OLD SCHOOL

Last weekend I had my first Saturday off work in a very long time - what a treat! The day off meant we got to kick up our heels with an old friend from elementary (me) and high (Ray) school - some of you will remember Kristoph. Kris, as he is now known, lives in London and works for a bank while he finishes up his accountancy program. Something tells me that he's going to be very rich in a few years; obviously, he was wise enough not to do a degree in Animal Science.

Kris is a huge rugby fan so we ended up spending most of Saturday afternoon in a pub watching Wales defeat England in their first Six Nations match. While that sentence may imply that I know what I'm talking about when it comes to rugby I am in fact a complete neophyte to the game. After continuously questioning Kris ("What?! How can that not be a penalty?!" and "Wait a minute, which way are they trying to move the ball?") and Ray - while Kris was in the loo (sideways whisper: "Which team is England, again?") - and watching the entire match, I have decided that anyone that plays rugby is a suicidal maniac. For those of you not familiar with the sport, think American football without the padding or the breaks, add the hits of hockey's Todd Bertuzzi and the occasional crotch kick ("Sorry, mate"), and wrap it up in a tourney like the Six Nations that pits old foes such as England and France against each other. However, despite the roughness onscreen and Kris' own scars (he has played since highschool), I was surprised to see that no one was carried off the field. Interesting sport, this rugby. Ray and I may have to take in a game or two this year.

Kate, I know you are a fan and was thinking of you and how fun it would have been to have you in that pub with us. It would have been a mini-Gibsons/Langdale reunion! So perhaps, girl, we can entice you over here for next year's tourney??....