I dragged the girls to Naoto’s last rugby game of the season. It was fairly interesting. Lots of pale white flesh gleaming in the murky, lightly raining gloom. Lots of guys bashing and smashing on eachother. Lots of naoto yelling at the other players. Not so much Naoto on the bottom of hopelessly tangled manflesh, for which I am heartily grateful. I still am traumatized from when Naoto played rugby in Monterey on a mostly Tongan and Samoan team. The first game I went to he got clotheslined in the early parts of the game and went down like a brick. Yikes.
The interesting thing about Naoto’s team, I think were the spectators. Not your usual hoodlums. No sirree, bob. The avalanche supporters are one stylish, well-coiffured bunch of men (and 2 women not including me).
I haven’t seen so much leather and hair mousse since we went to a concert downtown.
At the end of the game (naoto’s team did not win, but they did manage to not lose as badly as usual) I heard one spectator comment to another, “turn around, you’re missing the real show” (as he motioned to the winning team who were in the midst of changing back into less muddy clothes).
Then, both teams formed circles by putting their arms around their team mates and ran in a circle chanting “he’s the warrior.” one lucky guy from each team in the middle of each circle then stripped completely buck naked and took off running down the field.
I have discovered that I am NOT turned on by the sight of naked, cavorting white men whose pale skin is completely covered in gooseflesh (it being cold and rainy here in Portland). Who’d a thunk it?