Typically for longer stories here at Diary of a Contemporary Dandy, the entire frame is constructed way in advance. All that is left is the heavy handed slapping-on of muddy leaves and dried animal skin. Once built, my crude world wide wig-wam is slathered with rough colors and rudimentary furniture, maybe a stool or shelf. Inside it I dwell for a few days, tossing off a witty remark here or a quip there.
Like a modern era, native storyteller, I elaborate on the oral history of my people. Sadly, no matter how much time I’ve spent in this makeshift hovel, my recollections of the WGAA Macarenathon 1996 is presently lacking in both clarity and inspiration.
One third of my wigwam is missing its roof and a downpour of thoughts dreadful has stolen my focus.
What’s flooding my mind on this rainiest of days?
Oh accursed rugby! Oh blessed rugby! My Libran scales are set to perpetual wobble as thoughts of this sport, both brutal and elegant, both social and at times, personal, weigh against itself.
I remember distinctly in Spring of 2004 I was at the Dugout and cruising hard on a woofy young cub whose name escapes me. All I remember is a pair of beautiful eyes and the fact that he was on the Gotham Knights rugby team.
He suggested I should come to their spring boot camp. I scoffed and sipped my watery light beer. The very notion that I could summon such a primal physicality was, at the time, amusing. It was also the last thing I desired in my life. I desired a night of naughtiness with the cubby rugger. No such luck. I took home his dumpy friend.
But that seed planted itself. (The rugby not the friend, thank you) I began asking myself questions. Could this darling dandy do such a thing? Join a ragtag gang of gay rugby men? Dig deeply into myself? Commit every Tuesday and Thursday night and all of Saturday to practices and games. Did I want a competitiveness previously undiscovered and, most importantly, entirely unsought?
When fall blew into town, I attended the Gotham Knight’s boot camp on a lark, and I had a terrific time. If nothing else, I recommend everyone attend the boot camp. It’s great fun. (Oh, and cubby wasn’t there. I haven’t seen him in my two years on the team.)
Following boot camp, I attended practices and discovered I had a knack for chasing men and taking them to the ground. I was entirely lost and confused on the pitch (the field). For an entire season I had no idea what was going on during games. I hear the same complaint from several of the rookies on the team now. Their worrying makes me more than a little nostalgic for those earlier days.
Now the Bingham Cup, hosted by my team, is coming to New York City on Memorial Day Weekend. Forty gay teams from around the world will be here to compete and make out. I’m thrilled. It is going to be an exhilarating tournament brimming with emotion for the participants and the spectators. It is one of the only sports where watching is as exciting as playing.
So here is my spiel: come watch some fantastic rugby Memorial Day weekend. Come support the Gotham Knights on Randall’s Island. We’ve put a lot of heart (and injury) into this raucous recreation. I sincerely hope everyone who enjoys this blog can make it out. All of your support and cheers will be greatly, greatly appreciated.
The parties are going to be fabulous as well.