Anonymous writes " On Halloween eve a motley crew of roughly 35 ruggers stepped out into the chilly Ann Arbor night. Dressed as greasers sporting blue jeans, white t-shirts and an assortment of poorly grown mustaches, this group hit the town in high spirits. The casual observer would never have guessed that these guys from the North-Side of Chicago had just lost their University’s first ever Midwest championship rugby match. They would not have known that these boys had made it to the Midwest championship at Michigan University after defying the status quo and beating both the University of Illinois at Chicago and Northern Illinois University in the semi-finals and finals, respectively, to make it to the championships for the first time in their school’s history. There would be no way for the casual observer to recognize the three months of hard work these guys put in; the sweat, injuries, determination, and bond formed by playing together every Saturday and then dreaming and talking together about playing again while waiting the six days between Saturdays.
The casual observer could never see the true fabric of CARFU’s best rugby team leading up to that Halloween eve. Physically perhaps they noticed the bruises, black eyes, arm slings, and slight limps, but they had no idea about the sprints run during the late-August practices on the lake. Or the 9-minutes drills that made players vomit and gasp for breath. Or executing lineouts and passing plays in the dark because the practice field had no lights. They could not understand waking up early in the morning after a Beam Nite or closing the Oasis Bar to put on dirty shorts and then play their guts out for 80 minutes on some forgotten field.
The casual observer did not know the feeling of singing along with teammates to a profane song about the days of the week. Nor did they spend an entire day with teammates drinking and eating chilly and recklessly spending club funds on extra kegs. They did not miss classes, skip dentist appointments, break up with girlfriends, take one for the team while playing wingman, crash a sorority’s toga party, get fired from a job, or graduate a semester late.
The casual observer was not there for the team’s first match against the Griffins. They were not there when the team tied the alumni. Nor were they there when the team beat DePaul. They were not there when the team stayed over at Willy’s parents’ house before the CARFU Cup, sleeping on the floor in his basement and nervously thinking about the following day’s matches. And they certainly were not there when the final whistle of the tournament sounded and Loyola University Men’s Rugby club became champions, for the first time, smiling and shouting as they lifted the CARFU Champion’s Cup above their heads.
The casual observer did not see the team after its greatest win, nor did they see the team at the Midwest championships that morning after its loss to the number one tournament seed, the University of Pittsburg.
What the casual observer saw instead was 35 guys dressed as greasers- sporting blue jeans, white t-shirts and an assortment of poorly grown mustaches- representing everything that’s right with college rugby.
Aaron Hultgren
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