Southwold Beach Rugby Report

NMRFC Southwold tour, 2005.


Taking multi-disciplinary working to another level, the Norwich Medics Rugby Football Club (NMRFC) avec physio, carpenter et 7 year old kid bravely ventured out of the protective boundaries of Eaton Park Stadium, bound for Southwold to give those rugby oiks a lesson or two in tent-pitching, cow tipping and hand-eye coordination.

We set off from UEA at a ridiculously early hour (10am), chauffeured by one Mr. Greenhall, RFU development officer for Eastern Counties, Captain of North Walsham 1st XV and generally incredibly patient gent still under the impression that we could be of any use medically. Proving once and for all that map reading is probably best left to blokes, the girls managed to pull up at the beach a couple of hours post-kick-off. Fortunately word of these bloodcurdling bandits had reached the ‘organisation’ tent, so their play offs were delayed until last.

After a slightly embarrassing inability to work out the total cost of our team at registration, the day started to perk up. The ‘men’ were out first against the Unthank lads. Armed with only our team spirit and violet flowery head bands, we did battle, coming out with the first win in the rugby club’s history (10-5). After reminding hulk of the non-contact nature of tag rugby, and hence the lack of rationale to dump the opposition, we powered onto our next game. Our second match saw us up against a pink clad bunch with a somewhat unhealthy victorious intent. However, through a special relationship with the ref, and a skill apparently ungraspable by the opposition (playing by the rules…diving…!), we managed to land a somewhat dubious draw. It was after this wake up call, that we decided it was time to unleash our secret weapon: four foot and five inches of raw power: Greenhall jnr. This little machine had a warm up during the girl’s first game, in which some rather good rugby was played, all credit going to Miss. Fraser for her stunning first rugby performance. Similarly dazzling feats arose from our team physio and both the indistinguishable Miss. Greigs, although if we’re honest, the girls we bribed from other teams to play did seem to keep us in the game.

Although only 7 minutes, each game induced severe hypoxia in all, with the desire to be subbed off becoming greater every minute.

The third men’s match was our greatest hour, landing us our most substantial victory of the day, and really allowing us to make the most of the ‘bunker’ in our side of the pitch - when the opposition finally got through our lines, their offensive was rapidly subdued with at least one sprained ankle, and, to our delight, a dropped ball. Hoorah.







The girls managed to secure a victory in one of their matches, tries arising from the likes of Emma, Biggs, Claire & Mandy.

Basking in our glory, we decided to scurry off & pitch our tents before our next game. However, those merry men ‘organising’ the competition decided to call our next game 45 minutes earlier than timetabled, which considering they were running an hour behind the timetable was a feat of organisation, testament to the effect of alcohol on an already overstretched mind. On our return we realised that our hopes of victory at Southwold had been somewhat dashed, and so, with our tails between our legs, we began the arduous processes of drinking games, beach cricket and teaching Mr. Greenhall’s boy discourteous words and rhymes. Our poor spirits were aided by the sight of an attention-seeking young man, bearing all, running across the pitch where a ladies quarter final was in progress, only to be dump tackled by an apparently unamused player.

We stopped in Southwold to do justice to the local brew (or Pimms for those with tolerance issues), and to pester the chap in charge of the trampolines. However, with an under 16s only rule, we had to settle for enviously watching Jnr strutting his stuff. Repeatedly.

Restraining ourselves from heartily singing ‘the driver’s has a few too many’, we made our way back to the campsite to prepare for Kangaroo court and a Wild West theme night, to be greeted by rugby hymns like ‘My name is Jack (na na na na na na na)…’. With Hulk & Shipman presiding, Kangaroo Court saw the trails of Camp America, Gerwanablow et al for crimes including maternal instincts (Miss. Smith…), cutting members of your own team (Dave), Attempting to Disturb the Peace (Terrorism Act 2000 – Parkianathan) & sleeping with the enemy (Parr).
Our Wild West theme night proved to be a success with the ‘random method’ giving success to Miss. Riley and the tragic finding that female rugby players aren’t easy (Mr. Duffield – prior to Sam-Jenga once he had lost all consciousness).

The following morning we returned to Norwich, and en-route ensured that Master Greenhall was fluent in obscenities, and thus capable of conversing competently with any footballer should the sorry occasion ever arise.

So, our training paid off – Won 2, drew 1, forgot to turn up the other.