My dad wasn’t an openly religious man. Like almost everything about him, he was private about his faith.
He enrolled us in Catechism classes in the local Polish school but he rarely guided us in any path of faith. He would rarely ask us to go to church with him – with only one exception.
For Easter Sunday, we all had to go. The entire family and there were no excuses or exceptions. Christmas was different. He didn’t feel the same need as he thought that Easter reflected the importance of faith.
For Christmas, he would share with us the Polish custom of opłatek, which is the unblessed communion wafer.
Easter service for the Polish community was pretty boring for a young boy. Older men would cry at the end while they sang hymns of their beloved Poland that they missed. Most were former WWII veterans that refused to return to a Communist country. And Argentina was so far away from Poland, geographically and culturally.
So, for our family, six boys plus mom, it wasn’t terribly hard to follow my dad’s request. Dad was not much into sports, but mom was a passionate hockey player and felt that sports helped build character. She loved us playing rugby, even if two of my brothers went for field hockey like her. She was very happy about that.
When we were younger, it was easy to accommodate church as most games were not played on Sundays or if they were, it was very early so making it to church on time was not a problem.
But in 1976 things were different. I had been preselected for a junior team representing Buenos Aires the year before. This preselection was a very good sign for selection to the ‘Pumitas’ (Pumas under 18) that would be chosen in 1976. I had also changed clubs to Pueyrredon, where my high school coach and mentor was one of the founding members.
Angel Guastella was also the Pumas coach and the club’s first team. ‘Papuchi’ had a strong word in everything dealing with rugby and being in his club with the possibility of continuing to be coached by him was a fantastic chance.
The last warm up game before the season started was on Easter Sunday at 9:00 AM. That barely gave me time to play, a very quick shower and rush to the Church to catch my dad’s angry expression arriving probably a few minutes late.
Clearly, my dad did not approve of me playing, but my mom talked to him and encouraged me to play and get back as soon as possible. She knew what both things meant to dad and me. The week of Easter rained torrentially almost every day.
We arrived to the club and were told that we couldn’t use the Number 1 playing field as we would ruin it for the season. So we were told to play in the practice pitch, a mud pile under the best of circumstances but now given the copious rain, it was almost impossible.
Surprisingly, Guastella agreed to referee our ‘friendly’ game, under the rain, and wearing long Adidas active pants and top.
The whole game was awful due to the weather and the slippery leather ball made any play an adventure. Everything else was rather predictable. Except, in the last minute of the game, the opposing team kicks a ball behind our replacement left wing. He is supposed to dive on it but panics.
I dive on the ball and the attacking player, attempting to kick the ball has the misfortune of tangling with my arms, breaking my right arm and dislocating my right elbow. This wasn’t good. They took me to the shower to get rid of all the mud covering my body.
Cut the rugby shirt and put my arm in a sling and drove me to the British Hospital, where we had health coverage. The hospital was more than one hour away from the club. Needless to say, I didn’t make it to Church on time.
The orthopedic surgeon didn’t come to the hospital until many hours later, and it was probably around 4 or 5PM when my elbow was back in place and my arm in a cast. My dear friend Rafael, who came with me to the hospital called home from the hospital’s public phone and my dad answered at home:
Rafael: Hi Mr S! This is Rafael. I am at the British Hospital with Charlie. He is OK…
Dad: Click (he hangs up)
Mom at home: What was that?
Dad: Your son is in the hospital.
Mom: What?!!!
Rafael dials home again and my mother answers.
Rafael: Hi, this is Rafael…
Mom: Where are you? What is going on?
Rafael explains the situation and my mom agrees to go pick me up at the hospital. Mom arrives around one hour later with dad who wouldn’t say a word to me. He refused to speak with me for close to one month, mumbling once that God had some idea of what happened if you missed Easter Mass.
My dad has left us many years ago. His luck had finally run out. Being born in poverty in Poland, surviving the camps in Siberia, the battles of WWII, but eventually disease got him.
We made peace, of course. But now, every Easter I think even more of him and when I see rugby for that day I take a moment to pause, catch myself shedding a tear and deciding that this is not a day for me for rugby.
I can now watch the game later. I go to Church and think of him.
I never made it to the Pumitas that year. The recovery was slow and I had a lot of issues to deal with as a result of the serious injury. It took me a very long time to recover my confidence.
Wesołych Świąt Wielkanocnych, tatusz!
[That’s Happy Easter in Polish]
Digby
Roar Guru
Thank you Carlos for sharing your story here. There are parallels with my own family, except it was my Mother who was the staunch Catholic while my Father was Anglican, which caused a host of issues at the time but we move on! Sunday morning mass was a must every weekend, no ifs or buts, tie on etc and my Father would never attend outside of Easter or Christmas. My Mother would share similar views regarding sport on Sundays, it was not a good idea. Where it all came into conflict was when my Mother decided it was better to attend the Saturday night mass, as she grew older, easier to facilitate than the earlier Sunday mornings. This of course would lead to conflict with televised games. I can remember being let off the hook, so to speak, to watch the Hurricanes play the Blues, 97 if I recall, and while the game was on my Father came home from golf and ripped me a new one for letting my Mother go to church on her own, so on and so forth, he then settled down once he realised the game was a good one ;) I plucked up the courage to ask him just after fulltime, 'Dad, how come you don't come to church?' to which he replied, 'Son, I have spent too long in the army to believe in sky fairies' I was gobsmacked. He quickly realised what he had said and pointed at me with a slightly guilty yet threatening look and firmly said 'DO NOT BLOODY REPEAT WHAT I JUST SAID TO YOUR MOTHER, UNDERSTAND?' I managed to get thirty bucks out of him for my silence which I needed for the movies, worked out well ;) Thanks again Carlos.
Carlos the Argie
Roar Guru
:-) De nada!
Carlos the Argie
Roar Guru
Ah! That play was first used, if I remember correctly, by Martin Sansot. He did this in a test match against the ABs in 1976 (memory fades me). He had used it in Argentina before... I asked Izzy Dagg in Chicago last year if after giving a try with a chest bump (remember the play in the RC where he lost it in the lights and hit his chest for Romano to score?) he would try a "header" pass into the open field. It is not a knock on and as long as the receiver is behind the guy heading the ball it is not an off sides play. Izzy laughed.
Oblonsky‘s Other Pun
Roar Guru
Gracias por el artículo, Carlos. Excelente para leer. :).
davSA
Guest
Carlos I didn't even know there was more than one team . That's what I so enjoy about this site , I am constantly learning more about the sport . I should have added that during that game I mentioned , a cross kick was put onto the Argentinian wing who under pressure jumped and headed the ball into touch. The crowd gasped . This we had never seen before on a rugby field. It sticks in my memory. Not sure what the linesman thought about it.
Carlos the Argie
Roar Guru
Hi DavSA! Which San Isidro team was it? There is CASI (Club Atletico San Isidro) where the Travaglini's played as well as Pichot's club and also San Isidro Club, SIC, who were the actual implementers of the bajada. They also had a huge number of Pumas playing for them. CASI are called the "zebras" as their shirt is black and white stripes (like the BaaBas) while SIC is narrow blue, slightly wider black stripes on a white background. SIC are called the "ditchers" (zanjeros) as their club is in a low area that occasionally gets flooded.
Kia Kaha
Roar Guru
Most apt TT. RLS lived out the last years of his life in Samoa. I'm sure he didn't play rugby on Sunday there either...
Carlos the Argie
Roar Guru
Thank you for this beautiful poem.
Kia Kaha
Roar Guru
Muy buenas Carlos! Thanks for this piece. I don't have the time to contribute to the Roar but I do check in to read what's going on from time to time. Really enjoyed the personal story so thanks for sharing. Whenever I think of rugby on a Sunday I think of the Ice Man. Always brings a smile to my face remembering an interview where he was asked how did he maintain his Christian ideals when he was such a ferocious tackler. He calmly replied it's better to give than to receive.
Mzilikazi
Guest
A lovely and poignant story, Carlos, with rugby skillfully woven in. Thank you. I sense that you had two really special parents.
Machooka
Roar Guru
Thanks for this Tissotime :)
Tissotime
Guest
Just found the full prayer on line. A prayer for all. Lord, behold our family here assembled. We thank Thee for this place in which we dwell; for the love that unites us; for the peace accorded us this day; for the hope with which we expect the morrow; for the health, the work, the food, and the bright skies, that make our lives delightful; and for our friends in all parts of the earth. Let peace abound in our small company. Purge out of every heart the lurking grudge. Give us grace and strength to forbear and to persevere. Give us the grace to accept and to forgive offenders. Forgetful ourselves, help us to bear cheerfully the forgetfulness of others. Give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind. Spare to us our friends, soften to us our enemies. Bless us, if it may be, in all our innocent endeavors. If it may not, give us the strength to encounter that which is to come, that we be brave in peril, constant in tribulation, temperate in wrath, and in all changes of fortune, and, down to the gates of death, loyal and loving one to another. Robert Louis Stevenson
Tissotime
Guest
Thanks Carlos for making me remember my father at Easter time. My father left me with a Robert Louis Stevenson's prayer "Pray for courage, gaiety and the quiet mind". More and more I find myself praying for the quiet mind. Especially at this time I wish a "quiet mind" upon all Super Rugby Stakeholders.
DavSA
Guest
Lovely story . My first exposure to Argentina rugby was 3 years prior to your BA selection when San Isidro toured SA. I was dying to see them as we had heard all about this famous Bajada scrum. It did not disappoint. They summed very low , unusual in those days and San Isidro destroyed the Eastern Transvaal pack scrum time who were the previous seasons currie cup finalists..I have always loved their rugby since. ......... An interesting aside to this was prior to the game i was standing in line to pay entrance near the grandstand when Bok legend Jan Ellis and his mates jumped Que and he virtually insisted on free entrance. He was told right in front of me to stand in line and pay like everyone else. .... On your article i truly never see SA supporters accepting game on religious days. Thanks mate.
Carlos the Argies
Guest
Thank you, Harry.
Machooka
Roar Guru
:) :)
Harry Jones
Expert
Poignant story, my friend. Well told.
jeff dustby
Guest
wouldnt the children be the religion that they choose to be?
Carlos the Argie
Roar Guru
When my dad decided to marry mom, he asked the priest for approval. My mom is Protestant. The priest agreed with one condition. All the children had to be Catholic. As mom will argue for the sake of it, she fought the priest and finally they agreed that boys would be Catholic and girls would be Protestant. After the sixth boy the priest told mom God was Catholic....
Harry Jones
Expert
Thank you, Carlos! Now it means more to me that you once condemned me to Hell... Hahaha!!!!