.
Many teams have come to play Barton just so they can have freeze spray administered by Jules or Rachael, and others come just so they can mingle with our WAGs. Some of our own spectators say they come down to watch a tightly fought contest, some say they want the fresh air and some say they want to watch Coxy yellow carded but in reality they all come down to admire our collection of WAGs. It’s like mixing with the VIPs at China White’s, it’s like brushing shoulders with the A list celebrities on the red carpet, it’s like sitting in the stalls with Megan Fox at the latest movie premier – yes, that’s what Saturday afternoon at Holland Sports Club is like.
Our WAGS are not just pretty, oh no. They are also clever and have letters after their name – BA, BSC, PhD and as one spectator said “Phooaarr”. No team can compete against this and no-one can say our WAGs are dim. I won’t mention names but there are ladies in our midst who have a better understanding of the intricacies of scrummaging than most referees, and when I try to engage them in conversation (like I know something about front row etiquette) I receive a polite, although forced, smile and a pat on the head. Again.
Some teams attempt to reach our stratospheric levels of prettiness using their own WAGs although the rough raw material means they need even more make up than I did last Saturday night, however their poor understanding of how to subtly combine foundation and mascara meant one Essington girl’s eyes looked like two crows had flown into a chalk cliff face. And their choice of attire is no better.
There are people designed to wear lycra (none should be on a rugby pitch by the way and more of that later), yet those who should, don’t, and those who really shouldn’t, do; unashamedly. I mean no fabric, natural or manmade should be expected to suffer such strain as trying to retain the hundredweights of cellulite carried round by some of the ladies from Hanford. Come on ! Use a full length mirror ladies !
There are exceptions and there was one lovely young thing from Tamworth a few years ago who caught my eye. After the match she sidled over to me but it transpired she only came over to question why I had thrown, and in this very rare instance, landed, a punch on her boyfriend who was playing openside. Now everyone in Tamworth and almost everyone in East Staffordshire, Warwickshire and parts of Derbyshire knows why one would want to punch this particular flanker and as such only a half wit would ask such a daft question, so although very pretty she had to be pigeon holed as “dim”. I smiled and patted her head.
That was the closest our opposition have come to the Barton WAGs and so I lay down a challenge to our future competitors ; until you can beat us with better rugby, better medics, and better looking touchline catwalk stars, then you don’t deserve the points.
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