From five years old and counting

From humble beginnings to an obsession

I can still remember it as if it were yesterday, the day my Dad took me and my younger brother to our first mini rugby session. A cold Sunday morning on the wide open fields of Down Grange, the home of Basingstoke RFC. Here, hundreds of young lads (well it seemed like that at the time) assembled to release their energy and learn the game on the wet muddy fields. I loved to get my hands on the ball and run, to feel that rush of adrenaline, as the other lads chased you down in a race to reach the try line. I can vividly remember walking down the dark, damp and muddy corridors of the changing rooms to the showers afterwards. The smell of deep heat, mud and sweat filled the air. I'd then tip toe back down the corridor trying to avoid the clumps of mud on the floor, but inevitably coming back with my feet just as muddy as when I set off! This Sunday morning ritual would be completed with a post training refuel, which consisted of a polystyrene tray of chips and a can of coke in the clubhouse. I'd watched my Dad from the side lines of the same pitches week in week out as he turned out for the senior sides. He was my hero and I wanted to play just like he did. He gave me that opportunity and I've been hooked on the sport ever since.

From Basingstoke minis

To Hampshire cup winners with the same club

It's been 26 years since my first exposure to the game and my passion has grown and grown. I've played for a number of clubs over the years at varying levels, in all positions over the backline. I still continue to play where I can, but now follow the professional game with a keen interest. It probably stems from my first experience of Twickenham, back in 1994. The game was England Vs Canada where Mike Catt made his starting debut and Rob Andrew broke the individual points record at the time. I loved the atmosphere around the stadium and we finished the day in the infamous Twickenham car park, with car boots open, filled with picnic hampers, pork pies and cans of beer. Whilst my Dad and his friends discussed the game, me and my brothers ran around reenacting the tries we'd just witnessed.

It was then off to The Rec to watch the family club Bath. My Dad would often recount the times when my grandad would take him down on a Saturday afternoon to the famous old pitch. In those days it was cornered off by just a rope and people would bring wooden boxes to stand on to ensure they'd get the best view. By the time I started supporting them, the Bath glory days were just starting to fade away, but I still had the chance to watch the like of Jerry Guscott in his pomp.

So that brings me to the here and now and as I've been encouraged to start a blog to give my thoughts and views on all things rugby, for what they're worth anyway. I look forward to sharing and discussing them with you.