Rugby, really, I have no care for you.

As a first-time blogger, I just thought I should get it off my chest before you think you like me and then read on and realize I am actually a traitor to my country. Really though, I pretended it was my favourite sport for so many years. This would involve several of the following excruciating events: 

• Cheering for the wrong team because I had no idea what was going on
• Being super proud that I almost hooked up with a "college first team rugby player" (When, actually, he stared at my boobies the entire time he spoke to me and then threw up on my back, after I denied him to a "chow". To this day I still have no idea what a "chow" may be, perhaps that is why he threw up on me? I guess I will never know. How sad)
• Twisting my ankle walking on uneven ground that has not been landscaped
• Being ridiculed for taking advantage of the "free snacks" on offer at prestigious games such as the "Hilton- Michaelhouse" and "College- anyone" and perhaps slipping on a sausage roll because I piled my plate up so high I could not see where I was walking.
• Falling down a steep embankment which was unmarked
• Being mercilessly boooed whilst walking in front of a stand of school boys in the middle of a game
• Getting so drunk that I threw up on, and swore at, a squirrel mascot

Oh, there are so many events with which I could relate to, but really what is the purpose? I hate the game. I despise every facet of it. Partly because I do not understand any rules, and partly because I hate the Americanised skanks that run around the perimeter of the field flashing their goods.

I only realized how much I hated it when I started having to pay to attend a game, and was no longer allowed to bring my alcohol along. That made me really sick. How rude can you get? I think my ultimate distaste for it grew when I was made to down the entire contents of my cooler box in a matter of minutes in front of an extremely unsavoury "security guard" and her "mate", which, in turn, brought about agony and humiliation for myself. Not to mention a denied entry into the grounds for being "drunk and disorderly", as well as "indecent" apparently. Thank God I was asleep during this whole fiasco!

So there it is! I hate the sport. Despise it. And, I happen to blame it for my most humiliating moments! So next time, don't ask me if I would like to come with you to the rugby. I don't want to. I'm busy. I have to wax my cat or do anything else.