When the going gets tough, the tough bolster their stamina levels by digging deep into the mental and physical pockets of life to reach for the last crumbs of energy. Fitness, being an attainment of self-pursuit lets us stretch the advantages but not necessarily over come the odds.

            The determination of our will therefore is the focal point or the pinnacle of our achievements - suffice to say we do what we really want to do and with the coercion of skill and fitness we should in theory produce the best of our abilities in the sporting arena. ‘If the mountain don't come to Muhammad', then Muhammad will have to get off of his lardy arse and trek there himself.'

            Members of the Int. touch rugby elite are proving their fitness more and more on a weekly basis. Oxygen to the brain is enhancing our vision and giving a sharpness to our game, exploiting the skill factor and in turn boding well to the virtues of practice, this is thanks largely to our fitness guru ‘ten more seconds' Barry. But it has to be said that last weekends outing was one of extreme apathy. Don't get me wrong, the play was there, but it was dealt with rather a subdued hand. The first ten minutes were barricaded in silence, not even the birds flew over Saigon South, tries were scored without evocation of even a whisper of congratulations or dismay.

            Nevertheless the wheels kept turning and slowly momentum reached its crescendo when players started to communicate in defence, thus foiling the monotony of a try a minute. As ‘belated play' commenced the veterans of the game triggered off a dash of hope to salvage the afternoon. Mark ‘le beardie' Frencman leap frogged himself around ‘le parc' to produce some excellent all round play. Matching his speed and fitness was the always present in play Doug ‘vrrrm' Elliot and whilst nurturing the essence of back row play Craig ‘ I've got something to say' Smith worked the close quarter stuff along with Ian ‘mumble mumble' Private Ryan with style and panache. As the game found its form, so the pace quickened. Jim ‘that last dodgy pint' Botto came on from subs duty in heaves and throws, until oxygen became too much and was eventually cajoled by the righteous sect of ‘Chunder', where upon he duly promoted himself to Archbishop of Chunder.

            Whilst play was resuming itself to something reminiscent of rugby it suddenly reminded me of the great Welsh 70's side, where quick accurate passing through all of the hands found itself on the end of a speeding winger in the likes of Xavior ‘of all our sins' and Guy ‘no Fawkes required'. Simon, yet another froggie notched up a couple of superb individual tries, jinking himself into the score books and the new man Duncan proved himself worthy enough to be an asset in any team. ‘Your going down ‘ Travis may have looked ready for an assault course, but he more than outplayed his appearance with great speed and agility and ‘sporty' Nat who may have at first looked a wee bit tentative quickly settled into her stride, going forward and making ground with every play.

            One of the best moves of the day was when Jen ‘oooh la la' received the ball in the centre of the park, Richard ‘too-tall' looped her in support where upon she gave a flippant flutter of her eyelids which sent the opposition shuffling that way then with a nonchalant wiggle of the hips she held on to the ball and took the direct route through the gap covering a glorified 30 metres before being caught. But it has to be said that Pedro Pinto's play of the day came down to the dying seconds of the game-again. A straight down the line passing move from 40 metres out put Jim, whom having now fully recovered from regurgitating the diced carrots, was set clear, not being a slouch, the man has pace, but hot on the case was JRJ in a covering defence, she dug in and grinded down the Archbishop. As the crowds looked on, her fitness and resolve purveyed long enough for her to make the touch on him as he crossed the line, forcing him to drop, instead of touch down for what should have been the final try - pure commitment from both parties.

            And now as always to the people who couldn't commit: The French rugby team, as they were busy quaffing Champagne after their splendid victory over England (20-15) - the dirty baskits ( who said I'm not a diplomat ). Martin Johnson, who lost his appeal to appeal is now not valid for the Welsh game and said he would try and make it. Carty sends his apologies for next week as he has been carted off to Singapore for appendicitis, you would think that with someone of that much clout would have at least damaged a shoulder or broke a fibula- at least something rugby related?

            Russell Crowe sent his apologies again as this time he was in Oz, on his farm near Coffs harbour N.S.W. where he invited some friends to watch his acceptance speech only to be thwarted again, this time by ABC, apparently the party was halted as he took on a bit of impromptu cow tipping.

            And lastly to the idiots in England who have been ‘uptitling' job descriptions instead of giving a pay rise to promote prestige, here are some examples; garbologist (dustman), Head of verbal communications (receptionists), Senior corporate events and seminars manager (secretaries), Director marketing, multi media products and promotion services (marketing manager), Technical horticultural maintenance officer (gardener), Optical illuminator enhancer (window cleaner), Technical sanitation assistant (toilet cleaner) and last but not least Name maker upper (fuckwit).

See you in the rub-a-dub

cf