Rugby Widow

So it’s now mid-January, 2012, and the inevitable has come around. My big lump of a fiancé deciding he wants to be a flanker rather than the hooker he was born to play. The “I gotta get fit before Narromine” gruffness, the spending more time with “the boys”…. yup, it’s Rugby season again.

Now now now, I don’t mean to say I’m ungrateful, because I’m not. I’ve pined for the start of rugby season like all of you reading this, and even barrack for Toulon to get a little “off season action,” but it means becoming a rugby widow again.

What is a rugby widow?

A rugby widow is all you ladies (or men) who watch their other halves play, unwittingly are rugby widows.
The faithful WAG’s who watch each and every game, weather of not they enjoy the game.

For me, it’s sitting with the likes of Hattie, Laura, Emma, Kirsty, on cold grandstands, cheering on our men.

It’s the little things like letting them go on tour, (Narromine for the TPG Invitational anyone?) and not asking questions afterwards.

Picking them up after a few too many after the game, (and not asking questions afterward).

The sympathising how a Ref stitched them up, (and not commenting on the lack of defence).

The running them a Radox bath to soothe their aching joints, (and not having the smug “I told you, you should have warmed up and down properly lecture).

Patching up fat lips, broken noses, black eyes.

Getting them another drink while they can’t pry their eyes away as JOC lines up to take a kick.

A rugby widow comes second to rugby. I’m perfectly Okay with that. Bring on Season 2012!

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