It’s a bit cold these days, and everyone knows things go slower when it’s cold, a viable excuse for no updates methinks. A second, equally reasonable excuse is a lack of good rugby to report. the bloggy public are not easily pleased and having been harangued for not writing anything Newsteam is now enduring the taunts and mockery of the public for the Titanic epicness of the Falkirk blog. So this will be short and sweetish with a fortnights worth of rubbishness, boys v Dumfries, the Tuesday night farce that was HillJills v Watsonians, and the non-event that wasn’t the boys v Howe of Fife.
So Dumfries, the first game of the second half of the league, after the excitement of Falkirk it was either going to be another step up the ladder of pretty rugby that would see the hale and hearty Hills boyos run the soggy southerners ragged, or it would be a nose-dive from the heights of top-table clash into a swamp of anti-climactic drivel. They opted for drivel.
Scottish rugby TV, with the man with the magnificent rolly-R commentary voice made it look good, but in reality very little happened. Hills made a meal of it, and the Bossman got rage. Not usual rugby rage, the kind we can absorb and join in a little bit with, but rage with his own lot. Standing within hearing distance of Keith shouting at the boys is like listening to your parents argue. I stand and freeze, praying they will do something to make him happy, I can hear him shouting and it makes me sad inside, and I feel a little bit like it’s my fault, like I should be doing something…but all I can do is watch and listen as it gets worse.
So please, for the good of our health, please start playing proper rugby. A quick rundown saw the boys looking fitter and stronger as ever but failing to exploit their advantages, they made heavy work of going forward with lots of basic mistakes. A positive can be taken in recording such results despite playing like a blind, drunk netball team. That is blind, and drunk, as blinddrunk often sees a peak in talent for rugby boys. 25-3. Unremarkable, no chosen one, we were to scared to ask Keith, thought it better left blank, Ladies choice went to Angels for some good pressure running from his wing, and good cover in defence. Best of a bad lot really…sorry Robbie. Chump of the week, in a good way, goes to Gus for his spangly new kickable penalty move, which saw the ball carefully struck to knock off the upright and out to the on-rushing Hills back line for a score. We’d like to see that one again soon…
A few days later saw the Hills ladies in what was set to be a flood-lit thriller on a chilly Tuesday night at the Fortress. Was set to be, but turned out not to be…it finished 32-5. Hills ladies got off to a flier, but the points away early, endured a bit of freezing hail, and some ridiculous stoppages for problems such as badly fitting shorts, exercise-induced shortness of breath and general unfitness. These were seen as reasonable complaints, but slowed the flow of Hills fast moving game. The early loss of Captain Jules to injury saw a bit of reshuffle with Super-Emma going to 10 and the Willis reconverting from hardy forward to saft back to come on at centre. The backs did well under the pressure of the reshuffle, showing the depth of squad in the ladies. With some more ridiculous gas from Moggs and little Pup, fairly standard in the Hill camp these days, a bit of boshing from the Dawg at 8 and some good runs from new super-tall Jade who aced the defensive line-out, proving a formidable match for the accomplished Watson’s pack.
Rachy Nic was snipey at 9 as usual and kept the pace of the match up. The unfortunate situation of having a referee who’s partner was playing for the opposition, a situatin not often encountered in the rugby world did little for the Hills game, and the match quickly descended into a bit of a farce. With unexplainable calls and a number of imaginary Hills infringements seeing the ladies heavily penalised the Hills discipline lapsed a bit as frustration at the man in the middle grew. A number of hilarious but largely unacceptable calls from the Hills ladies saw penalties marched up the pitch and eventually saw the try-line broached for the first time this season.
Blame is easy to pass on to the ref, but truth is Watsonians weren’t good enough to score against us, and whatever the circumstances it shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and we have lots to work on in training to get us back disciplined and on form. Though “Get your f**king wife onside!” is back-chat not heard often enough in the modern game…I would give a shiny pound to any boy who’s willing to say this in one of their games. The game finished 32-5 and was followed by tasty cake. Again, not one to be remembered.
And then there was to be another top-table encounter with Howe of Fife in far away Cupar. So my day went a little something like this, up early, obviously as a highly organised newshound I was packed and prepared and had arranged all of my clothes for easy assembly to battle the cold. Unfortunately in the night someone had come in and disorganised all my organisation so mild panic ensued. I ate some porridge, I live in hope that one day when I’m making porridge the Scott’s porage oats man will appear to reach the box down for me. It hasn’t happened yet. So one bowl of porridge, no Scott’s oats man, a bit of mild panic and 23 layers later I was on my way to the club. Which was busybusy with lots of boys, though notably not the porage oats man, or Ed, who was late(Oats man didn’t show at all). Silly Ed, incurring the wrath so early in the morning. He rolled down to the car park politely flustered enough to make Keith laugh instead of beating him to death. And off we trundled, the 2’s were headed for Edinburgh for a clash at Meggetland, and we went off up to Cupar through the freezing fog.
Grant in the smelly forwads bus gave us a half hour head start and caught us up somewhere around Charing Cross, Keith nearly took us for tea at the in-laws by accident, and we had an entertaining stop near TITP, a few months too late, where a certain young Lothario came across a foreign conquest on some kind of special international bus trip…not special like special needs. Well I don’t think it was…I didn’t see any window licking. So a sharp exit was made. Not before a quick shake-up warm-up sess in the Burger King car park. People wandered past open-mouthed, a few through coins in appreciation of the talent, or sympathy for the poor team who can’t afford grass to train on.
Eventually we got to Cupar. It was frozen. The whooooole village was frozen, including the pitches, so we turned round and high-tailed back to Glasgow, one rugby match short of a league fixture. Needless to say calm Keith was less than impressed. Like good little show-ponies the backs tried to quell the rage with their awesome rugby banter on their way home, knowing the content and meanness of the upcoming session at Hughenden was resting on their skinny shoulders.
How better to entertain the bossman than the Herald crossword(first draft)? Well, how about an in-depth film review session, oooh, I really liked paranormal activity. Really, who did you go and see it with? I couldn’t go and see that it’s too scary for me…how many stars would you give it? Oh, oh I’m not sure…maybe 3 and a half?
Laps of the stand were rapidly added to the session…it’s a long way from Cupar to Glasgow, on this long way we learned many things: Dan is unable to get chane from a shop on account of his gimp arms, Haddon may or may not be half-way through his course at uni, they haven’t got the bits of maths yet that would let him work out if 3 was more than half of 5. It is a toughy…
And so we got home to happy Hughenden to watch Scotland be beaten. Not a great day all round.
The blog having made an initial attempt at public persuasion with the Double A’s, is going to herald a new cause, the temporary renaming of the fortress to Huggenden, where hugs will be had, potentially for money, but not in a soliciting or prostitutey type way, in a fund-raising kind of way. Hug a Hill day? Hug a HillJill day? Hugs@Huggenden day? Suggestions on a postcard please.
That is all, Garnock on Saturday, come watch, wear lots of clothes it will be brrrwrrr chilly.
