Matches 4. The slaughter of the boys' rugby team begins!. 
By Hardie Hardiewh@aol.com



The school PE teachers had arranged for a couple of end of term matches
between the boys and the girls. The first match, seven-a-side hockey, had
ended disastrously for the boys, who were hammered eighteen nil! Even worse,
at a 'humiliation ceremony' after the game, where the losers were merely
expected to kneel at the feet of the winners, the girls had gone on to totally
dominate the boys and subject them to complete humiliation. Much to the girls'
surprise, the boys seemed to accept their fate, and even to enjoy being
subjugated by girls!

Miss Forbes, the Head Of School continues her narrative:-

I must explain that I had told everyone concerned that my sole purpose in
hearing these accounts was to gather material for my PhD thesis in psychology.
No one would be penalised in any way because of what they told me. Any
disciplinary action resulting from the events of that day had already been
taken care of by the teachers in charge.

I have edited the accounts slightly, to make them easier to read. This was
what Myra Marshall had to say!

'Hi, I'm Myra Marshall, the captain of the girls' rugby team. Unlike the boys,
us girls had worked really hard to learn how to play seven-a-side rugby. Miss
took us in the gym at first, after school, going over the rules and the
tactics. She had played rugby for England Ladies, and really knew what it was
all about.

Later on we stayed behind after our Games lessons to practise on the field.
Right throughout the term we practised rugby as well as hockey. It was great
fun, and Miss reckoned we could put out a team to give the boys a game!

I felt we took the initiative right from the start, when we lined up for the
team photographs. We'd wanted to play in our games skirts, but Miss had other
ideas. We turned out in our PE gear, navy blue cotton gym briefs, white aertex
sports shirts, white plimsolls (both teams wore plimsolls to make things even,
as the girls didn't have rugby boots) and white calf length socks. We were
showing leg, Miss. Lots of leg!

The boys were totally gobsmacked and looked distinctly uncomfortable as we
undulated over, in our most seductive, girly fashion, to pose for our
photograph. We must have looked very feminine and very vulnerable, which
proves that appearances can be very deceptive!

I spoke to Martin Bryant, their captain. He looked so handsome, husky and
powerfully muscled in his rugby gear, but Miss had told us he was all show,
not much of a player at all!

"Just be totally confident when you deal with him," Miss told me. "Assert
yourself. He'll crack. You'll see!"

Well, I didn't feel too confident. Martin was only about four inches taller
than me, but his broad shoulders, muscular arms and thighs and drum-like chest
made him look so strong and formidable, it took all my courage to confront
him!

"I think we need to have a humiliation ceremony after we beat you, like the
hockey teams had. We'd just love to have all you boys grovelling at our feet!"
I said, as forcefully as I could, not really believing any of it, but giving
it my best shot! I mean, how could we be expected to beat boys at rugby?
However, Miss had suggested I do this 'humiliation ceremony' bit to try to
unsettle the boys as much as possible, and I was succeeding!

Martin was full of bravado, of course, in front of all his team mates. Yet he
seemed somewhat uncertain. He'd seen some of what had happened to the boys
after the hockey match. He also seemed rattled by my attire, as he was torn
between ogling my thighs and trying to look as if he wasn't!

"It won't be us who'll be grovelling, girlie!" he blustered. "But we'll go
easy on you seeing you're girls. We don't want you too bruised for what comes
afterwards, do we boys?" he said lewdly.

"We'll see... boys!" I looked him straight in the eye, and, just as Miss had
said, he couldn't meet my gaze. He had to turn away to join in with his
smirking, arrogant, macho, loutish....sorry Miss. I just didn't like their
patronising attitude. But I felt good. I felt I'd won a minor victory, and
felt really charged up when I got back to my team..

"Let's show them, girls," I told the girls. "Remember all our training, and
get stuck in! They're only boys!"

The boys kicked off. They didn't really follow up the kick with much of a
charge, as if it was all a bit of a canter for them.

The ball came straight to Fiona Hart who fumbled it nervously and knocked it
forward! If the boys had been following up hard, instead of treating us with
contempt, they could well have taken advantage. As it was, the referee, Mr.
Dawe, (an assistant PE teacher) blew up for a scrum down.

Fiona was looking distraught at her mistake. "Never mind, Fiona," I encouraged
. "Make up for it! Push hard!"'

Fiona was one of our three forwards. They'd been very dubious about having to
scrummage against the boys.

"They're bigger and stronger, Miss," complained Emma Marshal. "We'll never be
able to push them!"

"They're certainly bigger," said Miss, " and that's to our advantage! You can
scrum down lower, get your shoulders underneath theirs and use you strong legs
to push UP, girls! That should disrupt them completely! You'll see!"

Fiona was our hooker. She scrummed down between the other two forwards. It was
her job to try to hook her foot round the ball when it went into the scrum and
pull it back for our scrum half, working behind the scrum, to gain possession.

But Miss had told her not to try to hook the ball back, but to push instead.
So, when the boys' scrum- half, David Foot, fed the ball into the scrum only
two of the boys' forwards were pushing half-heartedly, while Eric Williams,
their hooker, went to heel the ball back with his foot.

Right on cue, as the ball came in, the girls exploded into action. As one, all
three girls straightened their legs and pushed upwards.

Taken completely by surprise, the boys found themselves being straightened up,
thrown off balance and driven backwards. They toppled over, in a tangled heap
and the girls trampled all over them.

The boys had hooked the ball back all right, but instead of being laid back
neatly for the scrum-half to pick up, the ball shot past him, so he had to
scramble after it to gain possession.

Joanne Ridley, our scrum-half was right on his heels, harassing him all the
way. And. with our victorious forwards hunting him down as well, David
panicked and threw the ball towards his stand-off before he had a proper grip
on it.

The scrum-half is supposed to pass the ball to his stand-off so that it
arrives quickly, giving the stand-off time to set up the team's play before
his opposite number can tackle him.. That did not happen. The ball looped
gently through the air, forcing Jason Lawry, by far the boys' best player, to
stand still and stretch up both hands to catch the ball.

What a target, Miss. I crash-tackled him going at full speed. My shoulder
smashed into the boy's ribs. I heard him cry out in pain as something snapped.
Then we were both on the ground, me on top.

The ball had broken loose. Diane McBride was onto it. She picked it up, and
headed for the boys' line. Paula Smith was in support.

The boys had been expecting to go into the attack from the scrum. Now they had
lost the ball and were having to turn and chase the other way!

I was up in a flash, yelling encouragement as Diane sprinted for the line. She
had about fifty yards to go, and Don Fletcher, the fastest boy in the team,
was gaining on her. Calm as you like, Diane drew him into the tackle, then
threw a perfect pass to Paula, coming up fast on her inside.

No one was going to catch Paula Smith, the girls' best sprinter. She stretched
her long, shapely legs and flew over the line, leaving the chasing boys for
dead. She touched the ball down smack between the goal posts. We were five-nil
up in less than two minutes!

There was a hold up before I could take the conversion kick. It seemed that
I'd severely damaged Jason with my tackle and he had to be taken off. Scott
Hooper came on in his place, looking less than confident. I smiled sweetly at
him as he passed me on his way to join his team mates. "You're next, Hooper!
Dead meat!" I said.

I could see uncertainty in his eyes as he mustered a sickly 'monkey' grin,
flinched, and veered away from me! He was scared! A boy about six inches
bigger than me and ten pounds heavier was scared, and I hadn't even touched
him yet! I began to think that boys weren't so tough as they were supposed to
be!

Then I banged over the conversion, an easy kick, right in front of the posts.
We were now seven-nil up!

The boys kicked off again. This time the kick was too long. It came straight
to me. And this time the boys did follow up hard - all of them, in a line
across the pitch! I couldn't believe that they hadn't left anyone back in
defence.

I ran forward a couple of paces, so that the boys were almost on top of me.
Then I booted the ball over their heads, back up the field, dodged a
despairing body as one of the boys tried to charge down my kick, and tore
after the ball.

I almost got there first, but Don Fletcher beat me to it. Despite the fact
that he'd had to turn round to go after the ball, while us girls had a
straight run onto it, he was so fast he managed to get back in time to gather
up the ball.

Then I arrived, and hit him going full speed, just as he was straightening up.
I saw the look of panic in the boy's eyes as he realised he was about to be
hit by seventy pounds of flying girl, then I smashed into him, taking boy and
ball together, and down we went.

I caught him just right and didn't feel a thing! Don wasn't so lucky. I had
trapped the ball against his body and turned him slightly in the tackle. He
landed on the ball so hard, he nearly burst it! But the explosion of air I
heard was not from the ball but from Don, as all the wind was driven from his
body.

The ball broke free. I scrambled over Don to get to it, but there was no need.
Little Joanna Ridley, our scrum-half, had followed up brilliantly. She scooped
up the ball.

To my surprise I saw that none of the boys was within fifteen yards of her.
They had stopped when they saw Don gather up the ball, and now there was no
one to prevent Joanna elegantly trotting the last thirty yards or so to touch
the ball down for another 'try'.

Once again I had to wait to take the conversion (the kick at goal, which, if
successful, would convert the five points for the 'try' into seven points.).
Mr. Dawe, the referee, was pumping Don's body like a bellows, trying to get
some wind into him. After a couple of minutes he was deemed to be OK, and,
looking anything but OK, rejoined his team waiting for my kick.

I banged the ball over the crossbar once more. The girls led by fourteen
points to nil!'

We were elated! Fourteen to nil up after only three minutes play. The girl
spectators were screaming and shouting, "Girls rule!", "Girls rule!" The boy
spectators were dead quiet!

Mr. Dickson was shouting instructions at his team. Most of what he said was
drowned out, but I heard "....get stuck into them..... Rough them up....Only
girls...."

The boys let out a big, macho yell and trotted determinedly up to the half-way
line to restart the game.

My players were looking momentarily alarmed as Dickson incited the boys to
attack them.

"Don't worry, girls," I said. "Keep it up. We've got them rattled! Remember
our drills. Let's play rugby! Let's win this game!"

We lined up in formation, waiting for the boys to kick off again. I could
sense a different attitude in my team. Dickson's words had been meant to
intimidate us, but they'd had the opposite effect. Now, instead of just hoping
to put up a good show against the boys, now we were determined to beat them;
to beat them at their own game!'

David Foot's. Account. (I asked the boy's captain, Martin Bryant, to give his
account, but he declined.)

'After going fourteen nil down we had a different attitude in the team. Up
until then we hadn't taken the game really seriously.

Our preparation had been non existent for a start! While the girls had worked
so hard at learning how to play seven-a-side rugby, we'd done nothing.

We played fifteen-a-side rugby. There's a hell of a difference. 'Sevens' is
all action. Speed is everything - speed over the ground; speed of thought;
speed of following up and covering back. There's nowhere to hide when there
are only seven players on a rugby pitch measuring a hundred and ten yards by
seventy yards!.

Where there are eight forwards in rugby proper, the forward battle is a trial
of strength and bulk. In 'sevens', with only three forwards fighting for the
ball it's a trial of power for sure in 'set' plays, but there are usually very
few of those, and what is more important is to have mobility in broken play!

So far, the girls had walked all over our forwards in the first scrum, and had
gone through our backs like a wire through cheese!

Not only that, but Myra's fantastic tackling had put our best player out of
the game, and winded our fastest runner!

Things did not look good, and we had to buck up our ideas and start playing!

Scott Hooper restarted the game. His kick was pretty good, high enough to give
our forwards a chance to get under the ball.

Monica Friend caught it cleanly and had both her fellow forwards in support,
but Johnny Rundle was right on top of her and tackled her before she could do
anything with the ball. Our other two forwards were up with him, and drove
over the ball, pushing the girls aside, making it easy for me to gather up the
ball and bring our backs into play.

I was determined to send out a good pass this time, and either I was a bit
slow to deliver the ball or Joanne (the girls' scrum half) was lightning fast.
She smashed into me as I went to pass the ball, her arms wrapping round mine
in a perfect 'smother' tackle which prevented me passing the ball, taking me
down, the ball locked between us.

Both sets of forwards were up quickly and went in with their feet, trying to
heel the ball back. I heard Eric shout, 'Kick the bitch off the ball, boys!"

There was cry of pain from Joanne, the whistle went and the pile of bodies
broke up. Joanne was left lying on the ground clutching her side. Somebody had
given her a hell of a kick, and I remember thinking it was a good job we
weren't playing in boots!

"That was rotten, dirty trick," Betty Boyle was in Eric's face, glaring up at
him, hands on hips, feet astride, breasts heaving, spitting indignation. "That
was a deliberate kick! You should......."

Fiona and Monica ushered the furious girl aside as Mr. Dawe blew again on his
whistle.

"Let me referee, please, Betty," he said. "You," he said to Eric, "had better
watch yourself. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time. Any more
foul play and you're off! Understand? And that goes for anybody else in either
team!"

Joanna rose gingerly to her feet, holding her side. She was the smallest girl
in the girls' team, just over five feet tall and nicely proportioned. I had a
major crush on her, and she could tackle me all day and I wouldn't complain.
I'd loved feeling her body wrapped round mine as she took me down, and hoped
she wasn't too injured to play on!

I needn't have worried. After a bit of rubbing and stretching, Joanna
signalled she was ready to continue.

The girls had been awarded a penalty kick for the foul. Myra Marshall, the
girls' captain had the ball. "OK, girls," she said, loud enough for everyone
to hear. "From now on we show them no mercy! Let's slaughter them!"

She said this with so much confidence, and her team responded with so much
fervour, I began to doubt our ability to overcome the girls. How could this
be? We were boys. We'd been playing rugby for years. How could we be losing to
a team of smaller, slender girls. I waited to hear some encouraging words from
our captain, but none came. Did he have doubts too? We lined up to defend the
penalty.

Myra had several choices. She could kick for goal. She could kick for
position. Or, she could do what she did! She tapped the ball with her foot
(the kick), picked it up and ran at the our defence.

Scott Hooper went to tackle her. Myra threw as neat a dummy pass as you could
wish to see. Scott bought it and the girl glided past him with ease. Ross
Campbell, big and strong, loomed in front of her. She side-stepped the hulking
boy with graceful elan and drew both Martin Bryant and John Rundle into a
desperate attempt to stop her.

I could see the girl had completely destroyed our defensive line. Myra had
girls in support on either side of her. She passed the ball to Diane McBride.
I was only one defender left on that side of the field, with three girls
bearing down on me. I had no option but to try to tackle Diane.

She waited until I committed myself to the tackle, then passed to ball out to
Monica Friend. Monica wasn't the fastest girl on earth, but she had only about
twenty yards to go to our line. Don Fletcher tried his best to cut her off,
sprinting right across the field to try to cut her down. But it was no use.
With a whoop of glee, the girl went over the line and touched the ball down.

It was 19-0 to the girls! They were tearing us boys to shreds!

The screams and yells of triumph from the female spectators was totally
unnerving. They taunted us unmercifully as we slunk back behind our goal line
to await the conversion kick.

At least Don had forced Monica to touch down the ball well out from the goal
posts. In rugby, the conversion kick for the extra two points is taken
opposite the point where the ball is touched down. The further out from the
posts, the more difficult the kick. It didn't matter to Myra. She stroked the
ball over the bar dead centre. We were losing 21 - nil! And there were still
five minutes to go to half time!'

To be continued...........