The way of the wonky ball.

When team captain and work colleague Karin Olivier mentioned she was trying to get a ladies rugby team together, to play against the Orcadians coming up in June, I was more than a little apprehensive. Rugby, and ladies, I thought? Do thosetwo words even go together?
And isn't rugby the game where they have the wonky ball? The game with the rules I can't understand? The game with the God-awful injuries? Me? Play that? I don't think so. OK, maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but the last time I played rugby was in fourth year PE where 'touch' rugby suddenly turned into 'ha ha lets mow down the lasses' rugby.
But Karin was really worried no one else would turn up so the next thing I knew I was running around a rugby pitch 'pop passing' a wonky ball to my partner while I tried to dodge a whole bunch of worried looking lasses and their partners. Argh!
I told myself that after living through years of 'hooker' jokes I could maybe actually be a legitimate one (the one in the middle of the props that is). And maybe if someone knew I was a big tough rugby player they would think twice before joking about my name… I told Karin that if I hated it or if I was crap at it I wasn't coming back.
As it was, practices were quite good fun, and we took it seriously right from the word go. I don't know what our coach Wayne Leslie thought when he first saw his 'team' in front of him, but he managed to stifle any giggles and didn't run in the opposite direction in despair.
I don't think you could call any of us typical rugby players (none of us were built like brick you-know-whats anyway), but we were all quite athletic and we had a couple of hockey players and karate/judo enthusiasts in our midst.
If any of us had played rugby before it was in PE and was supposedly 'touch' rugby, so we were all quite glad when our first practice game was in fact touch rugby.
We had done a fair bit of practice with passing the ball and had been told how to throw it and how to catch it, but it's a bit more difficult when you have to put it into practise and you have a line of folk running straight at you.
The ball was going all over the place and as I, for one, had no clue what the rules were, it was full of laughs as well as mishaps. It was really tiring though. As soon as the other side got tackled you had to run back (10 yards I think, but it seemed like more) and get into your straight line of defence again.
At the end of the first practice I was in one piece and had no bruises or injuries to show off. Wayne had also told us that we hadn't done too badly for our first time (yeah, we actually believed him).
During the next week I went over the rules in my spare time so I didn't look quite so stupid at the next practice. (I had admitted to Karin that I had enjoyed myself, and she had convinced me that I wasn't any worse than anyone else, so, yes, I went back.)
Only to discover that we weren't going to play touch rugby any more and I had to learn a whole new set of rules. Damn.
We did plenty of drills at the start of every practice and although in the early stages it was only passing and catching the ball we practised, we were soon taught how to tackle. This is when it was very obvious that we were ladies, or should I say peerie lasses. We giggled our way through tackle practice, but eventually managed to get to the stage where we grunted and said "ow" instead of screeched.
It wasn't long before we were lined up against our 'opponents', ready to tackle properly. When I say opponents I mean huge big bags full of (supposedly) soft stuff for us to fling ourselves at, I mean tackle.
At first I found this particularly sore, and couldn't quite figure out why. Luckily Wayne was on hand with his words of wisdom - I wasn't getting my head out the way. Oops. I was running head on and basically head butting the damn thing (no wonder I had a crick in my neck the next day) but I finally got the hang of it, I think, and stored away THAT particular tactic for when we were pitted against a men's team. Watch out boys.
Luckily Wayne felt my strengths (huh!) didn't lie in whatever it is you do in the scrum, so I didn't have to do any of those. Or line outs either. He obviously had an idea what positions we would be playing, but at this point there was not much point in telling us since we didn't know what each position did.
After a couple of Tuesday practices we suddenly remembered that we had our first match in less than a month, so we stepped up training to two nights a week. This is when friends, and family in particular, started to get worried - I was actually being serious about it.
My sister was worried I'd break a leg and not be able to go on holiday with her.
My Mum was eyeing my rainbow bruises as she handed me flyers for ballet class.
Most of my friends just laughed and said good luck (the "you'll need it" left hanging in the air.)
"Oh I don't think it's a woman's game."
"Haven't Orkney been playing for a year and a half - how long have you been playing for?"
"When's your women's mud wrestling match on? Can I watch?"
"I can lend you some Sellotape so you don't lose an ear?"
"Are you having proper practices? Are the men taking your training seriously?"
"You do realise you will probably lose, rugby is not something you can learn overnight."
"You're gona get hurt."
"Won't your boobs get in the way?"
I started to get very worried. The Orkney RFC website crept onto my 'favourite site' list at work, and my arnica muscle salve found its way into my desk drawer as the bruises multiplied. The photo of the Orkney women gave me the heebie-jeebies - they looked huge, though I do admit I was so worried I could have been looking at a photo of a primary school team and I would have been shaking.
We hadn't been taught all the rules and the ones we had been taught you could hardly say we had a firm grasp of. Oh yes and the bruises were getting worse and I actually had a boob bruise - yes, they do get in the way.
On my way to the last practice I gave myself a talking to and was practicing visualisation techniques and positive mental attitude. I had just finished work and was on my way into the Clickimin to change out of my fairly smart-ish clothes into my rugby stuff, managing to whistle a little as my (borrowed) football boots swung from my hand. "I can do this. I can do this," I thought.
Then I noticed I was getting a funny look from a man walking near me. "Oh sh.., was I speaking out loud?" I thought. I smiled at him.
"I hope you don't mind me saying this," he said, "but it doesn't really match." He gestured to the boots and my work clothes. His jaw nearly fell through the floor when I told him I was in fact playing rugby, and was a member of the Shetland Ladies Rugby Team. I didn't tell him I hadn't actually been selected, but was only one of the lasses who had continued to turn up at practice; I thought his heart might not be able to take the truth.
That encounter kind of mucked up my last practice - I was too timid, not quite motivated enough, and scared stiff. I also managed to get an elbow in the head and some other body part in the face, nearly making me greet. What the hell am I doing here I thought?
I calmed down a little during the week but I actually had a nightmare about the game so I must have worked a little too hard to keep my fears out of my conscious mind.
We were due to play on the Sunday but before that there were two days of men's and junior rugby games on. The ladies team was drafted in to 'man' the bar and we went along to the dinner and disco in the North Star on the Saturday night too. None of us had too much drink, and what I did have had no effect, as my thoughts kept drifting back to the game the next day.
The next day I woke up with a start, knowing that something awful was supposed to happen but for a blissful split second forgetting what it was. I couldn't face breakfast but managed a can of Red Bull for energy. I boiled and moulded my new gum shield, having nearly ruined one of Mum's saucepans spoiling my first one. (I still haven't quite got over the fact that there is a need for a gum shield in my life.)
Kick-off, or whatever it is in rugby terms, was at half past one. Quarters would be seven minutes each and since Orkney were more used to fifteens, and us to sevens, the first half would be played sevens, the second half tens.
I must confess to thinking - oh my good God we are going to look so ridiculous when we go out there. Did we even have ten people in our team? What on earth were tens rules? Come to think of it, what on earth were sevens rules?
Lesley Mouat and I were told we would be playing back. What's a back do Wayne? Oh, you just mince around at the back. He did elaborate a peerie bit more, but Lesley and I were fairly convinced we could be mincers.
Luckily I started in my favourite position, the one I felt I would be most use at - substitute.
The worst part of my substituting life (all seven minutes of it) was when I saw our peerie Emily Tait being tackled by an Orcadian, and flying about four metres through the air before she eventually bounced to a standstill. Luckily she was none the worse after being spun all that distance, but it didn't do anything for those of us waiting nervously for our turn.

If it's possible, it's probably more nerve-wracking standing on the sidelines pretending you know what they are all shouting about. I did realise when they got points and managed to clap in the right place, but I had no idea HOW many points.
Yes, you read that right. We scored tries. Most of us admitted afterwards that we were really pleased when we got our first try, because we knew we wouldn't be on zero, but by the time I was put on as a mincer at the start of the second quarter we were doing really well.
Despite not knowing if I was doing the right thing or not, I gradually relaxed into the game and actually began to enjoy it. The male streakers we had were quite good too.
I had folk shouting conflicting advice from both sidelines but eventually I decided just to do what I wanted.
I stopped worrying about hurting myself and others, and I am quite proud/ashamed? to say that I didn't even apologise when I tackled someone. It's so much easier to launch yourself at someone when you don't know them.
I also managed to stop worrying about getting too muddy. I know it sounds silly, but when you spend your whole childhood getting told by Mum and Dad not to get your clothes dirty, it feels really unnatural throwing yourself around a rugby pitch and actually rolling about in the mud. Maybe it's just me?
I scored a surprise try too, apparently the daintiest one of the match, but only because I nearly forgot you had to put it down when you were over the line.
Luckily the tries kept coming, and although the Orcadians improved in the tens half, we eventually managed to win 62-0, and were absolutely ecstatic.
Sunday night was far easier to enjoy, though I felt very sorry for the poor folk caught up in the impromptu karaoke in the Marlex, and almost as sorry for myself when I had to take Monday afternoon off and go home.
I have to admit now, that even with all my worrying - and I can safely say that I was the team worrier - I really like rugby. It's fantastic fun. Friends and family have all calmed down a bit (several when I told them the score, immediately launched into their practised commiserations, so you can imagine what they are saying now), and there is even a tiny part of me that is looking forward to our next game.
Orkney is coming up again at the end of August and we reckon this time they will be after our blood. Lovely lasses though we found out they all are, I don't think they were too happy about getting gubbed, and we are playing their preferred fifteens next time, so the score will not be quite so dramatic.
At this point I want to say a big thanks to Wayne, the other guys who helped out and to all our supporters (and streakers) on the day, 'cause we couldn't have done it without you!
Unfortunately, even with super-coach Wayne and his helpers, we can not magic 12 players into 15, so we are on the look out for new recruits. I have re-ordered my muscle salve, so if you fancy coming along for a go then have no fear, we'll go easy on you, and it's not too sore. The fact that the team worrier is saying this should really make you come along for a go. If you don't like it, you don't have to come back, but be warned, I fell for that one and look where it got me. Practises are Sunday evenings at the Clickimin rugby pitch from 6pm-8pm.
Also, if any of you out there can think of a Shetland version of the Haka for us to scare our opponents witless with, please let us know, because knowing my nerve problem I will need it by the time August comes. What comes after 62?