I received an email declaring that the Saturday after Thanksgiving, the older less resilient types were invited to run touch with the youngsters of various collegiate, and local Men’s Club’s including my former club, Santa Rosa RFC. Myself, Todd, Jeff, Doc John and Kelly un-enthusiastically committed to show up. Truth be known I started stretching Friday morning as a precaution. Jeff, Todd and I had no issues during the outing, well actually I was winded after just a few moments, but whatever, It took Kelly about 10 minutes to pull a hammy. Doc John lasted a little longer but eventually went down hard on the slippery turf, he came up lame with a cracked rib or a torn pectoral muscle, he was still trying to sort out the damage after a few beers at the bar later in the day.

I did fell somewhat pathetic, not because the youngsters ran circles around me, but because I think I can keep on, keeping on, without any consequences. When in reality there is a strong possibility I will snap, stretch or break some form of connecting tissue on one of these little outings, but I still do it anyway. I was nervous for f**** sake and it was only touch.

Sitting at Cooperage Brewing Company 2 hours later drinking with the old and infirm directly across the table from the young and unbreakable I realized how much I missed the whole spectacle of it., I really miss rugby, not just touch, but a 15 aside war zone. Not the spectating or analyzing of the play, but the act of tying up the laces not knowing how the day will end. X-rays, sutures, or blunt force trauma of the full body at the very least. I have not thought about it for a long time and now it’s back again, maybe? Just touch, touch is good for the soul, but I know where that leads. There is such a deep seeded pull back to the pitch. Convincing myself I have a little more left to give. Will I allow myself some part of the addiction, no, I don’t think so. But Touch that just might work out for me.