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Scrum! Maul! What fun!
By LENNIE BENNETT © St. Petersburg Times, published August 5, 1998
"People think of rugby players as crazy, and they are to a certain extent," said Daniel Danieley, 29, a former college rugby player who is on an amateur team, the Tampa Bay Pelicans Rugby Football Club. "Every other sport pales in competitiveness and aggressiveness," added Jim Orandash, 37, an insurance claims specialist and Pelicans club member who coaches the recently formed rugby team at Eckerd College. Even the vocabulary is visceral. Wrap your mouth around these rugby words: scrum, ruck, hooker, maul. Still, insisted Steve Weaver, 27, who plays for the Coast Guard and the Pelicans, "It looks violent, but it's really very technical."
Consider a typical play during a recent scrimmage: The Pelicans, who have divided into two teams for the practice, lock into a scrum, a maneuver defined in rugby manuals as "a curious-looking human shoving formation," which hovers over the ball until someone kicks it to teammate Jim Orandash. The scrum breaks up as Orandash rushes toward the goal line. Opponent Bill Andrews makes an end run around a wing and collides with Orandash. Andrews grabs Orandash in a bear hug, then slams him to the ground. In a move called a ruck, which resembles the old sandlot game Kill the Carrier, players fall on the two prone men and fight for the ball. After about 10 seconds of melee, Weaver wrests the ball from Orandash. Weaver, chased by Orandash and others, passes the ball laterally to Danieley, who crosses the goal line and touches the ground with the ball. A try, or goal, is scored. Rugby has no timeouts, so play resumes immediately. The scene adds new layers of meaning to "contact sport." The Pelicans play Union, or amateur, rugby. Teams of 15 face off for two 15-minute halves of running, tackling, passing and kicking. Halftime lasts five minutes. Players wear metal-cleated leather boots, shorts and collared shirts. Rugby is said to have begun during an intramural soccer game in 1823 at the Rugby School in Warwickshire, England, when William Webb Ellis, by all accounts a poor kicker, defied soccer rules, picked up the ball and ran.
Like football, its American cousin that evolved from rugby, the sport is a physical, ball-handling game that makes soccer, a kicking game, seem downright genteel. The field is roughly the same length as an American football field and about 10 yards wider. The rugby ball, like its American counterpart, is elliptical, only larger and a bit softer. Blocking and forward passes are illegal. Players wear no protective padding, not even shinguards. In South Africa and New Zealand, professional rugby is revered almost as much as soccer, and players easily can make six-figure incomes. In America, the sport mostly is confined to prep schools and private colleges and universities, giving it an elitist image. Orandash invokes the common description of rugby as "a barbarian's game played by gentlemen." Indeed, in what other game do players applaud the referee as he leaves the field at game's end? The Pelicans, who number about 60 active and inactive players, practice twice a week. League matches are played during a season that runs from September through December and February through May. During the summer, the club plays Sevens, faster, shorter games with teams of seven players. "On average, we'll play 12-14 matches in a year, with friendlys (unofficial matches) and tournaments in between," Pelicans president Kelly Kirkpatrick said. The matches are scheduled with teams in the Tampa Bay area and in Orlando, Sarasota, Miami and Jacksonville. The not-for-profit Pelicans raise money for travel and equipment expenses, which total about $8,000 each year, by hosting tournaments and selling T-shirts. Part of the rugby mystique is the players' reputation for partying as intensely as they play. "In college, the rugby team got beer for $2 a pitcher," Kirkpatrick recalled of his first encounter with rugby players 22 years ago. "Everyone else had to pay $3. I had to meet those people." "It's a very social game," said Orandash, a former college football player who saw a bumper sticker that read, "Play rugby, call this number." That was six years ago. The social element, or camaraderie as it is called in rugby lore, seems to be one of the sport's most compelling features. Michael Haverty, 40, said, "No matter what town you move to, you have 30 instant friends for life if you play rugby." Still, why do these men, some of whom are pushing 50, play a game in which a broken nose and a dislocated knee are considered minor injuries? "It's eloquent violence," Weaver replied. Orandash, limping off the field after a tackle and complaining
of back pain, said, "I can't explain why. I just love it."
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T. PETERSBURG -- To play rugby, you must be fleet of foot, tough
as nails, impervious to pain and, oh, you have to like a good
party.
