Ever since I arrived in this new environment, I have had a quite irrational fear of Tuesdays. Tuesday is the day I train with the older folk and perhaps unsurprisingly it hasn’t always been the day I have looked forward to. Not a case of “Oh great I just can’t wait to train with the older players ‘cos that’s when I learn most”. No, a comfort zone is called that for a reason. Yes, I probably do learn more in these sessions but only occasionally are they more fun. Today was good fun. It was just the backs and we trained for 50 minutes approx. with 4 drills of 10 minutes each. It was well set-out, well coached and I didn’t let minor errors spiral into slamming the ball into the hard turf – progress. It even started to rain at the end, a pleasant cooling shower to take the edge of the afternoon heat.
Tomorrow has been designated ‘repos’ for me which means no rugby. I’m grateful for this. Perhaps they realised that my best game this season came on the back of a reduced training load in the week... Anyway, only the most crazy and antisocial players enjoy the midweek contact session. So I’ll pitch up for some goal-kicking and speed work then hit the hay. This will be a huge difference from the norm when by the end of the evening session, despite having consumed nearly every product in the Bonne Maman range, I am spent.
April is proving difficult to plan. I was told we had a week’s holiday, I booked my ticket. Now the holidays have changed but I’ve been called into an international squad when the others are on holiday. So to ensure I have my holidays, I have been knocked off sync with the others. I’m sure it will all work out. I also notice that our Crabos team are spending a weekend away somewhere in preparation for the final stages of the Championship which is quite exciting. I am desperate to become the best team in France, that would be massive. I think our team is only just coming round to the idea that it is a genuinely possibility.
I missed my Geography lecture today due to a morning of immense discomfort that required me to return home at midday. Pleasingly, the new jeans that I bought in the Christmas sales are now too small for me at the waist. Recently I have taken to walking around with the top button undone, Homer Simpson style, but with it carefully hidden under a jumper. When even this became uncomfortable, and with recovery leggings on underneath, it became simply too much. A further 2 hours in a lecture theatre hearing about French ox-bow lakes (classic stereotype) would have been unbearable.
When I become a coach, I will be, unashamedly, a stand-off sympathiser. I really dislike it when someone, no matter who they are, lectures me on the nuances of playing ouverture. You can analyse all the rugby you want and watch stand-offs to your heart’s content but until you have been there at the level you are talking about then it is neither helpful nor constructive.
Good on Scott Macleod leaving Edinburgh. If it’s for the money, fair play. The weigh-up is the possible international caps versus securing some sort of financial future. I watch plenty of rugby mercenaries and have quite a lot of respect for them, especially those who freely admit it. Anyone who can just move around clubs tarting themselves around to the highest bidder and can still perform at a decent level is strangely impressive I reckon. Given I find it hard to put my body on the line if I couldn’t give a toss about those around me, some of these guys make a career out of it. And who can blame them for getting away from their own country (like the cosy bubble that is Scottish Rugby, or the politics that exists in South Africa) and living in France or Japan, probably in the sun, travelling to places like Agen or Perpignan instead of Connacht or...Swansea.
A recent interview with Francois Steyn showed how he was loving being away from South Africa, loving the French style of play, loving the fact that he plays for a club with passionate fans against other clubs who are representing their town and not just some fake, invented franchise. The fact that he is on 750,000 euros a year will be a nice icing on his gateau.
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