AUDIO QUACK | SKIP INTRODUCTION 2:05
“Football is a gentleman’s game played by hooligans, and Rugby is a hooligans’ game played by gentlemen.”
My great-granddad on my mum’s side was a miner in the North East and played rugby for Northumberland. So, you would think we would be one of those rugby families. However, the football gene my dad carried was far too strong, which meant I found myself growing up in a raging Tottenham household instead. I tried to fit in. I even attempted watching a whole season when I was fourteen, but I couldn’t quite get on board.
Read about my traumatic story with football… here.
I didn’t really know rugby existed until 2003, when England won the World Cup. I know some people felt inspired enough to actually play the game, but I channeled my excitement by buying the official top and playing “True Colors” on repeat.
Around the same time, my older brothers began playing rugby at school. I would be taken along by my parents on Saturday afternoons. It was both terrifying and incredible to watch a bunch of boys throw each other around. I stayed far enough away from the pitch in my Vans hoodie, listening to Avril Lavigne on my Walkman, contemplating how to get a rugby boy to like me. I had a steep learning curve ahead.
After the match, the families of the boys were served sandwiches and tea in an unheated room with haunting portraits of former headmasters. It was a chance for parents to bond. I would stand close to my dad, munching on my egg and cress triangle sandwich, and watching him attempt to mingle with other dads.
“Watching the game this afternoon?” Dad asked, bouncing from foot to foot and checking his watch.
“What game would that be?” a dad with a more southern accent would reply.
“What game…?” Dad said, spitting feathers. “SUPER TOTTENHAM VS ARSENAL. Come on, you Spurs!” he called out, raising his fist in the air.
The other dad glanced at the fist. “Sorry, more of a rugby man myself.” And then walked away, leaving my dad with his fist in the air. It was then I recognised there was a gap between football and rugby fans.
As an adult I haven’t followed rugby or football, so it’s fair to say I didn’t deserve to be at the Rugby Premiership League final on Saturday, but my friend Amy got me a free ticket. Sure, it wasn’t as good as when she got me a ticket to Taylor Swift, but I took it anyway.
Also coming along was Hermione and her sister’s partner, Frank (aka Hot Dad Frank). Hermione made yet another WhatsApp group for the occasion: ‘Premiership Final’. Now, together, we’re in…
Birthday Punting
Rye Girls
Taylor Swift Forever
Palma
It was Bath vs. Leicester, and as none of us were from either city, we had to decide who we were going to support. I have never been to Leicester, but I had been to Bath to do a tour of the Roman Baths, and it was a nice day out, so it made sense to support them. I’m sure there are nice days to be had in Leicester, but for this year, Bath was my team.
The stark difference between football fans and rugby fans can be felt in the walk from the station to the stadium. On the rare occasion I have blessed Tottenham with my presence, I have found myself walking in some sort of beer-guzzling tribal parade to the stadium.
On Saturday, though, the Bath and Leicester supporters flowed in one happy march. I saw not one man peeing, not one. I didn’t even hear a curse word. It was so civil that some houses had cake stands in their driveways for the fans going by. We stopped at one, run by a teenage girl and her mum. The teenager was raising money to go to Cambodia for her gap year. We sure were in Twickenham now. We bought a brownie, a cookie, and I got a packet of love heart sweets – the ones which have compliments on them like “hot lips.”
(I hope the teenage girl’s stand was more successful than the one I did when I was young with Big Bro Joe. We set up a table outside our gate at home during a heat wave and offered to spray the evening commuters with water on their way back from the train station. £1 a spray. We didn’t make a penny.)
So with our brownies, cookies, and packet of love hearts, we made our way into the stadium. Just before entering, we saw a crowd gathering in a hoop. In the middle of the circle was a man on one knee, proposing to a woman. She reminded me of the redhead from Stranger Things. The noise of the music, the buzzing of the burger van, and the cheering fans meant we couldn’t hear what he said, but she nodded, and they hugged and kissed, so I assumed it was a yes.
I’m sure the Stranger Things girl meant it, but I do wonder how many people say yes to public proposals because of the pressure, only to swiftly pull their partner to a corner afterward.
“Look, Steven, I know I said yes in front of the whole of Twickenham , but you know I have a problem with your credit score….”
We got our beers and settled into our seats, which were on the lower level behind the goal. Basically, it was a good seat, and I did not deserve it. At first, I was alarmed by seeing a mix of fans surrounding me, some in Bath tops, others in Leicester. Shouldn’t we be separate?! I then remembered it wasn’t football, so these grown-ups could be trusted not to punch each other in the face over a game. How delightful.
Hermione put on her bucket hat and took out a box of Waitrose grapes from her backpack and shared them out.
The game began.
I know the rules of rugby. Kind of. But any confusion, Frank was there. He plays number 10, which I learned was the one who kicks the ball. He was very useful in answering all the questions. What are they doing now? What does that hand gesture mean? Who’s that? He was also handy for getting the beers in. (It felt kind of mean that he missed the first part of the second half to get us drinks – considering he was the actual fan).
As I ate my love hearts under the sun, watching the men throw each other about, I couldn’t help but wonder how my family had got it so wrong with going the football route. Rugby is far more sophisticated… even the music is more pleasant. Wouldn’t we rather sing the rugby anthem, Jerusalem, than the football song… Vindaloo?
Jerusalem Lyrics:
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
Vindaloo Lyrics
Can I introduce you please
To a lump of cheddar cheese
Even the guy who had the drum in the stadium (who are these men that carry drums to matches!?) wasn’t particularly aggressive with it. Just a light few taps, and then everyone sang in tune… “Bath!”
It got me thinking, how on EARTH do people prefer football over rugby? There had been a proposal, Waitrose grapes, a bake sale, no fights, no C-words… What’s more, Bath won.
What a lovely day, or as my love heart sweet said, “Epic.”
THE QUACK 