Rugby

RVA is not like many other schools in a lot of ways.  Here's a good example:  At the end of last term I was asked if I'd like to play in the faculty vs JV rugby game.  I said sure.  I figured it would probably be just a bunch of hopelessly slow and awkward American staff running around desperately grasping at flags.

The day before the game we had a faculty practice.  It was there I found out that this was a full-contact tackles-and-all game.  Some of the guys knew a lot about rugby.  I hadn't even heard of a 'ruck'.  One of the experts spent about 15 minutes showing us how to tackle properly - with your head behind the runner's legs "so you don't get knocked out."  The whole thing seemed like a good way to get hurt.

At the end of the practice I was asked if I could play wing.  I had no idea what a 'wing' was.  I googled it.  After spending about an hour on wikipedia reading about the role of a wing and working through a who's who of outstanding wings from past international leagues and how each had "redefined the position" I felt much better; The wing plays on the edge of the field and while the goal is always to get the ball to the wing so he can advance it, I felt confident we'd be so overmatched the ball would rarely be coming all the way to me.

Game day it poured rain.  I offered extra credit to any varsity player willing to loan me a pair of size ten and a half cleats.  Warming up on the field I was told I'd no longer be playing 'wing' but 'fullback'.

"What's THAT?" I asked.

"It's kind of like a punt returner, but you always have to be ready because they can kick the ball whenever they want.  Just make sure you catch the ball and it'll be fine."

I listened as they continued to describe how I was supposed to tackle anybody that got past the defense "kind of like a free safety," to join the 'line' on offense and several other things that I can no longer remember.  It sounded impossible!

The game started with the faculty receiving the kick, me waiting back deep, by myself, hoping just to avoid embarrassment.  Nobody's ever accused me of having good hands, and I guessed (rightly) that the JV team would be extra willing to kick the ball at me just to see if I could catch.  Sure enough, the ball came right at me.  Surprisingly, I caught it.  Even more so, I ran past the first two or three defenders untouched.  I made it across midfield.  The crowd was getting pretty loud.

"This is really fun!" I thought.  I actually broke two or three tackles before being taken down quite a ways across midfield.  'Fullback' was going much better than I had anticipated.

Almost immediately, they got the ball.  I didn't know where I was supposed to be.  Thankfully, some of the students in the audience started yelling, "Mr. Frazier! Scoot back!"  I did and then a student broke free around the end of our line.  He was really fast!  I was the only one left between him and the try zone.  I hadn't tackled anybody since my eighth grade lightweight football days.  I got in front of him and made the tackle!  The only problem was, I forgot to put my head behind the runner and I took a hard blow to the chin.  Somehow my lip got pulled downward by something and that little flap of tissue in the middle of the bottom lip that keeps it from getting pulled down too far tore free.  My whole chin was totally numb.  I felt like I had lost the lower half of my face and had a huge rubber prosthetic chin put there to replace it.  I couldn't tell if I was bleeding, so I stayed in the game.

The J.V. team thought I was pretty good.  I didn't have many more kicks come my way.  I only badly missed one tackle the rest of the half.  By that time, I knew I was bleeding... a lot.  I'd spit out a bunch and now my mouth was dry with it.  I decided to rinse it out and get a drink.  I filled my mouth with water and swished it around.  That was a terrible idea.  NOW I could feel.  It stung - badly.  But the admiring groan from those who saw me spit a bright red stream of water soothed pain.

The rest of the game is just a blur of bodies and tackles.  The staff began to pull away, scoring several tries.  A large portion of the student audience coached me through the game, telling me to run back, to join the line, to watch for the kick...

Toward the end of the game, I was trying to tackle a guy. I was very careful to put my head behind the runner, but as I did, something out of nowhere collided with my face.  It ended up being a team-mate's knee. (a picture of the instant after the collision at right)

I could feel my lip getting pulled even farther out of place, and my nose started pouring blood.  I wobbled off the field.  On the sidelines I gave a pained grin to my teammates.

"Was your nose crooked before?"
"Not really."
"That nose is broken!"

I went home to check out the damage and to put ice on my nose.  I walked in the house and avoided seeing Heather who was sick in bed, snuck into the bathroom and began to wash up.

"Are you ok?" she asked.
"Just a bloody nose."

And I thought it was just a bloody nose.  My lip hurt a lot more.  Now both have healed just fine, but the nose is just a little different.

The next day in class, I had a lot of comments about how great I'd played, how fast I was, how tough I must be for staying in the game...   I think what they meant was that I was faster and better than they'd expected from an uber-ackward science nerd.  It still felt really good - to be praised by men, and have my ego fed.  I think the experience helped me see how much I crave that external validation.

So I've been thinking about it a lot the last few months. I think a lot of the time when we do bigger and better things as Christians our motivation is often that others will notice us and praise us more.  Even when my initial motives are pure, the siren song of recognition can easily pull me under.  "Great job in chapel today, Jim!" or "I can tell students really like you" are a couple of comments that make me feel great, and more often than not, I just soak it all in.

God calls us to something much different.  Deitrich Bonhoeffer in his book "The Cost of Discipleship" wrote, "When Christ calls a man, He bids him, 'Come and die.'"  I've begun to realize that all my thoughts about the rugby game were about how awesome I was.  In fact, my whole method of appraising my success (even my spiritual life) concerns what I am doing.  What if my reflections on the tasks I've undertaken all made me think about how awesome HE is and about what HE is doing?