2005-2006 Match Results
Fort Worth pushes, makes a comeback, but time is the decider in the championship... - 4/2/2006
Fort Worth - 17 vs. Austin Huns - 27
by Jack Britton Sullivan
April 2, 2006 - Final Match - Division Two Texas Championship - Austin, Texas
Fort Worth - 17 vs. Austin Huns - 27
This will be my last match report for the 2005 and 2006 season. It has been an honor to do them and I do appreciate the opportunity to raze the traditional manner of sports reporting for something more unorthodox and at times just odd. I`m going to disappear for a short while, pay the mortgage and my other five bills, put a bed in the front seat of the truck for my dog Katie and then we`re gone, driving east before turning back north and then to the west, stopping and walking into a basement near a coal field where they`ll blast day and night because it`s now over a hundred dollars a ton and when such is the case companies will mine the very halcyon crust of tranquility to bring up that black gold. My wife Lynn and daughter Lola Blaise will meet me there, neither one of them do I deserve but they`ll meet me anyway. Lynn`s spent many nights in that basement with me, days on end making love in every corner before switching to the spare space of the floor, the idea of birth control as foreign to us as her Georgian homeland and no I didn`t meet her on the internet, though there are naked photos of me somewhere on the web with a fat girl drinking tequila from my bellybutton. But that`s another time, another story, and I had a drinking problem so it doesn`t count.
I`ll help Lynn with some shipping and then I`ll go through my grandfather`s house and tag some furniture for moving. He`s finally been put in a home close to his birthplace, a farm near a town called Arkadelphia, now defunct as a city center, but they still make excellent moonshine in the hills around it and they`ll blow you in half if you approach from the rear just like it was 1930. I was born close to Arkadelphia in a town by the name of Dora, Alabama where there are no open spaces, and I cherish the fact that many of these hill people still think like it was 1930 and to them the internet is better known as the interior mesh on a minnow bucket. They know who fought in the "War of Northern Aggression" better than any historian I`ve read, and it still amazes me that I never heard an adult call it the Civil War until I left home at the age of 17 and came here. To them Shelby Foote is the voice of God. But many of them are racist bastards and I hate that.
Oh, and yes, a plug for my buddy Jimi Westbrook, he`s the big tall fellow in the band Little Big Town, you`ve probably heard their song "Boondocks" on the country radio stations or seen several of their videos on CMT if you have it (I don`t). They`re up for some CMT awards this year and Jimi (and the rest of his band) deserve them so buy their CD`s. And if you go to one of their concerts scribble a little note and give it to Jimi`s people if you can. On the note say that a guy named Bryan is dressed like a Ninja in pajamas and waiting to kick his ass at Sumiton park, but that Britt Sullivan will run interference until he can collect himself in his dojo. You`ll get backstage, and then you can say you know me and he`ll laugh. We`re from the same place, went to school together, and he`s the only famous person I know besides having spoken to the guy who played "The Fly" in Miami for about ten seconds back in 1993. I was smoking a gigantic "donkey pecker" illegal Cuban cigar near the entrance to a mall and a chicken place (back before we became a f`king nascent police state and the smoking Nazis emerged to rip rights from the wombs of Americans. DO NOT VOTE FOR INVASION OR THOSE THAT REPRESENT IT. JEFFERSON TURNS OVER IN HIS GRAVE WHEN YOU DO. AND IF YOU HAVEN`T READ OUR CONSTITUTION AND THE BILL OF RIGHTS THEN DO SO IMMEDIATELY. THEY ARE VERY CLEAR!). Anyway, the guy who played "The Fly" walked in front of me and all I could say was "holy sh`t, you`re the fly guy!" I failed miserably and he probably thought I was trying to gay him up.
While all of you are winning our tournament on April 29th I`ll leave the basement, probably around 4 pm and head to Corner High School near my hometown to play in an Old Timer`s football game, kickoff at 7, team meeting at 5:30. It will be strange to put the pads on again, see all the people and what age has done to them over the last twenty years. I`ve been training at weird hours on our practice pitch for the last six months, slowly building back from the heinousness of a heat stroke last August, my wiring still not right but I`m good to go. In the last two months I`ve finally gotten back to vomiting on my cleats during late night sprints so I know I`m fit again and that`s a great sign.
They`ll probably get the ball first, us in the defensive huddle, strangers and those that aren`t around me, preparing to line up against a team with much more youth, but isn`t it funny how after you break the huddle and settle on the defensive line really nothing has changed, I know exactly what to do just like I did twenty years before, the first words out of my mouth some sh`t talk for the quarterback beginning with his number and the name of his mother. You forwards and backs know the feeling, you had it this weekend, the gear that clicks in past ready and then the geometry fades, all going to war, a formidable mix, the dust of preparation the outright machine of discipline. Again, what you do when nobody is watching.
So have you prepared Fort Worth? I`m asking, looking right at you, Jack Britton Sullivan nose to nose with you and I`m spitting fire in your face? Have you pushed until the organism that is you pushed back and only then did you go forward? I don`t even consider the tight end or the tackle or the angling back who will come at me with 25 year old legs from eight yards away. They`ll be hit with such ferocity that millenia from now the gentic codes of their offspring will wince with an admixture of pain and dread and if you`re going to play the sport of collision then collision it will be. If you`re fearful of injury then it will find you. If you`re catatonic in the midst of the burning hell which are your empty lungs then what will you do? Quit? Walk? Talk? What will you do Fort Worth? Rationalize? Justify? When it matters and a national championship is on the line are you going to become a Rugby philosopher with answers and nothing else. A talker? Hell, talk about it when you`re 90 but not now. Remember, you can`t see the setting sun from a casket.
Perform. Populate the pitch with violence. Promulgate the piling of skulls.
Thanks for letting me write for you. It was an honor.
Josh Parker and Buddy Love begin the match with two big hits and the ball goes over, Kevin Edmonson and Stan Ruda pressing offensively with the help of Parker and Charlie Burgess. Ivan, Rocco and Mike Sexton are at their sides as they trade off the ball and rumble down the field, Ivan taking it the last meter for a try with the conversion by Stan Ruda. The Huns match the try and we`re tied. Fort Worth holds on defense but they break free again to add another and we`re down 12 to 7. Josh Jones cranks the engine of the offense with a blast as Frank Hill tails him, Fuen and Bennett there to ruck over him but we stall and the Huns add another.
Half: Fort Worth - 7, Austin Huns - 19
Jay Shepherd and Charles Okumu pitch back and forth with Ashley Thomson on their wing to begin the second half, the trio pushing the ball down field, Spencer Ozmun and Mike Sexton clearing the way for more offense. Josh Neff and Hal Summers begin barking in on defense but the Huns turn it and score. The hill becomes steep, 24 to 7 and then a drop kick by the Huns to add three more. But Fort Worth isn`t through yet, Botsford Hulen now in the pile, he and Josh Neff with a series of tackles which begin the comeback, Josh Jones blazing around the right side of our offense and scoring with help from Stan Ruda and it`s 27 to 12. Buddy Love does the same on the next kick and although the momentum is in our favor the clock is not, and we fall by ten.
Final: Fort Worth - 17, Austin Huns - 27
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Shreveport comes to play Fort Worth for the Division two semi-final and then turns around and drives back to Shreveport... - 4/1/2006
Fort Worth - 19 vs. Shreveport - 5
by Jack Britton Sullivan
April 1, 2006 - Semifinal Match - Division Two Texas Championship - Austin, Texas
Fort Worth - 19 vs. Shreveport - 5
Fuen shook up Shreveport with a quick run after a convincing fake. Charlie Burgess helped him out by stomping a forward`s face as Rocco swept around the pile to assist Fuen. Kevin Edmonson and Peacock began trading the ball off after getting it from Fuen, Charles "the Nairobi nightmare" there with Rocco who kicked it forward for a perfect mark and advance. Frank Hill with a throw in to Ivan who gives to Mike Sexton and then to Spencer Ozmun, John Via and Frank Hill mauling over the top of Spencer, Ashley Thomson coming from the heap to score the first try with a conversion by Spencer. Rocco and Buddy Love spur another offensive effort with help from Stan Ruda and Josh Jones and Fort Worth is rolling again, driving to the try line when the half catches them.
Half: Fort Worth - 7, Shreveport - 0
Yellow cards are flying like pollen but Buddy Love and Mike Sexton play on, making a series of excellent tackles as Shreveport drives, Fort Worth taking ball but it goes back and the enemy goes in for a try. They miss the conversion. Ashley, Josh Jones and Bennett`s tackles make the difference and the offense charges again, Ashley going in for the try with a conversion by Spencer Ozmun and it`s great to see such massing on the try line because it pays off. Jay Shepherd rounds the corner and he`s sprinting, spinning, Shreveport players coming off him like water and Ivan is at his heels but it gets turned, Rocco and Fuen there to stop Shreveport`s progress, Hal coming out of nowhere to drive back over the try line and that`s enough to finish Shreveport.
Final: Fort Worth - 19, Shreveport - 5
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
The lovely grass is growing, the flowers are blooming, the earth is tilting, and Fort Worth is going to Austin... - 3/25/2006
Fort Worth - 26 vs. Bay Area - 5
by Jack Britton Sullivan
March 25, 2006 - Rolling Hills Park - Fort Worth, Texas
Sometimes I go to freaky places to see weird Art House films by myself. First I eat at Luby`s and then I go to the movie. Dark, strange places with cheap tickets and limited amounts of popcorn and drinks. I went last week to see a film about a guy from the 16th century who made a career out of being a pervert and it was wonderful. Actually, now that I think about it I had to go to a legitimate theater to see the film so strike the above description of my secret life and act like I didn`t say it and that such is a sickness in itself. So in the movie there were several highlights that I rather enjoyed. In one scene a midget (somewhat enjoyed, if you discount the thing that happened to me when I was nine) was riding a gigantic papier mache` penis with accompanying testicles that was set on fire while a handful of prostitutes danced around it with wooden shafts. In another scene the buttocks of another prostitute were caned, not canned, because you can`t can buttocks, by a guy with small pox. And I mean he let the girl have it, lighting those hams up like a thrown cigarette in the Smoky Mountains. And she was a big girl, and there`s nothing wrong with that my friends. Also, she paid to have it done, thought the small pox guy was a magic man from the Orient and in a way he was. Again, my opinion, there`s nothing wrong with a big girl! Eat, damn you skinny weenie!
Now all of you can have your blockbusters and your American Idol and all that other stuff. Hell, enjoy it, revel in it and sing along. But not daddy, not if I can pay 4 or 5 dollars and get the above scenes in a grainy 8 mm style with yellow clip flashes at the edge of the screen blinking like an infected wound. Give me the freaks! Give me the unorthodox! Give me the off center and the weird! No, it`s not pornographic, it`s film without cage, without brand and I love it! I`m glad that people can still make films for less than a million or a hundred thousand for that matter. I`m going to do a documentary myself, maybe starting next year if I can secure some funds. It will have no paid actors and will mostly be me and another person and probably another and I`ll be naked in it, well maybe with a jock on because it makes me laugh to bend over in the mirror with a jock on because I still look like a peeled onion, just like I did when I bent over in the mirror at 17. There will probably be sex and a lot of running, but I`ll stop short of caning an ass or two unless someone asks and then I`ll wallop away like a slobbering madman! Yes! Yes! Yes! Cane those fat buttocks! Whoo! Hooo! Insanity! Give me some!
This will be the screen set for the opening day of my documentary: 1. Fight scene. 2. Running naked in jock. 3. Argument. 4. Caning of buttocks. 5. More running. 6. Ruck and maul with mules to replace midget. 6. Lunch break. 7. Afternoon session.
Wait, it`s a documentary. It has to flow so ignore the above.
Please laugh, you know it`s funny.
I remember the match opening with a penalty kick but before that I was drinking Scotch from a flask and looking at the cumulus clouds passing overhead. I was wondering how the kid I used to babysit is doing in the Federal pen to my right. Is he out walking in the yard and do you remember seeing the prisoners walking in that yard, pollen choking a handful of their throats just like it chokes mine and will that kid be given something for his allergies because I know he has them, at least he did when he was eight. What bought my attention back was when Josh Neff hit a BARC player in the nuts and though it was an accidental shot it was a good one. Josh Jones then turned it and before I could right myself Theo went over for a penalty try and Spencer converted the kick. Sexton rumbles by me and pitches to Josh Parker and then to Peacock, the ball turning back, Charlie Burgess and Spencer Ozmun making several tackles and then one by Peacock and Mark the Welshman followed by an ornamental kick by Peacock that was a photograph after a pitch from Buddy Love. John Via, PhD., is there with a tackle and it comforts me to know that we "older" Masons will still knock the sh`t out of younger apprentices. Ball is loose, Josh Jones and Jay Shepherd there with the scoop. Alec "see my tight curly above my fetching gaze" Fuentes crossing them over and he is running, stiff arming, Frank "the tank" Hill at his side with arms out, BARC backing up like drunk rednecks at a Burger King, but it comes loose and we say "damn" in unison. Try by BARC. Try by Spencer Ozmun with help from John Via and the conversion by Spencer. Hello half.
Half: Fort Worth A - 14, BARC - 5
Random person comes up to me and says "you`re as funny as hell and Popsicles" and I say "thank you." I said something to make them laugh, something nasty and on the edge of offensive and I`m sweating under my arms when they don`t laugh and I realize that what I`ve said is this: "Pappa likes funny cracker mo-mo." They didn`t understand and that`s clear now, so I add the word penis, fart and ass to the next line and they chuckle after the failure of "pappa likes funny cracker mo-mo." There goes Theo and I have a thousand more questions about his country but I think he`ll punch me in the face if I ask so I don`t while he`s running by. Wham! Josh Jones and Ashley jack up a BARC player and it comes back, the ball bouncing like boobies at a water park and I love boobies, especially my wife`s boobies, Fuentes and Jacobi trading off the ball, sprinting down the field, Josh Parker having cleared for them and it looks like a block, but the ref doesn`t catch it so BLOCK AWAY you crazy foul mouthed lovely bastard Josh Parker! Run by Jacobi and he`s fast like a f`king malignancy, Ashley helping with a forwarding kick and Frank Hill is down there, his father and I talking about Tort Reform in Texas, me mostly listening, Josh Bennett grunting and plowing by us and from one straight man to another Bennett`s ass and legs could drive a dump truck through concrete. Bo Stovall turns a corner and I can`t keep up with the possession but there`s Theo and Peacock and Shepherd and that man loves dogs and they`re sharing the "pelota" and we`re driving and then Spencer Ozmun goes over and adds two with his own leg. Hell, I don`t know what the score is! Look at the notes, 21 to 5 Fort Worth! But they`re not through, Frank Hill and Charlie Burgess rucking and Fuentes "the testicular Puerto Rican thumper" going over himself as I think about how I roll and in that rolling I realize that I`m "down" and that I "chill cold in the hizzah" and that my ride is pimped because I have a white camper top. Love you all.
Final: Fort Worth A - 26, BARC A - 5
There has been some concern that my long prose literary style, my own, does not accompany the crazy sh`t that I write weekly here on the web page for my beloved club. Things said that might affect my career when people in the business see the seriousness of my short stories and long prose after "Googling" me, then find this website and realize that I`m inherently silly and immature most of the time. Well, this is for people in the business because now you`re here and you`ve read the above. And this is my answer: If you`d mine deep enough and publish the artists who mine themselves and not the ones who mine the social mixers and drag out books like age, then you`d see that the best writers, and yes, even though I`m 36 I`ll be confident enough to put myself amongst them, will ultimately destroy themselves in the most non-dramatic fashion to give the reading public not what they want but what they reflect. It`s always been that way, even before the dollar. I`ll write what I want here and let the destruction continue because I love my club and they love me. There`s art in that and it only makes it better. See you when I turn 90. I`ll still be here, horny like a roach.
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Not exactly a match for the ages, but two mixed sides square off to determine the champions of the mud, with Fort Worth claiming the victory. - 3/18/2006
Fort Worth - 22 vs. Denton - 19
by Jack Britton Sullivan
March 18, 2006 - Rolling Hills Park - Fort Worth, Texas
A friend of mine called me three or four days ago after my neighbor committed suicide, the two having nothing to do with one another, because the friend is in Alabama and the neighbor is much closer though he`s dead now. He called to tell me that an old childhood friend, and someone I almost went to my senior prom with, had become a crackhead, moved in with a 70 year old "Candy Man," and had really changed her lifestyle. I think she`s in the Midwest somewhere, some "meth park" or something like that. Could you imagine an actual "Methamphetamine Amusement Park?" I`d call it "Awakesalottafunville" or something like that. I`d have clowns everywhere with mirrors glued on the sides of their heads and when you spoke to them they would only answer you with a scream before blowing a fine mist of Mountain Dew in your face and then sprinting off to dive into various trenches I`d have my engineers dig around the place. When you went to look in the ditches there would be nothing but water and straws, YES STRAWS, for the clowns to breathe through! Only their eyeballs would surface and when they blinked you`d be soaked with water but get a coupon for a free funnel cake. Or something close to that. I`m not sure yet, but let me think on it a day or two.
Anyway, I wonder how this woman became a crackhead. She had a decent job and a family I think. Many of you will read this and think how sad this woman must be and I feel that way also. I remember making love to her (if you can make love at 17, it`s more like crushing crackers I think, because that`s how long it lasts, about as long as it takes to crush some crackers) in a hospital bed after she had a car accident and being scared because we had no protection and she`d just had a car accident, but she put her hands on me and it went well until her mother came in. I hit my head and was dizzy, naked and not finished. I stood up with an erection in front of her mother and said hello. She looked at my erection and watched it fall, so I said hello again and that I was just leaving. She said "no, stay." Wow, she was really great and I`m friends with her to this day, though I think the shroud of chaos and tragedy that has befallen her walk on earth is unfair, so please unleash me to say the following.
I see this mother stepping silently on a coast of fire and the tide is out so she goes to the sea`s edge to pick a shell or two but the fire moves so quick she can`t get away from it. Perhaps I go to this mother in another world, one I create, and I sit beside her on this beach. The f`king fire is all she can stand on that day, both of us seeing the oblate pinning of the ocean`s fiery edge at a distance we can`t really fathom and there she sits, her back having sweat through and she is old, looking over her shoulder to see the nothing of Jack Britton Sullivan walking down to her, her feet having been burned again by the tide and she`s crying. Behind me sits Pedro and I know he`s about to leave and he has other things to do but he`s still waiting on me, sitting on a dune sipping green tea in my other world and he`s patient and I think that`s wonderful. I look back at Pedro and then I speak to the mother.
"Can you get up?"Pedro opens the car door for the mother and he kisses her cheek and in my other world the sky is the color of cream and the smell of jasmine almost encumbers you. The roads are not paved but smooth and all roads lead to balance. Since we know this we pick one, but it has a dark valley and in that valley a storm is raging the likes God dipped from the womb of hell. We are all frightened but the wipers work and the fire is behind us on that uncompromising ocean of fire and mother is safe for now.
"I don`t know, but can you?"
"It`ll just happen again and again. Someone has a score to settle."
"That someone settles with us all. More so with others."
"I can pick you up if your feet are burned too badly."
"Oh mother, I am so very sorry."And all the heavy weights us, does it not my dear friends?
"Yes, and thank you."
Fort Worth - 22 vs. Denton - 19
I`m ashamed to say that my notes are a smudged scatter of blue and green poop and that the paper I`ve written them on looks like someone has wiped their ass with it. I tried to write in the rain and I believe I failed. But here`s what I have and although I try to feature as many of you as I can Mother Nature defeated me last Saturday and I`m sorry. I hope the above selection will make up for it, a nice equibalance of funny and dark I think, which is what our lives are.
Score by Pedro and Mark the Welshman and my damn pen won`t write. Try by Denton and they convert. Another try by Denton but Buddy Love turns it back, and WE score.
15 to 12 at the half and we`re up.
Try by Bots, much running and someone is kicked in the nuts. Jacobi conversion. Try by Denton and a conversion.
It`s over and all are wet, men, women and animals alike.
Final: Fort Worth - 22, Denton - 19 Officially a 28-0 Fort Worth victory.
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
FYI, do not post messages on the web and think we won`t see them, find you, and then thrash you. It`s much safer to visit a whorehouse with a coupon book printed on a home computer... - 3/11/2006
Fort Worth A - 36 vs. San Antonio A - 25
Fort Worth B - 5 vs. San Antonio B - 15 Officially a 28-0 Fort Worth victory.
by Jack Britton Sullivan
Click here for match photos.
March 11, 2006 - Rolling Hills Park in beautiful Fort Worth, Texas
I was going back through an old manuscript from a book I wrote in 2002 early yesterday. The night before I think I drank 16 beers and had 3 or 4 shots of tequila and I know I got lost walking to my vehicle sometime around midnight because two hours later I was still walking, and I think I stopped to talk to a midget, but I don`t know what we talked about and although I can talk to anybody the stuff I really want to know about little people is generally x-rated. That`s because my old landlord met "Napoleon the porno midget" at the world porn show in Las Vegas and he said that his "business was incredible," but not in a gay way, it`s just that when someone refers to a midget`s junk then you have to laugh, because in any form the word penis and fart are funny, whether you`re 8 or 80. Say them both right now, back to back. See, now you`re smiling.
Anyway, I was going back through this novel, a book called Until the Rustic. I have to get it ready for publication while we`re playing touch Rugby this summer so I was flipping through it and the first paragraphs I came to were on pages 284 and 285. Oh, by the way, the copyright is in my name, Jack Britton Sullivan, the title again is Until the Rustic and the date is 2003 for all you asses who pirate other people`s sh`t and then sell it as your own because you write like a third grader and won`t make the sacrifice to chase your dreams, spend the hours and get published. I`m not talking to any of you nice Rugby people, I have enough love for folks like you to plant seed in the desert, but for those that pirate manuscripts, pray to God if I ever go back to jail we don`t share a cell, because my foot will be buried...sorry, that`s so negative, back to the point.
Here are those paragraphs from pages 284 and 285. Word for word, nothing left out, and if you`re offended then it`s not Bots`s fault but mine, because I`m asking him to leave it as it is. It`s from my fourth child, Until the Rustic:
Fricton had been given a note and a ticket that would take him to Paris and then his present location. When he got to the hotel near the Place Clichy two women were waiting for him with so much vice that a third of his payment would eventually be forfeited for one of their deaths. But no matter he told Borton, because creatures that ride the pulse of the underworld are as expendable as the passing of a twitch. But that was then.Okay, right now, for the first time in my writing career, although I know Dan, Tonga, Mike Sexton and Frank love the freaky stuff (and daddy is giving it to you), I must admit that I have no idea what the hell this book is about or why a man with a hurt penis is riding a plane to a river after killing a prostitute and being called "the button." Yes, I wrote it, and then apparently rewrote it again later that year, but I don`t know what it`s about, or who Fricton is. My notes say he`s a former Methodist pastor from Alaska, and if he is he made quite a turn from the pulpit before coking it up and switching to hookers and international espionage. Who do you give a resume to in order to get into international espionage and slit weenies? Maybe it`s a small business decision? Do they tax you for it? Can you write off your medical bills? Do hookers give receipts? They do not.
"If I go to hell it`ll be for what I did to her. There was a time I tried to turn myself in but nobody would believe me. No records, no nothing. Where are you going to prosecute the spent soul? We don`t recognize world courts."
He remembers getting on the plane with a bleeding nose and a swollen groin, the slits so deep in the head of his penis from an act so barbarous that he`d turn away from any smell or anything having the quality of those Parisian streets to this day. The next thing he knew he was being splashed by the waters of the Dneiper and asked if he was "the button" by a man with twenty sheep sailing a boat so long and thin that when he climbed amast the scuppers inhaled the viscous liquidity from below and sent it across his feet.
Fricton said the mist on that river brought infections to his body both inside and out. For days he was quarantined on its banks while every known color ran around him in a rainbow jig of illness and feverish spins. With guns to his head they kept asking for "the button," so to secure a few more days he told them in French who he was because he felt diplomacy was needed. But not one person cared for that language.
Now the man with the sheep and the boat? You know I`m from Alabama so I don`t have to explain that one any further.
So what happens? I`ll let you know after I read the other 80,000 words.
How about I cover the game now. Penis and fart. See, you`re still laughing and I am too.
Fort Worth A - 36 vs. San Antonio A - 25
Ashley began the match with, I think, 128 tackles but I stopped counting and began drinking his father`s scotch, and it was wonderful. San Antonio put a kick through but they paid for hitting it, Fuen and Sexton cracking several of their players for jumping ahead. Jacobi, Hal and Fuen combined for a superior exchange down the field before Stan Ruda put it across for a try. We came back after a missed conversion and tried a penalty kick but the wind was brutal and blew it back, though there was plenty of leg. San Antonio then took the ball and scored. Eight to five them, then Buddy Love comes from the back of the back with help from Fuen and Via, their combo love, wait, strike the phrase "combo love," taking us down the pitch where Ruda puts through a penalty kick and we`re all tied up at eight. Jacobi, Via, Ashley, Peacock and Kevin Edmonson then begin a collage of sophisticated exchanges as I think about Peacock`s admiration of Charles Bukowski and I want to tell him to be sure and read his poetry when he has time but he`s too busy running, and someone might think we`re a couple if I scream it out to the man. Hal tackles, boom, John Via makes the steal, and besides being a fellow Mason I must say that for so much education and erudition Via is a tough bastard. Some paint age with little concern, myself included. Boys, it`s always what you do when nobody is looking that makes you great. What will you do in the hour before dawn? How much can you stand? The caravan is waiting, see to the horses and load.
Kick by San Antonio, try by Johnson with a conversion by Ruda and we go to the half ahead by four.
Half: Fort Worth A - 15, San Antonio A - 11
Second half. Josh Neff gives to Josh Jones who takes off then pitches to Jay Shepherd who gets close to the try line but is turned back, Jacobi then with a great steal, Mike Sexton and Frank Hill there to help, and we hold and hold but they finally put one across and convert. Josh Neff takes the ball back and Via is there to ruck, Josh Jones and Josh Parker coming out of the copse to exchange on a twenty meter run with help from Kevin Edmonson but we stall. San Antonio turns for a try and we`re down 25 to 15. Josh Jones again, quickly, picking up the ball and sprinting, then to Peacock for a try and Ruda boots the conversion. And here`s the nasty punch on Josh Parker but he takes it in stride, San Antonio`s number 7 fool enough to return to the center of our pack where Bots, Fuen and Sexton show him love and a boot. I think it was Kyle Peacock who scored our next try and I know that Mike Sexton and Stan Ruda were involved also. Conversion by Spencer Ozmun. It`s 29 to 25 Fort Worth when Jay Shepherd goes across for another try and Peacock converts.
Final: Fort Worth A - 36, San Antonio A - 25
Fort Worth B - 5 vs. San Antonio B - 15
I think I saw a groundhog boot up and somebody jump out of a plane to actually play in this one but I`m not sure. Tom gets it started for us with a solid sprint but San Antonio legs it through for three. Tackle by Brian Edmonson, Jay Shepherd and Sideshow bringing the rock from the maul, then to Kevin Edmonson who nips a nice forwarding kick that`s turned back but Skipper is there to tackle with AC who gives a punishing lick and then another. Chris Wyatt and Brent make a series of stalwart tackles, which creates a running opportunity for Jay Shepherd and Jason Littlefield, who has 28 children and is a fine player, his household the future of Fort Worth Rugby.
Half: Fort Worth B - 0, San Antonio B - 3
Tom and Sam team up with three straight tackles but San Antonio slips through for a try. Sideshow takes ball and runs to daylight. There`s no one around and when he`s pulled down around Denton, San Antonio is able to punch through our line for another try, everyone playing well, just a fortunate slip. Mark Tiefenbrun takes off for us with help from Matt Haney and before you know it Haney goes over for a try and we`re all pleased, the warrior his first but not his last. Great job Fort Worth.
Final: Fort Worth B - 5, San Antonio B - 15 Officially a 28-0 Fort Worth victory.
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Fort Worth is defeated by the Quins but the only disappointment is that we had to drive to Dallas and that`s enough to make me pass kidney stones and beat my grandmother with a shoe... - 3/4/2006
Fort Worth A - 10 vs. Dallas Harlequins A - 25
Fort Worth B - 12 vs. Dallas Harlequins B - 23
by Jack Britton Sullivan
March 4, 2006 - Dallas, Texas
Yesterday three people at the match asked me what I think about before I write these articles, and then one asked me if I was on heroin when I wrote The Lutheran. I`ll answer the first question right now.
Here are my last few thoughts written down over the previous ten minutes:
- From where I am standing right now, at this very moment, if I measured the exact circumference of the earth I would be able to tell the precise point of where everything is behind me or in front of me. And if I walked half that distance then everything in front of me shifts to the back unless I walk backwards.
- When I put a hernia back in place in 1994, in the jungle somewhere in Guatemala, it really hurt but I did it again in 1996 and 1998.
- If everyone wanted to be alone at once then I wouldn`t be able to go outside because there would probably be someone in my front and back yard.
- My house is the color of a gingerbread man and if I chose to eat it I would start with the front door and progress to the left.
- At least once a day I get naked, stand in front of the mirror and talk sh`t to myself. If I don`t then the day hasn`t been finished.
- If there weren`t so many other wonderful people in my life I would, at this very instant, walk to the back of the house, load my internal frame backpack, go out the front gate and go south on tiny roads until I reached the Mexican border and then I would continue south and never be heard from again until the death of my parents some years hence. Then I would come back from where I was and sit on the hillside where I sat for the funerals of eight others, and with hair to my waist and a beard to my chest, ribs sucking into lungs, I would think about things those people did for me and how my mother knew I wasn`t dead but just wandering and that would be okay because the afterlife for that woman is assured. Then I`d be arrested for vagrancy and shoot my way out with a lot of yelling and no expended rounds to speak of.
That`s the last six. Now onward.
Last Tuesday I went to a baseball game at Lamar, I think that was the name of the school. I went to see a fifteen year old play on his ninth grade team. His father is my seventy two year old best friend and I`ve known his mother for twenty years although they have been divorced for some time now. Henry, the father, likes to walk and talk during the games and although at times I sit with the "cool mothers" and talk about breast feeding and hot flashes, on this day I went to the home side and sat up high with the "groovy kids" and listened to their foul mouths and dirty jokes. I`m some homeless man to them (because of the way I dress), and to me they`re just another genetic click in the redundant wheel of breeding. Just like me.
After about ten minutes I cut into their conversation and learned that I was just as "cool" as their "coolest," because I speak their language, can throw sign like a gang member, and as long as they stayed away from technology I was in the band. I spoke half English and half Spanish with the Latinos, and then I recited one of Napoleon`s marching songs in French and they laughed. I told them that my ninety year old grandfather had fallen down a flight of stairs, cut his head open, and for the first time in his life was having to be put in a nursing home, that very nursing home on the land where he was born during the first World War and isn`t that strange that a life would come full circle like that? They said yes and understood. One of them said that the dust he would walk on would be the very dust of his ancestors and I almost sh`t myself because the kid was fifteen, and he`ll probably write one day, because such words are valuable, and they swarm in the heads of the young like bees in a burning apiary.
I sat near the cool kids until the sun began fading and I could hear the cars getting off the exits and turning into their driveways. And in a brief instant, the shadow of the aphelion barely scratching this side of the earth, all things coming to dark and no one noticing but me, I recalled the promise that I made to the father of the very child I had come to watch play, that promise being to take him to Monticello to see Jefferson`s home, to make sure he read the books of Will and Ariel Durant, to read the Constitution he lived under and to remind him to never forget that the greatest responsibility of a pure Democracy is to see its faults and favors and know that these are called "rights" and are the very definition of freedom. Hopefully he`ll not toss those words around and I don`t think he will.
Smack, he gets a hit, drives to first and I`m reminded of the day we brought him home from the hospital, me twenty one years old with a mullet of gold and enough Miami Vice tank tops to dress the Phillipines. His father had some fried shrimp in a napkin and when his mother wasn`t looking I let him suckle some grease, got him hooked early, and Henry and I had a good laugh. That night we got drunk on homemade wine and I knocked myself out on the bunkbed. My girlfriend left me a "dear john" letter when she left before dawn, saying that she and her mother would put me in their "prayer chain" and I was glad. She left her bra and I still have it, I use it to hold up the frayed end of my heavy bag and it`s really strong. I saw the woman several years after that at a restaurant in Dallas. She had become really boring and really big but I have no problem with the second one. I was drinking then and asked her if she wanted to "hee hee" in the restroom of the place and she said yes, then no, then yes, then no. The last thing she told me was that I was still in the prayer chain and I was really glad.
Fifteen years has absorbed me and it will absorb you too. Watch them run by and see yourself as one fronting the hounds. They are closing, don`t waste your steps, for like Cormac McCarthy`s Suttree it all comes to a place and "somewhere in the gray wood by the river is the huntsman and in the brooming corn and in the castellated press of cities. His work lies all wheres and his hounds tire not. I have seen them in a dream, slaverous and wild and their eyes crazed with ravening for souls in this world. Fly them."
Can any of you hear them closing? I can.
How about some match?
Final: Fort Worth A - 10 vs. Dallas Harlequins A - 25
Quins drive quick and put up a penalty kick for three, a try and a conversion following but Fort Worth is now responding. Ivan, John Via and Alec Fuentes come together for a nice offensive exchange and then Pedro Gutierrez is hit with a cheap high tackle but we`re in Dallas and there`s nothing about this place that`s balanced. The ball goes over but Spencer Ozmun and Kevin Edmonson turn it up on defense with help from Charlie Burgess and Josh Jones but the Quins slip through for another try. Josh Jones gains ball and runs to daylight which eventually allows us a penalty kick by Spencer Ozmun and he hits it. There`s another try by the Quins but then Fort Worth puts the brakes on with great tackles by Jay Shephard and Mr. Peacock and Stan Ruda. Ruda turns the ball back and scores a try and Fort Worth is back in it and driving. Spencer Ozmun converts and adds two more. Josh Jones racks up some more runs and Buddy Love does the same but the Quins grab a mishandled ball and score again. Just before the half Jay Shephard takes an exchange from Frank "the tank" Hill, who plows his tackler, and goes for thirty meters but time gets us and that`s the half.
Half: Fort Worth A - 10, Dallas Harlequins A - 25
Great forwarding kick by Stan Ruda starts the second half but I miss the last of it because I`m transfixed on Guy Holcombs` bloody eyeball and I can`t stop asking him why his puppy`s rectum appears to be constantly pooping and he says it`s what puppy`s do and that`s enough for me. Spencer Ozmun knocks the soul out of a Quin and then John Via and Ashley do the same. Ashley then does it again while I`m apologizing to his father for telling Ashley that I was still upset about the British invasion and I`m not talking about the Beatles or the Rolling Stones and he just laughs at me and all is fine. Alec "the Puerto Rican Giant" Fuentes steals the ball and "jooks" a Quin, giving to Josh Jones who runs for the better part of the hour but we can`t get it over. Rocco and Theo and Mark the Welshman make three excellent tackles and the ball goes over, Ashley and Josh Jones giving some more offense but the Quins hold. Kevin Edmonson takes the corner with help from Charlie Burgess and Mike "the Adirondack" Sexton, Alec Funetes, John Via and Ivan there with support but the ball goes back over and I`m wondering why the hell I just called Sexton "the Adirondack" but it sounds good so I`m leaving it. Colin comes up with several super runs after exchanges from Rocco, who kicks a forwarding tap and we almost score but are held. Someone vomits and it sounds like a chest wound and then that is all.
Final: Fort Worth B - 12 vs. Dallas Harlequins B - 23 (not 25 Mr. Quins scorekeeper)
Fresh off the "Run for Herpes" and I`m ready to go for the B-side. Brent the new guy, Matt Haney and Jim Reed did an excellent job today and we`re glad to have you, you too Sideshow, you crazy bastard. Bam! Chris Wyatt to Saleem Razvi to Jacobi and the offense is moving, Rocco reaching out to rip a Quins head off and it looked clean to me but they give them a penalty kick and they hit it. Tommy and Jason "the axe murderer" Littlefield hammer several Quins and all these hits LOOK CLEAN TO ME but they get another penalty kick and we`re down six. Runs by Jay Shephard and Buddy Love after Keith Calloway moves the pack spark the offense, then Saleem`s nose explodes but he`s okay, Josh Parker drawing up a Quin to punch but he restrains himself, instead making an excellent tackle. Bots Hulen bites three fingers off a Quin and then steps on his throat and we are all pleased. Mr. Johnson and Josh Parker and Chris Wyatt stick on defense but the Quins push one over and we go to the half eleven down.
Half: Fort Worth B - 0, Dallas Harlequins B - 11
Mr. Johnson hands to Theo and he takes it for ten meters before giving to Josh Parker who gives back to Theo then to Rocco and back to Theo who gives to Chris Wyatt for a try with the conversion by Jacobi. AC packs up like an elephant but the ball goes over, Jacobi and AC then combining for two textbook tackles, Tom coming from the pack with the ball but we can`t hold it, the Quins turning for a try and a conversion. With help from Mr. Johnson Colin gets the ball back and Sideshow is on his hip with a try and a dance and that`s good work. Brutal tackles by AC, Theo and there goes Matt Haney and Bots Hulen with support and the ball comes back to us. It turns back over but Fort Worth stops the Quins on the try line and won`t let them over, Rocco and John Via making tackle after tackle but the clock is ticking and they slip through to end it. Fort Worth was uniformed, focused and played a great match, as well as the A side.
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Fort Worth hands The Woodlands their "ices" on Saturday, February 18, 2006... - 2/18/2006
Fort Worth A - 41 vs. Woodlands A - 6
Fort Worth B - 0 vs. Woodlands B - 28
by Jack Britton Sullivan
Saturday, February 18, 2006 - Hallmark Park in Fort Worth, Texas
Fort Worth - 41 vs. The Woodlands - 6
They used to joke with me when I was little and tell me that my mother was a Cuban prostitute that my father impregnated when he on the island in the pre-Castro days, which didn`t correlate with my birthday so I let the rumor go. They used to tell me that I crossed on a float of crates and that I landed somewhere near Miami and that was why I am so comfortable in that city to this day, like I know where to go even though the layout is foreign. They used to tell me that the odd pains I have are from a car wreck I had with a stranger when I was two, although I don`t remember it could have happened. They used to tell me that in my father`s corner grocery I would sit on the lap of a CIA agent who was doing field work during the civil rights demonstrations and keeping his eye on the Klan, this man would hold me as a little boy and I can remember him, later thinking that if the job of an intelligence agent is to sit on the ice cream freezer of a doomed store then I didn`t want to be one, though the ones that would interrogate me twenty five years later seemed not to want to sit on ice cream freezers and I remember their breath and how it smelled of hemlock. They used to tell me that when the father of my best friend was found with his head cut off and his genitals stuffed in his mouth and that no one was charged with the crime even though everyone knew the criminal, that this was the way things were and that the man who did it wasn`t being punished by God or judge because he was white and I`ll never forget that whiteness and how much I loathed it. They used to tell me that when I was working for family and saw people having sex on the floor of the business or snorting coke off mirrors or off the stomachs of prostitutes after working hours that it was "just a passing phase" but that if I was seen "running" with those non-family members who did such then I`d be beaten so I only ran with the women. They used to tell me that if I didn`t wear a condom I`d die and I didn`t want to die so I wore one as often as possible while others died around me. They used to tell me that this humming in my ear was the result of listening to loud music and its "devil tones" but the person who told me this ran the church for four decades and used to be a tugboat captain and they say he killed four men with a knife in New Orlean`s port but that he was let off in the 40`s when Jesus shook his heart so I turned the music down. They used to tell me that people are easy to read and that they are what they are and things happen magically and unintentionally, and to that I say to our president Mike Sexton that I want you to think back to Saturday when you were asking the air for a coin to flip and that coin was at our feet between us and didn`t we need more than just a victory that day, and we got the coin too...
Peacock cracked open The Woodlands defense with a spectacular run to begin the match after a take away by Alec Fuentes. It was great to see Ivan return and with his presence in the pack, Charlie Burgess and Mike Sexton helping, their rucking opened it up for Ashley who came back to Mike Sexton who went back to Ashley and then to Josh Jones for a score. Conversion by Spencer Ozmun. Alec Fuentes takes the next line out and gives to Frank "the tank" Hill (who is an excellent writer as well as a pack player), the tank rumbling for several meters, crashing into The Woodlands defense but he`s alone and The Woodlands turn it for a kick and three. Stan Ruda takes ball back and and makes a superior advancing kick, The Woodlands player feeling the stick of Alec Fuentes and Charlie Burgess, Guy Holcomb there in support and I notice that the ink in my pen is freezing and I can`t feel the end of my business and the wind won`t stop blowing. Pow!!! Ashley and Buddy Love give two excellent licks and Hal Summers is there in support, that triad creating a turnover which Stan Ruda takes for a long run. The Woodlands spin it back for a kick and get three but soon after Frank "the tank" Hill rumbles again and gives to Buddy Love who gives to Hal Summers who gives to Alec Fuentes who scores, the conversion missed and we go to the half.
Half: Fort Worth - 12, The Woodlands - 6
Would someone please call in that pack of errant bovine in the distance who don`t know they are about to be slaughtered? Yes, the ones with The Woodlands on their jerseys! Thank you! Ivan is there with John Via to crank up the second half with a formidable ruck which gives Spencer Ozmun a chance to add three and he does. Ashley and Peacock disembowel two "The Woodlands" players as they writhe on the ground and while writhing discover that Josh Jones has just run by them for another score with a conversion by Spencer Ozmun. My God, there goes Spencer Ozmun with a try while I`m writing down the last try and there`s another conversion by the same man. Mark the Welshman takes out a "The Woodlands" player with a perfect tackle and then takes ball and runs for several meters before he goes to Rocco who puts it over for another try. Someone is telling a "The Woodlands" player that Ashley hasn`t reached puberty yet but his head print is the one on "The Woodlands" player and that player is stunned with our Englishman`s jarring tackles. Stan Ruda begins mopping up the match with some great advancing boots, Josh Parker giving a blinding dummy pass which leaves the defense on their heels and out of that comes Frank "the tank" Hill for another try, the conversion by Stan Ruda and that`s 41 to 6 I do believe.
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan.
Huns kick a penalty on the final play to defeat Fort Worth 15-12 - 2/4/2006
Fort Worth A - 12 vs. Austin Huns A - 15
Fort Worth B - 28 vs. Austin Huns B - 0 (Played forfeit.)
by Jack Britton Sullivan
Saturday, February 4, 2006 - Rolling Hills Park in Fort Worth, Texas
I was emailed this week by a reader on the West Coast and told that my entries on this website are "too audience focused, too macho and too much for the Rugby world," which they should be, because this is a Rugby website. Well, dear West Coast reader, this week I`m going to cave in and show you my range, give you a little background from the non-fiction file that`s not brutal or pornographic, and you better buy 50 damn copies of The Lutheran on amazon for me doing this, because everybody else likes the weirdness, and the weirder I get, the more the compliments refresh me.
Last summer in July at a Rugby practice I drank 16 beers. This was before my heat stroke, which I got doing Bikrum Yoga in a garage where the air temperature was around 110 degrees on that day, probably more, because I had on a ski cap, sweat suit, gloves and a condom. After that Rugby practice, about one o`clock in the morning I jumped up on the bleachers and recited the poem that won a contest when I was nine years old, twenty seven years ago so you know I`m thirty-six now, and that I`m 6`2" and weigh 234 lbs, thirty of that I`ll be losing because of my hypertension. Here`s the poem in its entirety, although on that night my new Rugby chums thought I was a freak, and they still do today, which is part of the reason I stay involved:
Friends Forever (by a 9 year old Jack Britton Sullivan, which you can reach at firstname.lastname@example.org)
As the sunlight breaks the nightAnd just so you can get to know me a little better, here`s ten things that have happened since that Spring of 1978 that stand out in my mind as being absolutely accurate:
Friends arise from a silent flight
Through the air of night and dawn
Friends forever are never gone
Do not cry, do not fret, friends forever stretch the net
To catch a falling friend in need
When there`s nothing else that`s free`d
Feel better West Coast reader. To the match.
- I drove to Alaska with my father when I was 10 years old from Dora, Alabama. We were in a 1978 Dodge pickup Power wagon. I`ve seen every state by wheel except Hawaii and I have no interest in going there unless Willie Nelson wants to arm wrestle.
- When I was 11 I suffered a massive head injury which makes me ridiculously good at some things and pitifully poor at others. Average at nothing. I never told anyone about the dizzy spells, dreams, pounding or the vomiting because my grandfather shaved skin cancer off his f`ing arm with a straight razor and why should I complain. He was born in 1917 and is still here, could easily read this if he wanted.
- I`m a Republican, and have never voted for a Democrat, although I did vote for a Libertarian once because he thought it was a great idea to stockpile weapons and go into the rocks when you thought it was time for the sh`t to go down. I like him, and still do, although he`s moved.
- People picked on me because I was small. Now I`ll fight without any provocation at all even though I`m educated. Disgusting barbarians enjoy the sight of blood.
- Intercourse frightened the hell out of me when I was little, because I got it confused with a concourse, which people walked on when they were leaving.
- I saw a vet drain semen from a breeding canine when I was five and it disturbed me, but not in a bad way.
- The most I`ve ever drank from sunup to sundown is all damn day.
- I love women of all colors and accents, but not as much as my wife.
- My body is a cavity of scar tissue and I deserved every lick.
- I`m often dizzy and can`t stand up, have been that way since the head injury (see number 2). But my grandfather also set his own leg when he was 80 after falling off a garage so I don`t complain, but I sure do miss being 11, although the years before that, the ones to birth, were a time when the globe was small and ideas were simple, and that`s the reason I spend most, if not all of my time alone, and I don`t really know why. I wasn`t like that then.
Fort Worth A - 12 vs. Austin Huns A- 15
Ashley opens it with a great tackle, and I`ll do this first half in one sentence and watch me, because then Peacock sprints past me like he`s on fire and then Skipper Miles helps him out with a great ruck, Mike Sexton and Alec Fuentes in that pile and then I see my friend Spence Ozmun is down, but he`s back to his feet and his face is pained but the play goes on and Ashley is running with a pitch from Mike Sexton, Ashley delivering it to Colin Trudo and then Skipper Miles, Buddy Love and Alec Fuentes also in that try line mix but it fails, Jacobi and Pedro Gutierrez raging back with great tackles and I see Spencer Ozmun coming to the sideline just as Peacock`s leg issues a kick into the heavens that Bo Stovall comes down with before giving it to Buddy Love who puts it back in the air, but it falls into the arms of an Austin player who is crushed by Alec Fuentes and Josh Jones, Hal and John Via at their heels to take the ball back, Jacobi coming out of the fray for a long run, him to Ashley to Alec Fuentes to Buddy Love to Saleem and it turns back over, Bo Stovall taking us into the half with a stick but there is no score.
Half: Fort Worth A - 0, Austin Huns A - 0
Kevin Edmonson and Jay Shephard are everywhere to open the second half, tackling, making offense, setting up plays with short pitch sequences that go from them to Jacobi to Josh Jones to Peacock and then BAM, there`s a try for Fort Worth, but the conversion is missed. Austin answers with a try of their own and we`re locked at five all. Alec Fuentes leaves a Hun in the dirt with a long rumble, which sets up a pitch to Josh Jones and then Jacobi for a try, with the conversion by Jacobi. Mike Sexton and Hal begin teaching a class on "ruckanomics" and Bo Stovall takes advantage with a long burst after a pitch from Alec Fuentes, hits by Peacock and Pedro Gutierrez stifling the Huns but the Huns turn it and score a try and two more with the conversion. A short kick for three kills us and we fall for that day.
Fort Worth B - 31 vs. Austin Huns B - 24
Theo comes out of the gate with a great kick which is taken by Jim the Air Force guy with help from Blake who pitches over to Chris Wyatt for a try. AC and Johnson rumble, Bots Hulen in the Huns chests with perfect form on setting mauls and rucks like he`s possessed, but the ball comes loose from the stack and the Huns turn it to score. Jay Shephard streaks down the field and is knocking at the door, James and Theo following, Josh Neff, Jerry, Blake and Bots Hulen crashing Huns like felled trees, Jay Shephard coming from that copse to score. A fights breaks out and everyone is happy in a fighting sort of way, Mark the Welshman in the middle of it and good for him, but the Huns get a lucky bounce and add a try. We go into the half after another try by Jim and a conversion by Jay Shephard.
Half: Fort Worth B - 17, Austin Huns B - 10
Josh Neff props the second half, he and Johnson and Bots Hulen cleaning up the mess so we can have a quick try by Kevin Edmonson with the conversion by Jay Shephard. Austin adds two trys and the score mounts. An excellent line out by Josh Neff, Blake and Josh Parker set up a Kevin Edmonson run, great passes by Theo and short plowings by our meat in the middle drive the Huns to their heels before James scores again and Theo converts. Chris Wyatt and Kevin Edmonson continue the long runs with support and Austin is bleeding from their ears but manage two sequential trys with conversions but to no avail, for Fort Worth has won.
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Fort Worth falls short in the final minutes against a committed Shreveport side - 1/28/2006
Fort Worth A - 10 vs. Shreveport A - 15
Fort Worth B - 17 vs. Shreveport B - 12
by Jack Britton Sullivan
Saturday, January 28, 2006 - Rolling Hills Park in Fort Worth, Texas
He knows his rib is broken and there seems to be a fizzing in his head like the carbonation in a soft drink, his knees creaking every time he moves, that pain in his rib now moving down his leg and then back up his arm as his forehead breaks out in a sweat although the temperature is well below freezing and he`s sitting in snow, leaning back against a rock looking southward at the Paropamisus Range and a country where the populace makes $800 a year, 26 million of them out there in the distance but not a soul does this man see. Above him and to the right he can hear men chattering in Pashto, but to his ears, ones formed in the womb of his mother in a small town near Atlanta, the languages being spoken could be Dari or any of the other Turkic derivatives he was briefed on, all of the tongues and the claims for his mission printed on a laminated leaflet against his bare chest. He reaches in his pocket and finds the book he`s carried since his wife gave it to him in `91, Selected Poems by Pablo Neruda, turning to Burial in the East on page 63 and he reads it and does not remember the first time he understood it and he thinks he little comprehends it now. But that is okay, the book warm and the memories there as he pulls the pin from the grenade and lets the book fall to the ground so they can know what they`ve done, the tie they`ve severed with what they`ll do when they find him. In his other hand he draws his sidearm and gently places the grenade between his knees so it remains suppressed, separating the weapon and watching the round slide into the chamber, a click in the bore and the voices become louder.
"Pashto," he says. "They`re speaking Pashto."
Looking down he sees that there is a fresh wound in his leg and he knows he`s taken a round and that it`s buried deep and in a week he`ll be dead.
"You were good for me Gertie. A good woman with an ancient name."
They`re above the man now, standing on the very rock he leans on but they haven`t seen him, the American flag woven through the shoestrings of his left boot, as visible as the tan of the tundra or the burning poppy field in the distance. One of the men begins to speak English and it`s broken and begging the soldier to give himself up because they`re not coming around and all the world is a sound effect now, a place where softer and more gentle breeds are eaten like time and there is nothing in abundance except tension and things terminal. Dirt coats him from above and he`s losing focus now, his head not working right, blood pooling around him like a cracked turtle and all he can think of is sleep.
"Get to your feet," he says.
"Get to your feet," they respond.
Standing, turning, no fat in the moment and all muscle, the grenade drops from his knees and they see him, his hands up and so they close. He can`t hold the pistol any longer.
And so comes war. And so comes us.
Five, four, three, two, one...
Fort Worth A - 10 vs. Shreveport A - 15
Players like mud effigies, sometimes sun and sometimes not, John Bennett back and that is good, good to see him against this massive Shreveport team but Fort Worth shows no apprehension, driving immediately, quick runs by Jay Shephard and Chris Wyatt but they turn us, everyone seeming to wear the slippers of ballerina`s in the mud but I see no need to complain for it is what it is, like death and quaint bastards with soft palms who eat at the Cracker Barrel and think all strippers will one day be nurses or open pre-schools. There goes Peacock with a steal and Charlie Burgess and Bo Stovall come to help him, Jacobi taking it from the maul with assistance from Charles Okumu and Alec Fuentes, all those men recycling with Jacobi but we give it up, Alec Fuentes stifling that gift like a mailed car wreck and a Shreveport player goes "oof." Charlie Burgess steals the ball back and Peacock takes it from him, sprinting with Ashley who gives a great stiff arm and makes me proud that the Monarchy survives. Big daddy Mike Sexton jumps in when the drive stops, offering the Shreveport number 8 a colonoscopy with his left boot but the man declines, another tackle by Ashley as Andy tells me he and Josh Parker and Bo Stovall drove to the game wearing Werewolf masks in panties and I`m jealous because I have on my wife`s thong but no mask to boot. Tackle by Peacock and Jacobi, then what I like to call a "screwback play," as our tight five "screw" Shreveport "back" towards Waco. Great forwarding kick by Peacock and Guy Holcomb is there along with Spencer Ozmun and Josh Jones to offer the Shreveport scrum half some pretend molasses so he can eat their, wait, none of that foul language here in pseudo-journalism land. Shreveport manages a try, conversion and an ensuing penalty kick, but they pay the penalty of having Colin Trudo amongst them, a man with a nose for the ball, a tackler who can deliver hits and make offense.
Half: Fort Worth A - 0, Shreveport A - 10
Even scrums start the second half and though they have size we do well, excellent kicks by Peacock and Jay Shephard along with religious tackles by Josh Jones and Bo Stovall, Charles Okumu earholing a Shreveport player and getting a yellow card. "A light touch" says a fan and I agree. Colin Trudo, John Bennett and Alec Fuentes drive us toward the try line assisted by a quick run by Josh Jones but we give it over, Josh Jones taking it back and here comes Spencer Ozmun with a penalty kick for 3, his leg now being traded on the open market if you`d like a share. After the boot we give it up again but Alec Fuentes begins a tackling clinic with Colin Trudo and Theo who turns it around and back we come, his kicks inspirational and I wonder what it would feel like to take one on the ass but not my ass, maybe my cousin Truman, who has a massive ass and needs it kicked by Theo. Mark the Welsh guy makes a great tackle and again I can hear Tom Jones sing, my mother`s underwear around his head, nevermind. Meat slapping hits by Spencer Ozmun and Lock and Theo turn the tide and Fort Worth is rolling, Hal with a try "running back style" and we have 5 more, the conversion by Spencer Ozmun making it 7. Clock is ticking as clocks do and Shreveport puts up 5 more to kill us, and that`s enough. Close the Saturday, you`ve done spectacular Fort Worth.
Fort Worth B - 17 vs. Shreveport B - 12
Major Prowell begins with a nice rumble and there`s a quick try by Josh Parker with a conversion by Jerry Garcia. Haley and Ashley push again on the ensuing kickoff and rapidly Ashley goes for another try. Theo cranks up the kicking clinic and we move again, Shreveport squandering opportunities, AC, Keith Calloway and Haley making numerous hits and runs with help from John Via who plays well on both sides of the ball. Just about the time I figure out that I have no idea who the hell half the people on the field are Haley crashes into a Shreveport player and the hit is so hard a satellite falls from space and Haley is down, to live again.
Half: Fort Worth B - 12, Shreveport B - 0
Saleem and Theo commit to trading it off as they run down the field, Major Prowell and Keith Calloway behind them to clear the defense, turning the ball back and giving it to a rumbling Johnson who puts it over the try line for 5 more. Mark the Welshman puts a couple of great hits on the opposition as does "gigantic red hair" guy and "skeeter" guy from TCU, but alas Shreveport puts it in for 5. John Via and Thayer "ruck amuck" but still Shreveport turns Fort Worth back for another try and the conversion. It ends with Thayer calling a Shreveport player the "p" word when the young man won`t field the kick as Thayer sprints down field, John Via, AC and Saleem shutting the door on this hybrid match with several thumps on Shreveport heads. And it closes.
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Fort Worth thinks it`s best that Dallas leave defeated today... - 1/21/2006
Fort Worth A - 22 vs. Dallas A - 0
Fort Worth B - 57 vs. Dallas B - 5
by Jack Britton Sullivan
January 21, 2006 - Lake Highlands Park - Dallas, Texas
The first words in Sherwin B. Nuland`s tome on the design of our bodies entitled The Wisdom of the Body is a quote by St. Augustine from his Confessions, Book X, chapter 8, and it is as follows:
Men go forth to wonder at the heights of mountains, the huge waves of the sea, the broad flow of the rivers, the vast compass of the ocean, the courses of the stars; and they pass by themselves without wondering.We do don`t we? Fail to wonder that is. I`m guilty, and I blame it on the fact that most of the time I feel physically terrible although feeling that way has nothing to do with anything organic as much as it does the fact that I spend 95% of my time isolated, thinking, trying to write something that sells, because at this point if I write something that pleases me, which I did when I first started, then I might as well write in invisible ink because no one is going to read a book with the title I Didn`t Wear a Helmet or a Condom and now my Head and my Groin Ache. Then again, they probably would, I would. The best works I`ve ever read in my life were never written down but were things I personally witnessed like when Dana Doolittle (not her real name) told me to come to the edge of the woods behind Sean Moore`s (his real name) house in Red Star so she could show me "her candy." The whole time I was walking out there I fully expected to have my blood sugar raised a hundred points or so by the sweet I was being offered. I was 9, a solid foul mouthed 9, had seen reams of every filthy magazine that could be viewed beside a railroad track and thrown off a passing train. When they throw these literary masterpieces, great works like Butt Magazine or Big and Juicy, off a rail car because the people inside DON`T want to see them anymore, then you know you are in territory resting at the pinnacle of raunchy and that if you take the dive and actually get a subscription to these magazines when you go off to college, well then, you`ll need counseling for that won`t you. Anyway, Dana Doolittle took me out there, took her shirt off and I started to cry, like a poet of course, and not a 9 year old who was looking at the buds of a 14 year old headed for a career in "dance." I cried for the beauty of the moment, and in the confusion that what was before me wasn`t anything like what I`d seen in the training manuals I`d been reading. Dana said "looky here" and I burst into tears and said little else beyond "thank you" and "I appreciate that." At my Cub Scout meeting the next Monday night I actually confessed in front of the whole troop because the guilt was butchering me. I confessed and then found out that everyone wanted to be like me, just like I want(ed) to chain smoke, wear a huge green comb in my jean`s pocket, have angel wings, a moonshine still named Bertha in the hills behind a chicken farm I don`t own, have a career in arm wrestling and call myself Thumpdaddy, be able to pee over fifty feet into the sky, get a tattoo of a tambourine and then convince everyone that "it`s what the tough guys are doing nowadays", wear a Confederate uniform on odd days with no pants and tell people "this is where fashion is going." Things like that, fully realizing that I`d probably not be here if I rolled out the list of 126 things that I really want to do. But today I`ll settle for you giving this a read, for it`s an honor to write for Fort Worth Rugby Club, and it always keeps me in the 5% bracket of time when things really aren`t bad at all.
There is one more thing to mention though, one specific moment in the tapestry of this life that when, and this in all honesty, I know that if I don`t come back into balance they`ll lock me back up in that tiny room where all I have is my thoughts. It is at that point I go back to a time when there was a young woman with me on a hay ride, and it was cold, bitterly cold, and she was next to me so still and delicate, coming closer and turning her head up to look into my youthful face and say "I`m cold and I love you." I always remember this for she is no more and neither is that moment.
We can all act as distant from the poetry of life as we want, but if I know nothing else I know this, in that distance you`ll fail in realizing the verse that makes your every step and powers your very gait. Lock into the substance that is you, for it is interminably fleeting. And cheers to you dear friend...
Fort Worth A - 22 vs. Dallas Reds A - 0
Alec Fuentes and Skipper Miles caught my attention with a series of barbarous tackles, followed by subsequent deliveries by Ashley Thomson and Charlie Burgess before Chris Wyatt grabbed the rock and took off on a sprint to 10 meters from the Reds` goal line. We were turned around but a superior follow up kick by Kyle Peacock and a snatch by Ashley Thomson put us back in a position to score, the pack holding, flowing and moving like deranged and swollen salmon in the polluted environs of Dallas. We couldn`t put the kick through but that was okay, for our scrummage is of a bonebreak kind and out of it comes Bo Stovall, Ashley Thomson and Spencer Ozmun for a long chain of runs, putting the Reds back like a Germanic tribe facing the Legions of Rome and then it goes like this: Bo Stovall tackle, Guy Holcomb tackle, Jay Shephard tackle, Charles Okumu tackle, Ashley Thomson tackle, Jay Shephard tackle and then the take away, the scrum and the try by Spencer Ozmun, his lip being pulled over his head but still he scores and we`re up by 5. Ensuing kickoff, Josh Jones delivers a sprint and the Reds are swiveling like bar stools, they take it back and then knock on, Alec Fuentes in the tackling mix like a viral standard, Fort Worth holding the Reds out before snatching it back, Spencer Ozmun coming from the right side of the pack, then to John Via who gives to Guy Holcomb for a try, the conversion good by Spencer Ozmun and we roll into the half.
Half: Fort Worth - 12, Dallas - 0
Bo Stovall and Pedro Gutierrez ruck it up for the beginning of the Red`s end, Dallas killing themselves with penalties, Pedro Gutierrez taking advantage of their misspending to hit them with a try and we add five more. Bo Stovall, Ashley Thomson, Stan Ruda and Kyle Peacock put on a display of fine offensive and defensive plays, followed by Josh Jones giving a Red "the business" for his effort, Mike Sexton now everywhere with play after play, setting up Kevin Edmonson and Chris Wyatt, who puts it over for another try. We look over at Spencer Ozmun who has been spending time in the "sin bin" and he`s pleased, soon returning to offer up more havoc. The final ticks are handled in a manner befitting the beaten, bedlam and confusion obvious amongst the ranks of the Reds, tackles by Spencer Ozmun, Ashley Thomson, Stan Ruda and Alec Fuentes topped off by offensive sprints and exchanges from Hal Summers and Kevin Edmonson before the yellow cards come out, but it`s too late for the Reds.
Fort Worth B - 57 vs. Dallas Reds B - 5
Lord, what a scorching by Fort Worth. It was quick, beginning with a slippery move and sprint by Kevin Edmonson, Theo Van Wyk getting in on the fun with his own run of several meters before Keith `Burly` Callaway crushes two or three Reds and Josh Parker has his shorts ripped off so we can see his acorns. Mark Perry and Buddy Love do damage on offense and the Reds are running backwards, Burly releasing a scream from the scrum that sounds like something is coming back to roost, Josh Parker following up with a line out pick from which a try and conversion are put forth by Mike Deking and Theo van Wyk. Blake Mohr and Jerry White maul viciously before Theo van Wyk taps a beautiful forward kick to advance us to a try and a conversion with the offensive help of Buddy Love. On the next kick John Via emerges from the pack to begin an offensive cycle involving Saleem Rasvi, Mark Perry and Blake Mohr that`s turned around by the Reds giving them their only try. `Johnson` Johnson, Josh Parker and Buddy Love then turn us back towards the try line after a steal by Kevin Edmonson which leads to a try by Josh Parker and the conversion by Theo van Wyk. To the half.
Half: Fort Worth B - 21, Dallas B - 5
Mark `the Welshman` Perry begins the second half with a try and a conversion by Theo van Wyk, Haley taking the next kick for a nice run that tops off with a try by Kevin Edmonson and the add on by Theo van Wyk. As quick as the next kick it happens again, another try and conversion by van Wyk with the help of Saleem Rasvi and the Theo van Wyk clinic is on with a 40 to 5 lead. Josh Parker gets in on the points with help from Gerald Agoi but the conversion is missed and my eyes are bleeding from trying to do the math, more tackles by Blake Mohr and Saleem Rasvi with runs by Haley threatening score after score but the Reds manage to hold. Theo, Haley and Jerry White push on, then back to Buddy Love who pitches to Theo who goes to Jerry White who then goes to Ashley, the Englishman flipping over to Mike Deking for the try and I`m dizzy. On the next kick Fort Worth finishes them with another try, Johnson going to Buddy Love to Blake to Ashley to Mike Deking to Theo who scores and converts. Tis` over.
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Austin pulls away early, and holds off a strong second half Fort Worth performance... - 1/14/2006
Fort Worth A - 18 vs. Austin A - 32
by Jack Britton Sullivan
Noon, January 14, 2006 - Austin Rugby Club`s Burr Field - Austin, Texas
The eyes of the insane are clear. Rarely have I seen someone or spoken to someone that had or would soon be leaving their very own minds for another place that didn`t have an awesome spectacle of invincible clarity to the left and right of the bridge of their noses. I`m not talking about focus; an ape can have focus and stare at the peel of a banana or the husk of a peanut through a set of bars for what seems like the length of a season. I`ve seen them goggle at food while mating, and that`s a feat unmatched by we shaven bipeds. I can`t do it and keep my eye on a piece of fruit. You might broadside me with a biscuit during the act but I`ll not give you my full Homo sapien gaze until cessation, and then I`m going to sleep, or to look for the biscuit you threw at me.
Yesterday`s events in Austin made me think about the insane, and how many of them have plummeted from heaven into the ranks of my very own genetic line, and how that`s supposed to be a bad thing if you don`t conform to certain standards of behavior while we spin gravity crushed on a delightful orb inhabited by billions of people who actually think that the imbalanced off themselves more than the normal Tina`s and Tim`s out there in the world. You`re wrong. Once in Jackson, Mississippi while in the public library I ran across an ancient doctoral dissertation by a man who had been dead since before meat walked and in that lengthy diatribe against the system this fellow writer was defending the argument that if you were inbred then the chances of you seeing 100 were much better than those who punted and fired their missiles against the womb goalies of women from thousands of miles away. Now being from Alabama and knowing my cousins like I do, along with sitting in Jackson on an August afternoon in a ripping thunderstorm, the idea of keeping it all in a particular region for breeding, albeit a very small one like my hometown of Dora, Alabama (founded in 1886 as Horse Creek), made me think of my favorite book of all time, As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. The work has more to do with insanity, family, isolation and rites than inbreeding, but I always read a little into it anyway because I`ve taboo branded into my psyche like a moist vacant petroglyph. There in the library while I read the pages, exchanging glances with a young woman making a photocopy of a dissected eel and all of its parts from an anatomy text, I came to realize that the author of this particular unbound scribble was completely devoid of any scant touches with reality; he was crazy as hell, and I read the entire book TWICE, because I had dropped out of graduate school, bought a motorcycle with my last $800, and had no place to go and nothing to pay for it with. PERFECTION!!! A dissertation on inbreeding, ideas about As I Lay Dying, an overweight future doctor making a photocopy of a dissected Anguilliforme, and then there was me, the witness.
It was a beautiful day, and all was going smooth until the circulation librarian came over and told me that I couldn`t be in the main reading room because of my wetness and the smell of the leather from my dripping saddlebags. The eel lady had been offended. Instead of obeying I engaged the librarian in conversation so she could help me discover what had happened to the risque` author of the book. It took us about two hours to comb through the stacks, after I had groomed myself with a wad of toilet paper and the hand dryer in the restroom. We found a brief description of the man`s life in a select biography in the very bowels of that building. He died of a bee sting in his small garden at the age of 103, never having finished his degree. Normality isn`t nearly as hilarious now is it?
Now, to the match friends...
Spencer Ozmun (I want to put a T on the end of his name) cut them first with a powerful kick that put us up by 3, this taking place about as fast as cells divide. We then blasted them off the ball in a great grunting scrum more akin to a nude Celtic charge of the Roman Legions (why they charged in hide speedos and scale boots I don`t know) than a modern day sporting event, followed by an excellent down field kick by Kyle Peacock and a missed turn around boot by Austin. Mike Deking then sharply touched the ball down over the try line, which was disallowed by the referee, though we held strong Austin put a try to us but missed the conversion. They followed soon after with a three point kick and we were down 8 to 3. A superior five meter scrum ensued and the blowing horses of the interior pack made Austin look like jaundiced schoolgirls; this just before John Via decided he would forward kick down the field which I found fascinating, right up to the point when Coach Tonga turned to me and said "##$$%%%^` ing forwards don`t $$%$%`ing kick!!!" He said the same thing about six hours later in Troy, Texas just before his "I`d rather eat rotten corn than bad curry" quote at the steakhouse in Elm Mott. John Via, Mike Sexton and Charlie Burgess then formed a magnificent ruck which sprang Jay Shephard, the ball cycling back through Bo Stovall, Jay Shephard again and then on to Mike Sexton. We couldn`t put it over and Austin`s speed got to us for another try making it (with the conversion) 15 to 3. Instantaneously Charlie Burgess, John Via and Mike Deking began lighting Austin`s back line up like a waterfront whorehouse with hammer shock tackles, and then Spencer the Dispenser banged out a try. No conversion though and the count sits at 15 to 8. Austin gets a quick try and a conversion and the score ramps up to 22 to 8. Skipper Miles has a nice take away that`s as smooth as removing an enema from a bear as Kevin Edmonson and Charlie Burgess disembowel three Austin players in a maul at the same time, so much so that my own hernia pops loose and I`m thirty feet away. Mike Sexton and Charlie Burgess then attack someone`s grandmother in the parking lot so lost are they in their rage. Meanwhile, Austin kicks a three pointer with the only guy who has a limb left and we go to the half.
Half: Fort Worth - 8, Austin - 25
Jay Shephard opens the second half with a long run and then Alec "the mad Puerto Rican" Fuentes joins in and we go deep into their territory. Jay Shephard puts it over and Ozmun converts and we draw closer, 25 to 15. Austin misses a kick and then Ashley Thomson begins breaking their hips along with Charles Okumu like bowling balls in a geriatric wing. But they get behind us and add another try and it goes to 30 to 15. The entire Fort Worth squad, 1 to 15 then begin making a series of felony assault tackles which opens up a lane after a take away by Josh Jones, that lighting bolt assisted by Charlie Burgess, Alec Fuentes, AC Campagna, Bo Stovall, Mike Sexton and then Josh Jones again, the progress killed by a double movement call that should be legal because other things in this sport are, and those things fall in a FAR MORE LUDICROUS category than Sexton`s slight crawl to daylight! It was here that the fight started and to my recollection that particular knuckle blizzard began with an illegal tackle by an Austin player followed by several sideline encroachments by their men. Remember, Lord Wellington and his allied forces were in French territory when they defeated the Emperor Napoleon. Sometimes in enemy territory it`s best to set an example with the slightest archaic aggression so the opposition knows you`re comfortable with their presence and on their terrain. That`s what I have to say about that and life in general. Spencer Ozmun added three for us after the melee, this followed by an excellent Fort Worth defensive posturing by Jacobi Cary, Josh Jones, Guy Holcomb and Kyle Peacock. But we fell short on this day, the effort we were all pleased with. And the winter shadows still did not come.
Final: Fort Worth - 18, Austin - 30
Copyright 2006 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Fort Worth defeats Dallas Athletic Rugby Club 57 to 5, and it sends me to Clausewitz, whether it be the geometry I know not... - 12/17/2005
Fort Worth A - 57 vs. Dallas Athletic A - 5
by Jack Britton Sullivan
Saturday, December 17th, 2005 - Dallas, Texas
We`re modern now, but I`m not, preferring to move in geologic time, slow rolling movements that have nothing to do with cell phones, computers or whether they can keep me alive in 2069 when at 100, I`m not going to want to live anymore, and what has me can have me. You can punch in all the information you desire from your life lived, enter it into as many machines as you want, but while detailing please remember to make your reservation at the table of the unknown because dear reader you will cease your living one day and that is the one thing that goes even beyond theory. For the record, you`re not coming back in your present state. I`m not telling you anything you don`t already know, so stop trying to act like it isn`t already happening. Be playful with it, like a kitty with a big ball of yarn that will ruffly roll out over a period of 76.8 years.
When I`m cheery like this and don`t want to spin you a nice little yarn so you can slide into the Rugby results, I think of Clausewitz, Carl Von, born at Burg in 1780, a Prussian who wrote the Bible of the study of war entitled On War. When I watch Rugby I think of geometry. When I watch traffic I think of geometry. When I watch a beautiful Sicilian lass walk down the streets of Palermo after I`ve had a solid bottle of red in a streetside bar I think of, well, sometimes geometry, but mostly chaos and poetry from old dead French guys. This week I`m offering up what came to mind while watching Fort Worth and DARC. What words from On War I was trying to pull from the back of my brain. I`ll not explain why because I just want you to read them, perhaps think about geometry and then go on, whether moved or not, that`s not up to me. Your depth is not my perception and you alone are responsible for your own development. But just remember, those of you who have offspring, they`re watching you watch them develop, so it might not be a bad idea for them to watch you not watching the vast nothingness of our current states of entertainment. Let them see you quiet by a fireplace, drinking in the words of those long dead, or those living that know far more than you and I. If you don`t have kids, well, as far as I`m concerned there is no brotherhood of man so do what the hell you want. You`ve got eight decades or so to make your mark and then you`ll go back to the first paragraph of this entry. That should be enough to make you want to be interesting, shouldn`t it?
From Book 1, On The Nature of War in On War by Carl Von Clausewitz.
...War is an act of violence pushed to its utmost bounds; as one side dictates the law to the other, there arises a sort of reciprocal action, which logically must lead to an extreme. This is the first reciprocal action, and the first extreme with which we meet...
As long as the enemy is not defeated, he may defeat me; then I shall be no longer my own master; he will dictate the law to me as I did to him. This is the second reciprocal action, and leads to a second extreme...
If we desire to defeat the enemy, we must proportion our efforts to his powers of resistance.Will we? I hope so.
Pedro Gutierrez and Alec Fuentes began the match with a wonderful combination pitch and grab that netted meter upon meter and finished with a try by Bo Stovall and a conversion by Spencer Ozmun. DARC got back on their heels and Stovall got behind them, pitching it to Josh Jones for a second quick try and Fort Worth led 12 to 0. A nice fly hack grubber by Kevin Edmonson opened up yet another offensive surge by Fort Worth, Stovall and Charlie Burgess trading off the ball like an STD, Fuentes almost stealing ball in the line out and the crowd yelling "hit the bastards" but DARC manages to score their only try of the match. Ozmun to Chris Wyatt gets us started after we take the kickoff from DARC, Stovall and Kyle Peacock turning up DARC defenders in the rucks and mauls like they`re field cabbages as Burgess and Guy Holcomb talk much smack to downed DARC players as the DARC men claw at them from the ground like wounded Parisian hookers. But they should`ve gotten to their feet because Holcomb steals ball and runs to daylight which leads to a try by Mike Deking. Lock Murrell and Wyatt waste no time in turning our offense back on after Jay Shephard enters the fray with magnificent straight line passes which lead to a nice rumble by Pedro Gutierrez and a try by Josh Jones. Much violent booting takes place in subsequent rucks and mauls and that takes us into the half.
Half: Fort Worth - 22, DARC - 5
The second half begins with a DARC player trying to take off Guy Holcomb`s head with a high tackle. Stovall pitches to Deking and the latter sprints into the open, his tackle followed by a vicious forearm from Gutierrez and an excellent clearing of the ruck by Antonin Campagna. "English" Ashley Thomson begins brutalizing DARC players with hellish tackles, taking ball from them and going down the field until he almost reaches Wilmington, North Carolina. The ball then goes into the creek and has been found in Shreveport by a man named Tess Googly. Restart, Burgess and Josh Jones begin making bowling pins of DARC players and that leads to a try by Edmonson after a pass from Fuentes. Ozmun converts. What followed was as quick as this: Kick by Jay Shephard, caught by Thomson, pass, try by Stovall and a conversion by Ozmun. Pass by Stovall, Lock clears everything in his path, Ashley murders DARC player, Hal Summers gets it and takes it over for the try with a grand push and Ozmun converts. Massive series of Stovall runs, Fuentes to Summers to Shephard, back to Fuentes who clears the line and then pitches it back to Shephard for the try with a conversion by Ozmun. To finish there was a long run by Peacock, another try by Burgess and a conversion by Ozmun. It all took about as long as it did for me to write this and I was dizzy from the speed of it.
Final: Fort Worth - 57, DARC - 5
Copyright 2005 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Fort Worth convincingly takes both matches against Bay Area - 12/10/2005
Fort Worth A - 35 vs. Bay Area A - 6
Fort Worth B - 26 vs. Bay Area B - 12
by Jack Britton Sullivan
December 10, 2005 - Houston, Texas
My first memory of Houston was this: Thirty years ago, filthy bar ditches around the camper and the Astro`s home field in the distance. There`s the smell of regular gasoline in the cab and there`s talk of the game we`re about to see. My mother, father and two sisters are sitting in the cab over camper and it`s August and blistering hot and the windows are open. We`re on a tilt because we`re parked in the street and there`s really no money to eat out in the city so my mother is frying potatoes and fatback and the grease is sizzling when my father becomes angry about nothing. I`m sitting there in my Cub Scout uniform for no reason at all with my blonde bangs covering my eyes when the torch of his temper ignites and my sister Jennifer scoots closer to me. I`m in the corner looking at the bastards` red face and it`s comical to me. A hooker passes by outside and she catches my eye and I hers, still too young to understand what she is and what she offers and how much that very thing she carries will control my life, will control most men`s lives and well it should, because a poet without hands can still see and speak, and what is there in a woman that is not both forbidden and so very necessary. She passes and I watch her walk away, my mother praying to blot out the screams of daddy, praying most likely for me so I won`t fall into the traps of sex and booze and violence, though all three of those snares hang in descending order on the very spleen of what I am, the very thing that causes every insurance agent I`ve ever known to constantly remind me that I should double, triple my life insurance because "I`m beyond fathomable in the realm of the actuary." After the hooker passes the gas on the stove is turned off and we eat and the food is too hot and we`re in a hurry but it doesn`t matter because the screaming has ruined an otherwise imperfect day...
Twenty five years later, I`m sitting in that rotting camper in a field somewhere near the Mississippi line. I`m postioned in the very same place the day the family was in Houston, and I can`t remember if the Astros won, so I ask the lady who also sits with me, some barmaid who has come to help me smoke and drink my way through the rest of the freezing evening and although we sit naked and have been at one another for the better part of the day in the darkness she doesn`t answer. I put my elbow to her ribs and look at her smoking body in the half light, beads of incandescent sweat running down her body and I tell her that she is "feral" to me and she says she knows what that means from reading Miller in Paris when she "stripped" there for the money and her child. "He called the women of the Parisian brothels that word, but to answer your question, I know nothing of sports." I respond by nodding my head and I can smell myself, her smell and me, the smell of too many days on a motorcycle in the cold. She says she has to go and we dress and leave.
I start the bike and we`re wrapped tight now without helmets. I put the motorcycle into gear and then I get off and ask the woman for a cigarette, walking back into the grounded camper where I light the combustible cushions that were a bed to me so many times I can`t remember one specific night. It catches quickly and burns. She honks the wheezing horn of the idling maching and we leave...
Until yesterday, those were my memories of Houston...
Fort Worth A - 35 vs. Bay Area Rugby Club A - 6
One thing I learned yesterday is that speaking harshly to the judges of a Rugby match is like circumcising yourself with a "do it at home kit" at age 80. The first question of a sane man would be "why" and then "what purpose will it serve?" The answers are "no reason" and "no purpose." BARC did it all day and paid dearly in my estimation.
Guy Holcomb scores first for Fort Worth just after Josh Jones removes a BARC players` kidney with a decisive boot on a nice runback. Spencer Ozmun converts and somewhere along the way BARC manages to put up two kicks netting them six points but it`s obvious they are dazed with Fort Worth`s ferocity and quick ball. Pedro Gutierrez claims another try while I`m trying to figure out if Spencer`s last name has a T on the end but by the time I look up he`s converted another and we`re up 14-6. Professor John Via begins to get in the act by pulverizing a set of BARC players along with Charlie Burgess and Mike Sexton, Professor Via putting the ball down for a try and I`m beginning to think Spencer could connect if his appendage was gangrenous. He doesn`t miss. Buddy Love is injured while giving a lick, his great bursts setting the tempo for the beginning of the match. Alec "the crazed Puerto Rican giant" Fuentes takes ball from BARC like they`re children in a succession of magnificent line outs, this followed by BARC collapsing three scrums, our opposition fatigued to the point of vomiting. But they shouldn`t have put their heads down because Jacobi Cary burns them with a long run to take us into the half.
Half: Fort Worth - 21, BARC - 6
Spencer opens the second half by plowing a BARC defender and that defender does not get up. Our forwards begin immediately clearing the rucks and mauls in a rapacious manner, Skip Miles taking advantage of such before getting the ball out to Kevin Edmunson who makes a great run assisted by Bo Stovall and a delicious post whistle boot by Pedro that must`ve broken bone. Bo begins riding BARC players like cattle and he and Sexton (whose shorts are ripped in a lusty manner) and AC Campagna and Charlie Burgess raze the field like fire. Andy Jones makes two great tackles and then we all notice he has on light blue underwear and we`re all impressed and don`t know why. Jacobi turns a BARC player under like dirt after Skip actually has a heart attack while playing and his shoulder is knocked out of place but he doesn`t come off because he is titanium. Sexton has four tackles in less than a minute just before we take over and Josh Jones scores, Spencer Ozmun converting. Burgess rips a rumbling and Kyle Peacock, whose presence is permanent with superior play (as is Mike Deking) assists in taking that rumble deep into BARC`s territory. Skip finishes them off with a try and Spencer converts. BARC is done like mama`s bread.
Fort Worth B - 26 vs. BARC B - 12
Kyle Peacock opens the match with a series of countless bloody tackles before Mike Deking is given the ball and goes the length with the help of Lucky Langdon. Jacobi Cary converts. A burst by Jacobi and an almost pitch to Jonathan Kohn is followed by a turnover by BARC and much cursing of the Rugby gods. Jonathan Kohn goes flying into the match ropes after a superior hit but BARC scores. Conversion missed.
Half: Fort Worth B - 7, BARC B - 5
Andy takes off heatedly down the field screaming the name of his third grade teacher and then pitches it off majestically to Mike Deking who gives it to Jacobi for a try. AC and Lucky Langdon and James Johnson trade excellent offensive and defensive plays which set up another try by Mike Deking and a conversion by Jacobi. Keith Calloway moves the pile like it`s laundry and BARC`s forwards are no match, great pitches by Pedro Gutierrez creating scores by Peacock and a conversion by Jacobi. BARC puts up a try and a conversion late but the combined efforts of Fort Worth out distance them and it ends in victory.
Copyright 2005 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Fort Worth manhandles a struggling HARC side - 12/3/2005
Fort Worth A - 75 vs. Houston Athletic (HARC) - 0
by Jack Britton Sullivan
December 3, 2005 - Fort Worth, Rolling Hills Park
Not two minutes into the match Josh exploded with one of his many bursts of speed, HARC already falling back on their heels, Fort Worth turning the ball over but thanks to Lock and Charlie B., who stripped the ball frequently throughout the day, Chris was able to shoot out for a quarter field dash, transfer it to Buddy Love before the latter gave it up to Frank the Tank who has been awake since March of 2004 (and has also been seen sunning naked with Dylan Thomas`s great granddaughter, the former poet Thomas looking incredibly like Frank the Tank in his publicity photo from 1941. Damn Frank, I love Dylan Thomas. Please see The Caedmon Collection readings by Thomas from 1952 and 1953 in New York City. He`s pleasantly intoxicated, the ice cubes tinkling, and you can hear him draw on his smoke. He died in a booze induced diabetic coma shortly after) on a tour of love, money and lust. Oh yes! And Frank the Tank scored with a conversion by Spencer the Surelegged One. HARC then made the mistake of a scrummage with our giants, which Josh Jones took advantage of with some help from Fuentes, for yet another Fort Worth score. Spencer the Surelegged One converts and we`re up fourteen.
Frank the Tank takes the ensuing kickoff with a leap, screams the first lines from Thomas`s "Love in the Asylum" and "If I Were Tickled by the Rub of Love," before Pedro sweeps by him, finishing the poems like a crazed Neruda in perfect Castilian while yet again scoring. Spencer, hell, he doesn`t miss, you figure it out. After Spencer`s conversion the "Buddy Love" highlight reel flows with a long burst by Love, then a series of tackles by Love accentuated with a great line out pick by Fuentes the Puerto Rican nightmare and a steal by Kevin who gives it up to Spencer for a long run, not to be selfish by giving the bloody bladder off to Via who rumbles, rumbles, before Charlie Burgess scores with a leap and Spencer converts. Guy takes it into the half with a scorching run and a delivery to Fuentes, ahhhhhhhh, who scores!!! Spencer for the conversion.
Fort Worth - 35, HARC - 0
Josh Jones opens the second half with a quick try and yet another addition by Spencer. Buddy Love and Guy then put on a clinic for contact with help from Spencer and Ashley, who comes out of our offensive pack with a sprint which leads to a score by Jacobi and you can buy Spencer`s leg for the holidays on the Gold Standard if you`d like. Ashley then leads our defense along with a bleeding Pedro and so many hunching bodies that someone has to be being bred in that pack, wait, that`s out of bounds, and NO, damn, there goes Bo for a try. More foot by Spence.
Fort Worth then moves on HARC quickly but with Love, Buddy Love that is, who scores before I can turn around. They are now selling stock on Spencer`s leg, he`s gone public. Fort Worth gains yet another turnover which is taken advantage of by a scoring Fuentes and a kicking Spencer and then yet another burst by Fuentes and a score by Buddy Love and the Love flows and Spencer kicks. From the trailer park that housed me that looks like three quarters of a century in points!!! Hoorah!!!
Great job Fort Worth!!! Let the cows out and get your stools!!!
Fort Worth falls short in the final moments against Baton Rouge - 11/19/2005
Fort Worth - 18 vs. Baton Rouge - 19
By Coach Dan Morgan
November 19, 2005 - Baton Rouge
Stan Ruda hit a penalty from 45 meters out with four minutes to give Fort Worth the lead at 18-16, which looked to position Fort Worth to collect a victory. Baton Rouge converted on their own penalty to recapture the lead with just two minutes left. This adversity sparked the amazing character and resilience of this particular group, who ended on full attack. Frank Hill’s final minute, ten-meter drive to the chalk of the tryline with BR players draped all over him was awesome – too bad that he was rewarded with a penalty just as we dove over to score what would have been the conclusive score.
Charlie Burgess was outstanding at the ruck and maul. He gave Baton Rouge hell all day, contesting and slowing ruck ball and stifling mauling platforms. Without the individual heroics of Stan, Charlie had a man-of-the-match performance. Frank Hill gave us the most consistent front foot ball from the tight five with two particularly impressive carries. Spencer Ozmun led the tackle count and put in both big hits and cover tackles when he moved to the back row. Even more impressive was his work in the lineout, where he ruled supreme while being heavily contested. In the backs, Guy Holcomb and Josh Jones were great in midfield defense, one particular moment a cut above when Guy chopped down the outside center whistling into the line just ten meters short of our tryline. Stan Ruda was exceptional at fullback, the best Fort Worth has had in some time. Positioning, goal-kicking, a kick through and chase for a try, and the pressure penalty made for an all-around accomplished performance.
A couple of great individual moments – Bo Stovall’s sixty-meter break and perfect offload to Ryan Love running in perfect support position for a try, Lock putting in “Le Crunch” on some poor Creole bastard who thought a five meter head start was going to see him past the gain line of our fringe. He was monstered backwards – no exaggeration – ten full meters.
Much quality off the pitch - some predictably sorry alcohol-related moments yielded a Swastika etched into a forehead with a Magic Marker and a high-speed vomit routine down I-49 near Atchafaloosa. One senior player got back to the hotel at 10:00 AM making unseemly demands on his roommates (we can only imagine but I hear a goat’s gone missing from a bayou hillbilly). [Names have removed to protect the guilty.]
Quote of the Weekend:
“Why the f*ck am I so bloated? Did someone slip me a Roofie?” - A Particularly Large Prop
“Dumptruck” - a new player who was forced to leave the B-side match and head to the woods sans toilet paper for a dump.
Click here to read Richard Prim`s nice writeup on the STRR site.
Fort Worth B defeats UD - 11/12/2005
Fort Worth B - 26 vs. University of Dallas - 7
by Jack Britton Sullivan
November 12, 2005 - University of Dallas
The Scotch was good, high end, the last of his money being spent on the bottle as he transferred it into the flask on the roadside, the 9 mm still sitting on his thigh, scores from a hundred Rugby matches being blurted out in Ta Bedawie on satellite radio, the snow falling with increasing intensity, his mind stinking with tranquility.
"Get rid of the truck," he tells himself audibly.
He drives in four wheel drive as deep as he can go into the Monitor Range, the Nevada desert looking as uninhabitable as it did when a teeming inland sea covered its plateaus. A helicopter hovers overhead and he`s warned to return to a passable road but he waves them off with a hand and drives on. The chopper pilot makes a call to the local Ranger station.
"He`s out here, three miles east of Maglintop Road 71," the pilot says.
"Nobody available. Nobody here," replies dispatch.
After an hour of calls dispatch couldn`t raise one of their own, the very world in which they lived seemingly empty. A local DEA agent named Bends hears the call and leaves the roadside to pursue.
He`s drunk when the front left tire explodes and the vehicle flips on its side. Thrown from the wreckage he gets to his feet and unscrews the cap on the Scotch, taking the last drink from the bottle before sliding a shell into the chamber and lighting a cigarette, leaning back against the truck as fuel runs from the gas tank and around his legs. He smokes on, the belligerent arch of a buzzard catching his eye and so he watches it until it`s close enough to kill and so he does. There`s a burning pain in his rib and his legs are beginning to go numb but he pays neither any attention. When sleep finally takes him the snow has made a bloody white cap on top of his head and it hangs there for there is no sun.
"And it comes to this. For everything we do it comes to this," he says.
Bends finds the tracks early the next morning after first light but his car won`t go any further so he stops in the middle of the road with his chin on the steering wheel. Static from the radio fills the inside of the coupe and he`s cold, the heater is not working and he wishes he would`ve bought something newer instead of attractive.
Opening the door his foot sinks in a drift and he goes tumbling into a wash. His head hits a chunk of ice and just before he shuts his eyes he sees a man standing in front of the coupe smoking a cigarette. The DEA agent named Bends smells the gasoline and can see where the man has been burned next to his wrist. He`s horribly underdressed for the cold and he`s holding a pistol and aiming the gun at Bends but does not fire.
Bends says "brother" before closing his eyes.
To be continued...
Fort Worth- 26 University of Dallas- 7
These things flash through as I watch the match, the spires of Dallas just over the trees past the pitch, its broken buildings and mega-flash cathedrals of business yet still unsettling. I`ll take Fort Worth.
Ashley blocks the kick of the opposition just before Charlie Burgess scores the first try early, both of these men waylaying several Dallas guys so that it looks as if Fort Worth is a mashing green tidal wave with vile words for the heavens. Much language is exchanged and there is a priest in a pair of New Balance standing in front of me. Conversion by Peacock and we are up quickly.
Bo bursts from the line not ten minutes into the match as I notice how many of our players have fresh new haircuts and I think they`ve all gone together for barbering. Then Bo does it again followed by a beautiful hand off by Sexton and rapid fire rumblings by the man of the match Lock and lean Chris who runs past the opposition as if they were only ideas. The defensive lineman turned marauder Charlie Burgess then does it again for another try and Peacock hammers through the conversion.
Skipper delivers a nice shot before going into the light for about five minutes, but returns from the tunnel after seeing my pet Chihuahua Mootoo that I had when I was six. He opens his eyes, looks toward the sky from the grass of the pitch and orders an Irish Coffee and a large fry. Shortly after Dallas scores and converts. Number 13 Mr. Mike almost breaks one and then the half catches us.
Fort Worth- 14 University of Dallas- 7
Guy opens the second half with a long run and then there`s another one by the future physician Chris. John Via makes a nice push and teeth go flying, subsequent runs by Frank and Charlie B. crushing the hopes of Dallas before Peacock stabs them with another try and then makes his own conversion. Several great tackles by Ashley, Lock and Todd Langdon follow, Ashley playing half naked while vomiting which impresses the hell out of me and I hope my daughter will do the same one day, minus the half naked. Guy then kills them with the final try and we celebrate.
Copyright 2005 by Jack Britton Sullivan.
Fort Worth Falls Short Against Dallas - 10/22/2005
Fort Worth A - 5 vs. Dallas A - 21
Fort Worth B - 10 vs. Dallas B - 13
by Jack Britton Sullivan
October 22, 2005 Lake Highlands Park in Dallas, Texas
There`s a desolate highway that crosses Tenmile Creek in Southeastern Oregon just north of McDermitt, Nevada. It was on this highway that I found myself speeding along delicately on January 18th, 2002, my pickup loaded with the weighty furniture of a lifetime, the temperature hovering just above zero, great sweeps of open rangeland on all sides, the snow at least three feet deep along the banks of the iced over thoroughfare, the chains of my Ford cutting through the snow to another black sheet yet more dangerous. An attendant at a gas station in McDermitt had warned me about making the trip across such territory so close to darkness but in those days I glowed with the bravery and insanity of bourbon, smoke and hurt, none more poetic and ignorant than me when it came to being numb to my surroundings.
"You get out there and have a problem boy, I say that long hair and beard won`t keep you warm not ten minutes. Mama said there was death in a drop of water, and there`s definitely death out there."
"You should rotate your Snickers bars away from the space heater. You got Snicker`s lumps now."
"Take the lot of them and good luck to you. Snickers` lumps! I`ll be damn! Ha!"
The attendant threw a wave in the air as I filled my tanks, drank the rest of my flask and ate a pound of Snicker lump. Then I was gone, planning on not stopping until I got to Portland but such plans are comical in the eyes of God now aren`t they?
Two hours into the trip, around three o`clock in the afternoon darkness was already pressing when I saw the dot on the plain. It looked like a hunter carrying a rifle, the legs of the man making deep plunges into the snow before coming right again. He was dragging something that was bleeding, the animal pocking the snow with a lolling head.
"Don`t stop," I told myself. "Two fools and one with a gun ain`t fit to meet, especially out here."
Pulling my vehicle to the side of the road I got out, left the engine running and leaned over the hood, watching him watch me, no fence before me so it would be a simple task to go to him if it weren`t for the weather. And so I did.
"I`ve had other bad ideas," I told myself.
An hour later in virtual darkness I sighted his track, its origin the bank of a covered draw at the base of a mountain. He`d killed the animal there, my sense of tracks much sharper then for I could see the waffle iron print of his boots before the snowshoes, the hunter needing a wide push to his outsole to take his step, a big man but not a careless one.
"Never follow a wounded grizzly into snow or rocks," I said silently. And then another piece of advice came to me from childhood. "Never track a killer bleeding heavily, let its track kill it or you might be killed yourself."
I followed until well after dark, not dressed for the occasion but drawn by the need to speak to the hunter, to see what he knew and where he was going, to find out if in the distance he could see the headlights of my pickup glowing and what he thought about that. If he knew, like Carol Bennett, our trainer at the match yesterday, that sharp pains in the chest mean trouble in this sport, and if he also had those pains even if they were from heartbreak and sometimes aren`t those pains as equally destructive?
Into the darkness and moonlight I called but there was no answer, just the intense blood red track and the night and at that time I thought back to a morning many years before when she lay on her stomach with the thin sheet barely covering her and how I wondered if that soft spinal dent above her buttocks and below the middle of her back would hold a spoonful of water and it did, held it exactly as measured with room for more and aren`t such things in women just as beautiful as snow and ice and winter and youth. Yes they are, but that peace never remains long.
I never got to him, the track was mauled by the storm and I made a big circle, greater things in me hurting and the journey come to nothing but frozen legs.
"So stupid," I said.
When I got back to the pickup three hours later the note sat on the dashboard and on that dashboard the note read: "Please go on to where you`re going. I didn`t come to talk or to be found."
Probably the smartest man I never met and I think I`ll die like that. Now the matches.
1. I don`t like coming to Dallas so stop it. I sink here and am uncomfortable.
2. Fort Worth opens aggressively.
3. Series of long runs by Reds and they score.
4. Great hit by Sexton and then a kick and a score by Reds.
5. Almost scored, we did. I almost won Best Western Novel of the Year last year but so did forty other people. Damn!
6. Kick and score by Reds. Three points.
7. Another score by Reds but no conversion.
8. Half. Fort Worth -0. Dallas Reds -16.
9. We open with an excellent push but it stalls.
10. Superior hitting by Josh and then Frank Hill drags a Red into the parking lot.
11. Jacobi makes a long run.
12. Reds score but no conversion.
13. Big drive by Fort Worth but it`s stopped with a turnover.
14. Jacobi scores but no conversion.
Final: Fort Worth A- 5 Dallas Reds A- 21
1. Reds drive but miss kick.
2. Jeff Etter thinks about his future and plays with reckless abandon.
3. Rooney with a punishing tackle.
4. Bulldozing offensive attack by Guy and then Rooney scores but no conversion.
5. Jay S. into the open again and again with tremendous runs to daylight.
6. Try by Reds but no conversion.
7. Fort Worth attacks but they refuse Jay the kick, though we all agree it was good. It was.
8. Kick by Reds.
9. Half. Fort Worth- 5. Dallas Reds- 8.
10. Cheap shot by Red and an abundance of high head tackels. We heckle the opposition.
11. Hunter with a series of brutal shots.
12. Another burst by Jay and then Jacobi.
13. Score by Reds.
14. Bo drags by can for beer empties and we all love him for that.
15. Forward pass by Reds, looks like a dump to a tight end.
16. Score by Jay but no conversion.
Final: Fort Worth B- 10 Dallas Reds B- 13.
Copyright 2005 by Jack Britton Sullivan.
Fort Worth B falls short against Quins U-23 - 10/15/2005
Fort Worth B - 19 vs. Quins U-23 - 31
by Jack Britton Sullivan
The sky was the color of mustard the day daddy was bit by the rattler. It was between two 2X6`s on the front porch, beer in his hand with his face so black from the coal dust that when the snake struck his teeth and lips gleamed iridescent against themselves and he was all but surprised, the cursing beginning immediately, his toe swelling to the size of a grapefruit, to later be cut off by the town doctor who gave it to me as a memento. But that didn`t cover the moment.
"Get under there and get that snake boy!"
"I ain`t doin` it! Ain`t goin` in the dark to be bit to death!"
"Grab by the rattler and come back as quick as you can. When you get it in the daylight I`ll cover with the shovel and we`ll commence to skinnin`. I come up eatin` snake and it`ll drive mother crazy so let`s have some fun."
"The fun ain`t on my end! It`s on yours!"
He looked down at the naked toe and the colors already running to his heart and lungs, some dizziness in his eyes but it had nothing to do with fear, that emotion so foreign to that man, my very father, that he thought it natural for me to sledge hogs with only five years on my bones. And I killed them mercilessly. Pig blood on my school clothes, in my hair. Seemed so natural you know.
I got under the porch, the light coming down through the spaces between the 2X6`s with the relentess rattling like some heroic offstance drumbeat clear from the field of an opposing army. Daddy dropped a bootknife through a slat and the snake struck as it fell and I recoiled as quick as he, wanting no part of it, the serpent retreating to form a tight coil not five feet away, the smell of urine so strong beneath the porch that I`d be dry before I came back into the light.
"Gash it boy and he`ll give way!"
Daddy laughed, raising the way he was raised but I was no victim and so I stayed, learning things I`ll never unload on my child yet born.
"I`ll kill him dead and rub the blood on your Sunday clothes you bastard!"
"Now you`re talkin` boy!"
I clutched the sharp end of the blade and it cut me, the blood filling my palm and the snake turning again, "what human before me," he seemed to say. Pulling with my palm in the dirt I came to his rattle and reached beyond him, blood pooling and dripping and all things horrible like loss in front of me, but these are things that happen and humans will always be moved left and right by the animals, lest they become animals themselves. That was October 15, 1976, twenty-nine years between then and this match so here we go.
My notes as follows:
1. Quins score quick but miss the conversion, a thought of almost losing my leg in a pool accident not two blocks from this field everpresent like lust in my brain.
2. Frank Hill yanks a Quin from the pile and justifiably assaults him with a delicious right to the face behind the official. If you don`t want the fangs, don`t get under the porch.
3. Keith Calloway moves their scrum, and then again and again.
4. Jacobi scores. Spencer with the conversion and we`re on top. Jacobi`s shirt in shreads, like football from the 80`s.
5. Josh Jones breaks loose for an indecent amount of metres but the Quins turn it back on us.
6. Quins score and convert.
7. Burgess plugs someone in the jaw and then Bo lights up the night of a Quin like Baghdad being bombed.
8. Tempers soar, words are exchanged intermittently, many verbs are used to show action, but some nouns are selectively voiced also.
9. Quins score, miss conversion.
10. Another fight. Another fight. Hey, yet another fight.
11. Big Charles scores, strengthened from the nighshift and good moonshine. Bowls over six Quins and Spencer converts.
12. High hit by us, three in a row. Looked good to me.
13. Jacobi goes over but it`s decided that it wasn`t a try. Much confusion. More fights.
14. At the half. Fort Worth-14. Quins-17.
15. Quins score quick and convert.
16. Charles bulldozes a Quin. Looks like a small pickup hitting a third grader and then backing up.
17. Ashley makes a great tackle on the try line and you`d never guess his age. His understanding of the physics of destruction is phenomenal.
18. Todd Langdon`s head wound is worthy of praise. The swelling makes him proud and I`m proud too.
19. Quins score and convert.
20. Charlie Burgess with a nice kick forward and then Frank Hill scores.
21. Final. Fort Worth-19. Quins-31.
Say goodbye, get in the car and the thumb catches, the nerves twist on the steering wheel and I feel that twitch in my heart. Fang marks are barely visible now, almost three decades having passed.
Copyright 2005 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Buy Britt`s latest book "The Lutheran" at Amazon...
Fort Worth B defeats Arlington B - 10/8/2005
Fort Worth - 38 Arlington - 5
by Jack Britton Sullivan
I rise from her and walk outside, cigar ashes burning still in a berry colored ashtray some derelict color, the shade of moaning. She gets up and steps into the bathroom, same olive skin on her back like the Fall of `93 when I saw it for the first time, that hotel in Rome what started all this, this house, this child, this morning come afternoon.
"Rugby today? And you`ll write it up I take it?"
"Uh-huh. Don`t know enough about the sport yet to write it up, but I`ll relay the information to Bots."
"In your own way?"
"Always in my own way."
I step into the yard, my left shoulder drooping with pain and a hurt that will never be truly fixed, no honest wound ever healing. A boy of twelve sits on my fence. He`s shooting squirrels with pearls, his mother`s pearls unstrung and posturing themselves shaky like so many genetic dice on the fences` face to the sun.
"Expensive projectiles for a slingshot ain`t it?"
"Them`s my pearls to have when she`s dead. I aim to have them now," he replies.
"Your mother isn`t dead yet Terry."
"Ain`t been home since yesterday after school. She may be dead yet."
"She`s not. She`s called. Go easy on her and go home."
"You and the missus there, ya`ll been, kind of late in the day ain`t it Britt?"
"That`s plenty Terry!"
He scampers away returning to a darker world. I hear something shatter and then I gather the pearls running beneath my fence and put them in an envelope.
"She`ll miss them," says Lynn from the doorway. Naked and exquisite there, a gift I do not deserve.
"A goodbye to Lola Blaise." The child is crying.
"Later then Mr. Sullivan," she answers.
The field at Corsair Park has the roll and pitch of a volcanic playground, its epidermis deliciously grassy with hellish odd tilts that make the players seem to be running at you downhill, the opposite up a mountain. Graffito on the rail car behind the pitch in demonic colors of red and burning orange spell out the limited nothingness of youth, not one having drawn on that iron realizing the pulse that fuels them, for if they did no message would they leave behind.
Some note at my feet on a sheet of paper reads "all invite the specter that ends them. All welcome their own end." But we control little, even the geometry of the thirty before me.
The ball is kicked and my harsh notes read as follows:
1. Frank Hill is a brutal hitter, will hurt as an old man and I`ll do the same.
2. Nick Pugh settles nicely into pockets where he invites the most glorious collisions. Like he`s loose and limpingly independent of the gravity that holds him. Nice Nick.
3. Mike Sexton scores. Bulldog style and violent. Many bodies flying to and fro. In the pinchbeck dust of the pitch walk he says "thank you" many times and all are pleased.
4. Pedro converts. "Did Pedro convert?" Someone says "yes" and I think he is a man with a fine leg that Pedro, his home country resting between the knee bend of Brazil and the head of Argentina.
5. Bo Stovall drives. Veins in his neck bulging like a psychopath, low and direct and then he lays it off to Charlie who makes an amazing pass to Shea, the ball floating for a short distance like a tan gumdrop or the succulent egg of an ostrich.
6. Saleem Razvi scores, his movements quick, a sidestep and the defender is left toppling like a baby, knees bending back against themselves. Someone not in the play cries with pain. Pedro again, it`s up and then good for two more.
7. Frank Hill gains speed, scores and then Pedro once more. The times between six and seven impregnated with vicious hits by Fort Worth up and down the line. Lock gives one, then Nick and Charlie, like asteroids Fort Worth collides with the stellar human tissue of the Arlington players and rips aspect and pride from their very persons. I hear heartbeats skip with the impact.
8. Charlie over for five and then Pedro`s leg again. The door has closed for the competition.
9. Arlington rises above naught and scores. No leg, no conversion. The figure zero erased like creation or storm.
10. Bo loosed again like a virus, then gives a hit, Sam Wilcox following with another, that man running a flash, a beacon.
11. Tim scores. I had his teeth before a man named Wilson Moon loosened mine to create a jumble of picket fence. DON`T DRINK MOONSHINE!
12. Shea Flowers with another try and then a missed conversion but it was enough.
13. Me counts 38 to 5, Fort Worth over Arlington.
14. Gentlemen, if I missed you this week by name, I`ll get you later.
I get a Snickers bar and a Dr. Pepper on the way home and am alone there. Sound and then nothing. Flat on my back, the ceiling above etched with Rugby terms and twists to learn.
Copyright 2005 by Jack Britton Sullivan
Buy Britt`s latest book "The Lutheran" at Amazon...
Fort Worth Results in the 20th Cowtown Classic Rugby Tournament - 10/1/2005
Results for Fort Worth A and the TWU Law School.
Fort Worth A: 2-0-1, Men`s Premier Plate Champions
TWU Law: 1-2, Men`s Open 3rd Place
Fort Worth entered two sides in the 2006 Cowtown, and each played solid rugby all day.
Fort Worth A, despite a dominant pack performance, found themselves trailing late in their first match against Tulsa. A converted try tied the score, and neither team could manage a score to break the final 7-7 tie. In the second match, Fort Worth jumped to a 12-0 halftime lead over the Waco Geezers, but let the Geezer`s strong outside center run in two very long tries to tie the score in the second half. Fort Worth consolidated their defense and scored twice more to take the match 26-12. Tulsa and Fort Worth finished with identical records, but Tulsa earned the trip to the Premier final by virtue of their big win over the Geezers, which pushed Fort Worth into the Plate match.
Fort Worth took the Plate final handily over a worn-out HARC team, 26-0. Ironically, Fort Worth was the only Men`s Premier side to end the day without a loss, as Shreveport took the Premier title in spite of a pool-match loss earlier in the day.
The TWU Law School side, with 10 active players and fill-ins from Fort Worth`s B side, had a solid day with some flashes of brilliance. Weslayan finished with a 1-2 record, including a victory over the second place finisher, the UT Grads, 17-5.
Fort Worth RC - Mudfish "Champions" - 8/6/2005
Fort Worth takes Mudfish Tournament (Sort Of)
White: 4 Wins 0 Losses | Black: 0 Wins 3 Losses
Fort Worth RC entered two teams in the Mudfish division, each with high expectations. The White team consisted primarily of experienced Mudfish players, while the Black team fielded many of Fort Worth`s promising new ones.
The white team cruised to a 4-0 record with victories over Bay Area, Iron Horse, DARC, and Denton, amassing 139 total points and yielding only 22. Pedro Gutierrez was named Fort Worth player of the tournament with his consistent play at scrum half.
The black team found itself in a very tough pool, squaring off against a poorly disguised Austin team ("Props Inc."), the Harlequins, and Dallas. The Dallas match was a fine one as the Fort Worth team battled to within one try of a victory. Rookie Bo Weatherford`s tenacious defense earned him the MVP for the black team.
After pool play the weather turned ugly as afternoon thunderstorms rolled in. The semi-finals and the inevitable Quins vs. Fort Worth White final wasn`t playable, so the tournament committee divided the trophies amongst the best performing teams. The Quins had a fine day in both divisions and earned a 1st place trophy, while Fort Worth`s white side was equally impressive in the Mudfish division and also earned a well-deserved 1st place.
Fort Worth - A&M 7`s Open Champions - 6/25/2005
Fort Worth storms back from their pool losses to take the Open Division.
3 Wins, 2 Losses
Fort Worth took a mixed side of new players, props, and a few backs to the Texas A&M hotter than Hell 7`s. Fort Worth rebounded from 2 early losses to take the Open division championship.
Captain Jay Shepard drilled the team as well as he could in the 10 minutes before the first match against Austin. Austin brought a well-drilled and fit set of players who controlled the boys from Cowtown from the outset. Fort Worth managed 2 tries by Josh Jones, but it was a lopsided loss.
In the second match, the coaching from Jay began to sink in. Fort Worth played very well against DARC, but couldn`t manage to stop their winger "Z", as they fell by a try.
In the semi-final, Fort Worth played a solid game as they defeated the tournamnent hosts. A&M`s Greg Kwedar`s play wasn`t enough to stop the onslaught from Fort Worth as they ran in 4 tries to A&M`s 1.
The final was a rematch with the DARC side. "Z" ran well as usual, but didn`t count on Fort Worth`s youngster Christian Molina. Just days from returning to Paraguay, Christian played with an intensity unmatched on the day. When Z ran around Christian for what would normally be a sure try, Christian surprised everyone, most of all Z, by chasing him 40 meters into the try zone where he promptly grabbed the ball and thwarted the attempt to ground it. This play and others made the difference for Fort Worth as they took the final and the open championship.
If you are a current or former player for Fort Worth and would like to submit a match summary for an archived match, . Include the match date, opponent, score and a summary of the match.
More Match Results
For more match summaries, see the Society of Texas Rugby Referees site at www.strr.net.