Well that’s all dandy, all this roughing and toughing – or should I say – rucking and tackling? It must be pure testosterone rushing through the players’ veins as the impact of a tackle hits them and causes yet another bruise, cut, tear or what have you. “How can he do this to himself?” I cringe.
Having been a rugby wife – or sometimes widow – for many years, I can tell a tale of (minor) injuries that have adorned the face and body of my dear husband. And how relieved I am at the end of every game that nothing major has happened to him. I remember the Sunday trip to the surgery where I had to help stitch up a cut on this face, or the time when I took him to a the doctor’s and having to answer his phone while the he was having yet another cut stitched up on my dear hubby’s face. But that’s about as bad as it gets, really. Rugby isn’t as bad as it looks – and it sure is a hell of a lot of fun for the guys playing it. Maybe that’s something us women will never be able to understand. But then again , we d0n’t have to.