The day dawned bright and hot (for those of us who get up before 11, unlike Sands) but it certainly held promise for a great day of rugby and an ideal way to start the 2003-2004 season.
Our opponent was the venerable Black and Blue who graciously agreed to renew our rivalry on very short notice. Our regularly scheduled opponents, the Chicago Griffins, apparently had trouble getting their work release from the correctional facility, and canceled on very short notice.
The lakefront was in it’s usual pristine state (read: unwatered and rock hard), although the French owned sewage company down the shore managed to keep their sewer gates shut for at least a few days, so the smell wasn’t overpowering as is normal this time of year. I just think they get lonely for home this time of year, and figure that Milwaukee might as well smell like Paris, if it can’t look like it.
From the opening kick-off, both teams played hard and, for a Black and Blue/Harlequins match, it was relatively clean… well until the third “half”, anyway.
The Harlequin coaching staff has gone to great lengths to improve on team fitness this season, and it showed early on. We strung some nice phases together for a well deserved try, by Mark Fine, his first of three on the day.
Murphy came through shortly thereafter with one of his “West Allis” dummy plays and he scorched the already dead grass for 5 more points. Mark Kiely took a brief study break from his studies for the doctor’s exam boards to come out, toss a few Irish curse words, and bang some conversions through.
Kiely is the type of guy who doesn’t take enough credit when he succeeds, however when he fails, I’m pretty sure the brogue that rolls out of his mouth won’t be found anytime soon in Webster’s Gaelic to English Encyclopedia.
The most dubious moment of the match came right after the second try, when the referee (God love ya Pat), neglected one rule, the author of this glorious publication broke another, and Kent damn near broke his clipboard over my head, after seven missed tackles led to the Black and Blues pulling within a try.
Basically, the kick was less than 10 meters. I didn’t play to the whistle (because there wasn’t one), and the Black and Blue just simply ran it in, virtually untouched.
As someone mentioned, they took it 90 meters for the score. (To add insult to injury, since they kicked off from the 50, it was no more than a 45 meter try, however details tend to bog the story down).
If there were two lessons to be learned here, the most important one was to play to whistle. The other was that the Black and Blue never quit.
From then on, the anger of our own lazy play, plus the fear of what Kent would do to us on Tuesday, had the Quins off and running.
George, Ozzie, Host and Ray all scored tries, in addition to Mark fine completing his hat trick.
As the day went on, and throats became parched for some malted barley and hops, tempers began to flare.
Both DJ and Ozzie began to audition for the world’s smallest Toughman competition, however the captain’s and referee were quick to settle things down.
At the final whistle, the Harlequins would be the clear victors with a 46-5 scoreline.
We then departed for the greener pastures of the Sin Bin. It doesn’t say alot for your city when hardwood floors are considered greener than the afternoon’s playing surface. Damn, we need rain.
The moment of the match was brought to us by Ozzie, who had one of his signature “Don’t Care How BIG you are, you are still my B*TCH!” pick’em up and throw’em down tackles. I think it’s an attraction they ought to add at Summerfest next year. Ozzie could tackle local politicians, professors that give you bad grades … it’d be awesome.
