Give the People What They Want

The old cliché says that rugby is "A ruffian's game played by gentlemen," but let me assure you, there were no gentlemen in the club I played for. It was a matter of honor to behave as ungentlemanly as possible at all times. I remember drinking before, during and after each match, and, probably because of all the drinking, I don't remember too much else.

I do remember painful practice sessions, led by a sadistic former British Royal Marine. I remember that I was always a back (I played flyhalf, wing and fullback); every time I got the ball I remember wanting to get it to someone else as quickly as possible. I remember that when I didn't do that, it usually hurt. I remember getting my nose broken at N.C. State, and I remember scoring only once in my entire college career—but it proved to be the winning difference against Duke, so it was extra sweet.

I remember the one time I didn't play back was also the one time I played with the A side, instead of with the B side. It was in England, against Trinity College, Cambridge, in late November, 1988. The weather was cold and damp (surprising, no?), the pitch (field) was frozen painfully hard. I played "hooker," which meant I spent most of the game suspended inside a clump of much bigger people, trying to claw at the ball with my feet, while the hooker from the other side tried to do the same thing. I quickly noticed, though, that he was spending more time clawing at me with his feet, so I started doing the same back to him. I was bigger, so I won! I remember that was the only game we won on our England tour.

I remember when we went to a nightclub in Manchester belonging to one of the guys in New Order, the dance floor actually bounced up and down under the weight of all the thrashing bodies. I remember crawling and climbing through a "building site" in Cambridge to sneak into a "sweatie" (we ended up getting in through the ceiling tiles in the men's room—it was worth it; the party was amazing). I remember the guys at Trinity College conned us into racing around their freezing courtyard—naked. They took pictures. Yes, of course we were drunk.

Drinking, drinking, drinking.

I remember the British guys were excessively fond of competitive drinking, but they weren't very good at it. Unless their goal was to vomit and pass out, in which case they were world champs. I remember incoherent songs, wonderfully horrible songs....

Of course, none of this gets Jon any closer to being able to follow rugby matches on TV. To learn the rules of rugby, a person could do a lot worse than to click here [A Spectator's Guide to the Ruffian's Game] or here [The Rookie Primer]. Those guys can explain it to you a lot better than I can.

For me, the real meaning of rugby will always be contained in moments like this:

A Jewish guy from Wales, a future blogger, and a sadistic former Royal Marine in 1987

United We Behave Like Third-Graders

As you can see for yourself, their efforts don't seem to be working, not nearly as well as the "miserable failure" and "weapons of mass destruction" campaigns worked. To test, click here to go to Google, type any of the terms into the search box, and then press "I'm feeling lucky".

Their little game isn't working, but why not join me in some childish retaliation anyway?

Here's a more interesting link, to a story about waffles. Read it, and if you have a Web site of your own, post a link to it using "waffles" as the anchor text. Thanks to Wanda for the link.

On second thought, if we do this, aren't we merely sinking to "their" level? Shouldn't we rise about this kind of thing?

Nah!

Besides, it's all in good fun. Right?

Waffles! Waffles! Waffles!

Posted by Me at 23:00 link

Interactivity

So I open the floor for discussion.

Do you have any questions? Or would you like for me to write about something in particular?

Posted by Me at 22:58 link

Welcome to My Insanity

If you hated reading that stuff, you'll be glad to know my mood has rotated about 180° since then. I feel I'm about one frustrating/humiliating/embarrassing experience away from coming apart at the seams. Clearly I'm getting way too personal here, but so be it. One reason concerns my current state of poverty, another concerns a seasonal malaise that hits me about this time every year—and one big reason concerns my impending graduation.

Most of my classmates seem thrilled at the prospect of finishing their degrees, leaving school and finding jobs. Frankly, I couldn't be less excited. This will represent my first venture into the "real" labor market, and the job search process promises lots of disappointment, frustration, humiliation—and so forth. I have yet to prepare my resumé, and already I feel like a loaf of day-old bread.

My close friends at Carolina used to joke that I "disappeared" in the Spring, and I do; I avoid people this time of year mainly to spare them the negative feelings that almost always overcome me when the weather warms up and the days get longer. From years of studying psychology, and from half a lifetime of grappling with depression, I know the mood comes from "bad" chemicals in my brain, and I know I can help things by thinking appropriate thoughts and taking appropriate actions. Still.

Do you want to know how depression feels?

If you've ever lost a loved one, remember how you felt in the months after that. Everything seems kind of pointless. Things that usually make you happy suddenly don't make you happy. Everything that needs to be done seems much, much harder. Depression feels something like that. Except when you've lost a loved one, you know that's why you feel bad. When you feel bad for no obvious reason, you tend to blame yourself. For feeling that way. For not getting more done. For not "snapping out of it." For everything. Even if you understand the process intellectually, even if you know it's not "real," depression still sucks all the joy out of your life.

It makes interaction with others weird and difficult. Everything people say to you seems critical. Actual criticism seems like condemnation. And you agree with your worst interpretation of the perceived "slams." For instance, I remarked to a friend that having hardly any money lately made it impossible for me to do a lot of things I'd like to do (hiking, for instance), and that I found it hard not to envy others who were able to do those things; she said I shouldn't envy anyone, because my poverty resulted from choices I've made. After thinking about the conversation, I realized she was probably trying to help me feel better by reminding me that I have control—I could have taken the only jobs I was offered over the past year (despite exhaustive searching), third-shift factory work, or fast food; but if I'd taken the third-shift (11 PM - 7 AM) work, my schoolwork would have suffered (not to mention my health), and years ago I promised myself I'd never work in food again—I chose to do well in school and to maintain my health and dignity, even though it's meant doing without a number of things. My choice required strength and I realize now, that's probably what my friend wanted me to realize, but at the time, her comment just made me want to bash my head in with a ten pound sledgehammer.

As you can probably tell from that, depression tends to make you no fun to be around, so I usually isolate myself until I feel better. Misery may love company, but in my experience, company does not love misery. So that's why I disappear in the Spring. While I'm "disappeared," I work on feeling better. I try to sleep well, eat well, exercise well, meditate, write crap like this, and so forth.

This time around, though, I'm going to do something a little different. I really want to start liking and respecting myself again. So I choose to do something huge and ridiculous. This Friday after class, I'm going up to Mount Mitchell State Park. I'm going to set up camp in the campground, and I'm going to get up crazy early on Saturday. I'm going to hike/run the entire Black Mountain Crest Trail down to Bowlen's Creek Road and back, a distance of about 25 miles. I don't think I'll question myself too much after that. I believe that'll prove to me once and for all (or at least for the next few months) that I'm worthwhile, that I'm strong, that I'm a bad mutha-[shut yo' mouth!].

Music In My Head

• Jimmy Soul — "If You Wanna Be Happy"
• Steely Dan — "Kid Charlemange"
• Brian Setzer '68 Comeback Special — "Malagueña"
• Steve Forbert — "Romeo's Tune"
• k.d. lang — "The Mind Of Love"
• Thompson Twins — "Doctor, Doctor"
• Sasha — Global Underground: Ibiza