It's a small pitch after all ...

Sometimes a three-day work week following a holiday stretches out longer than a regular, 40-hour nine-to-five. I felt like I worked through the past few days following my four-day New Year's weekend with my head down and a chronic "Case of the Mondays" on my back. Thus, when Jackie cheerfully invited me to hit a bar with her and the Village Lions rugby club last night, I was uncharacteristically close to declining. I was saddled with a couple of features that I needed to write over the weekend, had just been handed a fashion assignment that I needed to research, plus my purse strings were in need of some serious tightening after the recent Christmas spendfest. All I really wanted to do was curl up at home with a cup of Ovaltine and sleep through a random DVD.

But then Ginessa called me. I was still at the office, scowling at the computer, but in our two-minute chat she cracked me up, which lightened my mood considerably. I decided to join her for a beer or a cocktail, as she and her roommate were only 10 blocks away. Besides, I didn't want to leave Jackie hanging; this would inspire me to at least stay out long enough to meet up with her and the Lions at 9 or 10. THEN I could go home.

So I socialized with Gin and Anna at Valhalla in Hell's Kitchen, which boasts an impressive array of beers, and we swapped anthropology antics (them) and reporting exploits (me) and marveled over Barack Obama and Mike Huckabee's Iowa upsets.

Back story: Gin and I played rugby together during my undergrad years at Stony Brook University. She was my veteran; I was her psshh-shit rookie. That's a bond that doesn't fade away as time slips by. When I told her I was meeting up with Jackie and the Lions down in the Village, it understandably piqued her interest. It's always worthwhile to check out another team, and to compare how they stack up to your own current or former team - especially while bellying up to the bar.

So we met up downtown at the Blind Pig, and this place was jumpin'. Valhalla had been rather quiet and pleasant; we'd had our own table, and you didn't have to spend more than a minute flagging down a bartender. The Pig was a whole new ballgame - wall-to-wall misfits ramming into you and spilling beer, your feet sticking to the floor, bodies 10-deep to the bar, and every Prince or Smashing Pumpkins song that blared over the speakers was accompanied by its actual music video on an array of flat screen TVs, which was endlessly entertaining.

In other words, an archetype rugby bar if I ever saw one.

And the ruggers were easy to pick out in the crowd; if you've played, you just know. True, some were wearing jerseys, but mostly it was the smattering of arms in slings, bruises, casts, not to mention the sheer size of the players. As Gin pointed out, the only time you see a ripped oafish character hobnobbing with a short and surly one without pounding on each other is if they're rugby teammates. Rugby love transcends all sizes, baby.

So I know a handful of Lions because Jackie has dragged me along to drink-ups with them, and I've caught a few of their matches. Despite the fact that for years, they were the arch-nemesis of my Long Island team, I've harbored a growing, grudging affection for them, and even plan to start practicing with them and playing in a couple of B-side games this spring. I haven't played full-time for almost two years, so I'm cautious about heading back into the fray. I sincerely miss the camaraderie, though, and being in such good shape. Besides, day-to-day life -- work, bills, public transit -- gets extremely stressful, and rugby is an unbeatable way to vent your frustrations ...

So some Lions ladies patted my back, and one immediately handed me a beer (these girls know how to court new members, all right -- give a hesitant player enough free beer, and she'll not only come to practice -- you can probably convince her to wash the jerseys) and after wading through ruggers, we found Jackie, and I re-introduced her to Gin.

Now, I easily recall the first time or two I hung out with the Lions. They were courteous and curious, wanting to know whom I'd played for, what positions I'd played, and whether I'd consider playing for them. And I remember the internal conflict: I don't have time; I'm too old, now is not the time to go breaking anything; besides, I'm not supposed to like you guys, you're the enemy! And it was funny to see the same emotions flitting across Gin's face as she surveyed the room. Especially when, in remembering one of her best friends at Stony Brook, Alli, who had been her veteran, we learned that Alli now actually plays FOR the Lions. Gin couldn't recall when she'd last seen or spoken to Alli, but realizing that this vital piece of her past was actually playing locally gave her butterflies. "Oh my god, I can't believe this," she said. And on the tail end of that, her eyes suddenly widened, and she exclaimed, "Is that Lisa?!" and lo and behold, another Lion was a gal that Gin had played with on L.I. for a whole summer about five years ago, and the two of them hugged and ended up shooting the breeze for a lengthy stretch of time.

The coincidences continued to add up. A couple of the girls currently playing in NYC had been members of the New Paltz team when Gin and I were in college, and New Paltz and Stony Brook had been very tight -- sister teams, even -- because our coach at SBU had played for the New Paltz team when HE was in college.

So long story short, even after years away from rugby, it was surprising and reassuring to see what a small world the rugby community really is. Even Justin's cousin used to play for the team that our friend Ron plays for now -- in Montana! It's a refreshing and comforting find. A lot of rugby's charm lies in the fact that it's still something of a cult favorite, so when you do run into another rugger, you automatically share a kinship that those outside the sport don't understand.

After last night, I become more convinced than ever that hitting a few practices next month is a great idea.

Better yet,

Jackie and I recognized that familiar gleam in Gin's eyes, and saw that she was pretty tempted to lace up her cleats again, too.



SBU Rugby Alumni Weekend, 2004: I'm in the smashing blue socks down front; Gin is hiding in the back row, fourth from the left.