This article was first published in the 1978 Yearbook. See also: Chapter 1.
In 1977 the Harlequins remained strong and seemed to establish a toehold on longevity. A tradition, with all its enduring idiosyncrasies, had begun.
During the past year, the club continued to grow — twelve children were born to Harlequin parents, soon to be dues-paying members. Indicative of this growth were appearances in the Mid-America Tournament, the Traverse City Tournament, the Schlitz Invitational Tournament, and a tour of Ireland, Wales, and England in October.
Our standard improved along with our understanding of some of the game’s intangibles.
The thrust for this awakening was most definitely acquired from the people we met on tour. The Harlequins were now more complete. They gained organizational respect and ability from the tour, as well as a working theory about the game that reinforced their fundamentals. The enthusiasm of the first season was rekindled through this understanding.
Now entering our third year, we have never had a losing season. And although winning is more fun than losing — and even necessary to growth — the actual playing of the game, absorbing it physically and emotionally, is of prime importance. (At least it’s better than a whip and high heels.)
What we learned on tour is hard to explain. Basically, we don’t remember much.
A little more seriously, we found many of our experiences in rugby to be the same everywhere. Those things that transcend cultures — with their various religious, political, and social differences — are probably the things that make people believe in and sacrifice for the game: the blood, the mud, and the beer.
The Rugby Paradox
There are many paradoxes to the game: the belief in fierce physical competition yet warm friendship and companionship with your fellow opponent (just ask any pair of opposing props); the demands of fitness necessary to play the game versus the great social blowouts common to the after-game; the dedication to the organization of the sport against the enjoyable outlet for irresponsibility that rugby sometimes offers; and, of course, the sport requires great individual effort but only produces great results when in support of and supported by athletic supporters.
Support gives a club its identity, and support can be given in many ways and in various degrees.
Some examples are: not passing gas in the scrum; not tackling or rucking your teammates too often or too hard; joining a teammate in an off-side position so that he or she won’t have to shoulder the blame of a penalty alone; not running so fast and so consistently as to make your teammates appear slow and unfit; and helping enhance the image that rugby players are of superior manner and intelligence — who just occasionally become boisterous, slovenly, overbearing, and make incomplete buffoons of themselves and others less fortunate.
The Harlequins enjoy their improvements and hope to achieve excellence in their play on the pitch, at the parties, and in their organization. It is observable in everything the Harlequins do.
You, as a possible participant or fan, are not a fellow buffoon if you don’t try it.
