In the mid 1980s I played rugby for Manhattan Les Vieux. The ‘veterans’ team of a rugby club that played its matches on Rikers Island. In the middle of New Yorks East River.
The Island itself is home to one of the largest prisons in the world and an establishment for the criminally insane. The one good thing about the venue is it has amazing views of Manhattan.
The rugby club had 4 teams I seem to remember but one ‘field’ (american for pitch). Matches were played in a two part season with the coldest months providing a break. There are several Rugby Clubs in New York but despite the huge distances we and they ‘travelled’ to matches. Philadelphia, Boston and on one occasion Canada.
Matches were played one after another. The pitch was often littered with debris. Two manholes were covered with fake grass too. (I was not convinced about the safety of that at all). After each game the players would get around a bucket of cold beers, watch the next match and meet their opposition. The referees were just appalling and some of the American players were down right dangerous.
Our team was full of players who had ‘played a bit’ in their youth. A former Oxford Blue and Welsh Trialist. A prop who had played for one of the top Scottish Clubs and an Australian who actually claimed he had played for the Australian National team. He was very god but no-one really believed him. Least of all me who has had a life long compulsion to take the pee out of every Australian I have ever met. They love it and always give back as good as they get. I am still being rude to an Australian I played cricket with 20 years ago. We use Facebook as thank God he has gone back home. He gives as good as he gets.
One man’s history was never questioned, a Fijian called Seru Seru. He had of course played for the National team no-one ever doubted it. His knees had ‘gone’ as he was approaching 40 and years of playing on hard pitches had had their tole. Over 25 yards he was unstoppable. Six feet four probably 16 stones of muscle. When within range of the try line he would be given the ball and a collective ‘Go Seru” would ring out. Nothing and I mean nothing would stop him from that range. No matter how many jumped on his back or tried to slow him he would always score. Each time to huge adulation repaid with the biggest grin you would ever see. Over 25 yards it was a different story because somehow as he reached his ‘limit’ he would suddenly appear to be running in sand, he would slow down and be felled like a wounded wildebeest caught by a pride of lions. I used to bet him ‘a case of beer’ he could not score a try from the half way line. He would laugh and always take me on. ‘Yes I take that’ he would say a huge paw grabbing my hand. The thing was he never did and in spite of his willingness to take on the bet he never paid up. He did not seem to know how the system worked. It was very funny.
Playing on Rikers Island was quite surreal I remember once getting banged on the head and suffering from concussion induced confusion. I could not work out where the hell I was. Playing Rugby yes but what the hell are all those sky scrapers?!
When I met Liz I was on holiday with a man called Martin. As I have mentioned in the past we had a difficult relationship over time. He had come to our school in the sixth form after moving to the area. Being the new boy must have been tough but Martin was always trying to prove that somehow he was better than me. The truth is I cant think of anything he was notably better than me in so his efforts to ‘impress’ simply aggravated me.
I had not seen Martin for a number of years and one day I got phone call. ‘I will be in New York at the weekend I have conference to attend next week, could I come and see you and stay over was the request?’ I met him in the City and we had a few beers in a Mexican bar. Cant think why I remember that fact. We got home and I showed him his room. I had told Martin on the phone that Saturday Morning would see me playing Rugby. He put his case on the bed and opened it. There on top of the case was his rugby kit! ‘I have not played for years he said” he was actually not very good. “I was in Ireland last weekend and I went for a run on the beach so I thought I would bring my kit” err oh that makes sense!!
We were playing Old Blue our fiercest local rivals. They had been on a winning streak and I think we had an unbeaten season record to uphold. What I do know is everyone was being serious on the day of the match.
The aforementioned Scot, John Tait, our captain, was moving amongst us uttering oaths and generally winding up the tension. We all arrived changed at the ground as there were no changing rooms. The temperature was probably a spring 60 something. We played the match in a corner of Central Park. I think the posts were taken down after each match, it does not matter. In the same corner of the park on that day were a lot of young women as it was the Metropolitan New York Cross Country Championships. The start and finish line was about 50 yards from our pitch. Not only a lot of young women probably 16 and up (i really hope this was the case)but their Mums too. ‘All American Mum’s” yelling and being well “American Mums’.
As the game got closer alarm in the ranks. No Seru Seru. Tatie asked the ref for a delay but he was told ‘no chance’. The game will start at eleven, as would the race. At five minutes to still no Seru and Tatie asked me if my mate would play. I looked across to where martin was standing and I saw for the first time that on his back was a kit bag. “Have you got your boots” I asked. ‘Of course” he said and proceeded to get them out. Mr Tate was pleased but immediately started growling at Martin “hurry up man”!
Tricky bit here so hold tight. The fact is, having discussed this with many Americans after a beer or two the average American Students attitude to sex can be described as ‘liberal’. I will say no more other than to say for some reason Americans are generally so horrified by nudity it is amazing. Go to any American Beach and just dare let a toddler run round naked. Arrest is likely. Any European woman who wants to bare and tan her breasts will be verbally assaulted by all around.
With this as a back ground what happened next was truly shocking. Martin asked where the changing rooms where but when he was told there were none and he would have to change pitch side he did. Not in a subtle way involving towels or perhaps the tail of a shirt. he took of his tee shirt and then his pants and stood there for one agonising moment stark naked. “where is my shirt’ he requested. Truth Is Martin is a ‘fine figure of man’. The girls on the start line of the cross country obviously thought so as they just gawped, in silence. Their Mums gawped too Martin looked at me with a silly grin on his face and mumbled something stupid. OK I will tell you what he said, ‘what are they looking at I know its like a dick only smaller’- it wasn’t. Tatie was horrified too as he must have feared arrest as an accomplice and he ran to Martin shirt in hand and stuffed it at his loins, ‘For Gods sake man’ or similar was the cry.
We lined up for the start fo the match as the Cross Country race got under way. Martin was supposedly hidden on the right wing. Seru seru’s position. I was at full back. From the first line out of the match Old Blue went on the attack. The ball passed down the line and into the left wingers hands. He set off for the try line. I was covering across but no need. Martin flung himself at the man and brought of the most perfect ankle level tackle. The man hit the ground spilling the ball. Tatie was jubilant. He looked across at me and grinned’ Your man can play’ he announced I sort of nodded enjoying reflected glory I suppose.
There was a scrum from the knock on and the scrum half hoisted a high ball that came down where Martin was standing. He leapt up as if to meet it but as he landed someone tackled him and he hit the deck. He stood up looking pathetically in my direction and pointing at his wrist. “I have hurt my wrist ‘ he said. Less than five minutes gone.
At that moment confusion on the sidelines and a big commotion. It was Seru Seru. He ran on the pitch uninvited ran straight up to Martin and ripped off his rugby shirt mumbling something about bad traffic. Tatie was delighted to see the great man. The opposition did not think to argue or were afraid to say anything that we were subbing someone with a man mountain. The game went on and the topless Martin moved to the touchline holding his arm obviously in some pain. The match was going on but Martin kept giving me health bulletins. ‘It bloody hurts” ‘Oh its agony’ he went on. At abreak in play I indicated the beer bucket which, filled with ice, was cooling the beers for after the game. ‘Put your arm in the bucket’ I said. He did and it seemed to help. Curiously several of the Mums went over to see the injured man they seemed keen to look after him!
We won the game and Seru Seru scored a blinder from about 20 yards out. I drove Martin to the local hospital where he discovered he had ‘split a bone in his arm” not sure I have ever heard that before but the doctor said he would likely need an operation. He was given cast but also a sort of metal splint that kept the wrist elevated. They used to feature all the time in MASH if that is your vintage.
The following morning Martin’s US trip was cut short as I took him to the airport for a plane home and further medical attention.
We did not receive any complaints from the authorities thank goodness. I do however a few weeks later John Tait, obviously oblivious to the facts, asking me if my mate was available for the following weekend as we were short.I don’t think Martin ever played Rugby again.
Tales of a Life Well Lived 