My Saturday love affair between two codes

First things first, I must confess that my loyalties are divided. Not between two teams that have thrown the form guide out the window, but between two codes.

I know right, “How could you, Blair? The game that’s given you so much, and you go out and turn your back on it!”

This is a question that’s been asked both internally and externally since switching codes. Up until yesterday, I’d kept those lingering thoughts of regret at bay. Going from a game I’d played for over 20 years, to one I’d loathed for almost as long, it was unthinkable.

But you only live once right? Why not get out there and try something new?

To be fair, progress has been slow. The meaning of the word ‘shepherd’ has changed forever, and has taken some adjusting to. No longer cause for a penalty, it’s now an excuse to shoulder arms and flatten your opposite number – and is totally legal.

I’m steadily learning and growing in confidence, and then like an old addiction my former beloved comes waltzing back in. And man am I tempted! Having missed selection for my team that week (not going to training doesn’t help the cause), I find myself with a strangely contact-free Saturday looming.

The message says that the boys are down on numbers and need some help. The conversation, or should I say justification, doesn’t take long.

“Ah why not?,” I said. “It’ll be a good to see the boys again.”

“Gee I miss putting a bloke through a gap.”

So I texted him back, and that was that. No promises for a full match, understandably being a disloyal rogue, but I had myself a game on Saturday.

So I rocked up on Saturday afternoon and went through the familiar warm-up. I stood in the familiar huddle talking big, firing up and feeling good.

So the game wears on, we are down by about 20 in as many minutes and it is not looking good.

My shoulder’s lack of enthusiasm is starting to infect the rest of my body. My initial enthusiasm to be an impact player is replaced by self-preservation, not the most helpful feeling for anyone on a rugby field.

We start the second half strongly, down by 12 at the break. Slotting a couple of penalty goals reduces the margin to six. My shoulder loses the battle and I’m into the fray.

It was not a bad time to come on, when there is a scrum five metres out from their line. The ball comes out, it’s messy. We are picking and driving and sucking in their defenders – good times for a back.

After a few phases, it’s on. Out it comes, I catch the ball, take two steps and pass it on. Our winger catches it, dots down over the line, and we’re within a point.

While we exchange points back and forth, the game goes towards the last few minutes and we are are locked up.

Even though we get down in their field, they decide to do a Crusaders and infringe in every ruck, so we have penalty after penalty coming our way.

How long, ref?

On the last play of the game, we take the penalty as the whistle is blown. We kick it and win by three.

So here I am, one week on. I am a bit sore but largely unscathed. After a dalliance with my former love, I have got to wondering – which code will I play next Saturday?