Rugby...the ultimate lesbian sport (Woolf)

Sometimes when I play rugby or am involved with the social scene of rugby I feel a scene from the movie Mean Girls coming on. Like when the high schoolers suddenly become animals in the mind of the ever creative Lindsey Lohan character.

No but seriously. That is how it feels.

When you hit the pitch, these girls get carnal. They get angry. Mean. Mad. And when you drop a ball, there is no understanding. No coddling. Its all "PICK IT UP YOU FUCK!". Now, I get it. Its a nasty sport, but seriously, what is it about ladies that gets them all nasty at other ladies in moments like this?

I joined rugby thanks to the convincing of a fine batch of ladies whom I met at a birthday party in March. When I was a) a recent colorado returnee, b) on crutches, and c) completely incapacitated due to aforementioned crutches and post-foot-surgery-nightmare. Nonetheless, the idea stuck. And a few months later, I saw one of these ladies at a bar. She reminded me about how I had promised to play rugby. (I had?) And that I really should want to play. So I joined up.

Now all that is fine and well. I made a great decision. I have made new friends. Really learned to love the sport again. But wait...There's more.

Now, after a brief spat with said friend (brief. spat. and friend. are all understatements) I feel as though I am in the gauntlet. Everyday I am fighting with a zoo animal of various sorts. Oscillating between glances, anger, and evading actually tackling. (Cause tackling requires touching. Duh). And honestly, its a bit tiresome.

This is not to say that I don't get why this is all happening. I do. Woolf had a really long week of crazy wherein everyone steered clear of her (including her beloved Alice). But seriously? We're on the same team.

So here are my current musings regarding the rugby world of ladies and what it does to our delicate female psyches.

1. Not all rugby players are lesbians. Chances are the ones you think are lesbians....aren't. And the ones you think aren't? Are. Case in point: Prop who is screaming dyke from every angle. Totally straight. Super femme forward player who is super bad ass. Dyke. Completely.

2. The smaller ladies are the best players. I mean this with the double entendre. Completely.

3. Just because I am a bohemeth of a chick does not mean that I am a good player. In fact, it just means I fall really really hard when you hit me. (Double entendre intended here too)

4. Screwing up in a game lasts two seconds. But it will be held against you all week by your team. In fact they'll mention it....daily. On facebook. Via text. And at practice.

So there you have it. I joined rugby. I'm now bruised. Battered. Baffled. And bewildered. But happy nevertheless. And you know what? If said friend is going to channel various African Savannah animals, so will I. And the next time I see her, I will pounce and maybe claw her eyes out....If only I can catch her (please see observation 2).