So, I got thinking about this whole “hope international rugby” thing the other day. Wasn’t really looking for it, just kinda popped up while I was killing time online. You see all these big games, fancy stadiums, players looking like superheroes. They always talk about spirit, national pride, and yeah, hope. Gives you a bit of a lift watching it, I guess.
Thing is, I was feeling a bit rubbish myself. Stuck in a rut, you know? Work, bills, the usual grind. Saw these highlights and thought, maybe I need a bit of that. Not the international fame, obviously, but the feeling. The teamwork, the pushing yourself bit. The hope that comes from doing something, maybe?
Getting Started (Sort Of)
I looked around, found there was a local club nearby. Not exactly Twickenham, mind you. More like a muddy field behind the community centre. They had a ‘veterans’ touch rugby group. Sounded gentle enough. So, I dug out some old trainers and went along.
First session? Chaos. Nobody really knew the proper rules. Lots of puffing and panting after about two minutes. More arguing about whether a touch was made than actual running. Everyone’s kit was mismatched, some guys looked like they’d been playing since the dawn of time, others, like me, just looked lost.
My Expectations vs Reality
- Expected: Smooth passes, tactical plays (like on TV). Reality: Dropped balls, collisions, shouting.
- Expected: Instant camaraderie, high fives. Reality: Mostly complaining about dodgy knees and work stress before, during, and after the ‘game’.
- Expected: Feeling energized, hopeful. Reality: Feeling knackered, muddy, and slightly bewildered.
Finding Something Else
I almost didn’t go back. Seemed pointless. This wasn’t like the international rugby I saw online. Where was the soaring hope? It just felt like a bunch of middle-aged blokes wheezing their way around a field.
But I did go back. And the week after. Not sure why, really. Maybe routine. Maybe just needing to get out of the house. Slowly, though, something clicked. It wasn’t about recreating some grand spectacle. It wasn’t about winning or being amazing.
The ‘hope’ wasn’t in the tries or the perfect passes. It was simpler. It was in guys turning up, week after week, despite being tired or busy. It was in sharing a laugh about how unfit we all were. It was in the shared grumble about the cold, the mud. It was just knowing you weren’t the only one feeling a bit worn out by life, but you still showed up to run around for an hour.
So yeah, “hope international rugby” on the TV looks great, all polished and inspiring. But the hope I found was messy, local, and mostly involved complaining about aches. Different, maybe less glamorous, but felt pretty real in the end. Just turning up, that was the main thing.
