I went to see my first rugby game – this is what happened

5 mins read

28175577_10204414364115085_1231391944_nGlasgow Warriors faced South African side Toyota Cheetahs this past Friday at Scotstoun. Brig decided to send their least qualified sports reporter to cover the match…

As lifestyle and arts editor, I stay far away from sports at all costs.

Tonight, however, I am seated in the Glasgow Warriors press box, ready to lose my rugby virginity.

Besides the fact that the seats are alarmingly narrow, it must be noted that the Glasgow Warriors know how to create a banging playlist. After some Bruno, we have now continued to Dua Lipa and Sigrid. This night should be a good one.

Update – little kids with flags are extremely cute. So is the Warriors mascot – a Highland cow wearing a kilt. I am, however, slightly distressed about the fact that these poor kids are wearing short sleeves in these weather conditions. For reference, I have already lost feeling in two fingers and the game hasn’t even started yet.

Enter the Warriors, and enter a feeling of pure sensation, because god does it feel good to be part of a cheerful crowd. The game started before I could blink twice – no whistle, no coin toss; this is clearly a sport of action.

Perhaps not the most professional piece of sports reporting, but the Cheetahs do possess some fine-looking players…

Point of confusion – we’re five minutes into the game and people are clapping for what, as far as I’m concerned, is just a pile of big muscular men locating a ball between each other’s legs.

Chants. The crowd is chanting. I’m feeling euphoric, this is a high!

We started with a great attack, we ended with a massive anti-climax; chanters are still going strong nonetheless.

Fashion points will have to go the Cheetahs, since they are wearing some incredibly long boxy looking coats which could have come straight from the Balenciaga runway. Go South Africa!

We’re back to piles of men, but this time there is no clapping – I assume that the aesthetic of this pile was not worthy of acknowledgement.

Did I mention it is cold?

It has taken me 31 minutes, but I have finally decrypted the chant. While lacking in creativity, I will applaud it for is simple yet powerful message: ‘we are Warriors, we are Warriors’.

I am painfully aware that I am the only girl in the press box. To make matters worse, I am wearing a humongous fur coat while drinking a super berry protein smoothie. Who am I?

Me and my smoothie just did a little cheer – successful Warrior attack accomplished.

It’s official. I have become one with the crowd. Cheering noises have just left my mouth without my consent. To make matter worse I just caught myself doing a fist bump into the air after an unexpected but successful Warrior attack.

Just when I started to feel like I was one with the crowd, I find myself cast out again. We are booing, despite having just scored. I am so confused.

It ends as suddenly as it begins. We have prevailed with a score of 37-23, and it’s clear; rugby is not one for excessive commentary or big fanfare. It’s a game as down to earth as it gets.

As I wiggle myself out of my tiny seat, I can’t help but think that rugby has a weird inspirational quality to it. The players find themselves dragged to the ground, smashed into men twice their size, yet they never give up. It might be a mind set worth considering for life off the field as well.

If you share my reputation of being the antichrist of sports, but you’re willing to change that tide, I can highly recommend rugby. Even with a serious lack of knowledge I can guarantee that you’ll have grand time. In between the catchy chants and banging playlists, you’ll find a sport worth watching. Count me in for next time.



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