Rockford Ravens Rugby Football Club
Rockford, Illinois, USA Est. 1976
They had watched the World Cup 7's on the tube for around 45 minutes before heading down to town for some food. It was very sunny, surprisingly so for Kent in late November. Still recovering from the flight, food was needed now.
Time was no longer a constant to be relied upon as they were now approaching their 30th hour of being awake. It was marked with no celebration, but any sleeping that had been done was done on the plane a few hours before and was shallow at best. No time for sleeping now - against the rules and a waste of experience.
The boys stopped at a kebab shop and had some kebabs. After leaving the kebab shop and wandering a few more blocks, they heard distinctly American shouts coming from a pub. Doc and Ted went in.
Grabbing a bitter and a lager at the bar, the boys sat down with their buddies. "What's with the American shit?", came an angry voice aimed at Doc and his very light lager.
"First and last, baby", replied Doc.
The judge rubbed his very bloodshot eyes and yelled, "Pound fine!" the instant ruling on the beer violation could not be appealed. Doc knew he was wrong anyway so he laughed with the rest of the guys at his fine. He threw the coin on the table. Being the judges' assistant, his and all fines would wind up back in his pocket before long.
Ted was busy tormenting the one member of the tour still at the bar. "Trying to become part of the little family here?" No reply. How do you reply to being adopted by a family in a pub. Ted had more important things to do. He was ready for his second beer and asked Doc if he was also ready. Tour rules demanded no refusal of refreshment offered, so Doc nodded in agreement. Time for a bitter anyway. Lagers are for breakfast only.
Back at the table, early runners for the "Ugly American" award were jockeying into position. No pretenders at this table; these guys were all capable of going all the way. The exploits of one such contender and his projectile vomit were now dominated the discussion. Comments such as, "The scream alone had to have been heard by everyone in Gillingham", and "so many pretty colors, it was like a beautiful arcing swan." Evidently even the East German judge gave it a 9.8. The boys at the table were running out of steam, however, and they soon packed it in and headed back to the King George Inn.
Ted and Doc stopped at a few shops on the way back to the hotel. Both were interested in some new boots and Ted bought a few compact discs. He scored on compact discs all over southern England and could not resist to add some discs not available in the US.
Back at the hotel, they ate a few sandwiches and sucked a few bitters down. They drank and ate with a few other of the touring crowd at the hotel and stories were shared. Being experienced with tours before, both Ted and Doc were a little disappointed at not being hosted by the players. Being hosted is the only way to really meet someone from the country being toured. One can see a little slice of life by actually staying with the players. The other great advantage of being hosted is someone can actually take you around to the various nightclubs. Having not met the players yet, much of the talk while eating revolved around what to do for the next few hours. The hotels disco (a HUGE event on day 2) was chosen by a few, but Ted and Doc were more interested in meeting up with some other ruggers. They headed over to a bar call the Cannon where football and rugby players were known to frequent. It was around 9pm on a Friday night when they left.
The Cannon was a blast. Ted was the master trader and began scoring on bar towels right away. In the process of trading and being loud, the boys met the pub owner, Derek. Free shots. More bitter. They didn't meet any ruggers but they did sit with a professional soccer player at the bar.
Eleven rolled around and the doors were locked. All right! In the US closing means get the hell out, but in the UK it appears to mean, sorry no more coming in. Midnight rolls around and the only ones left are Ted, Doc, the pro footballer, and Derek. Bitter is flowing. It is now 2 am and Derek puts his hands on the bar and said, "Lads, I'm fucked. You've got to go." The out the door the boys went. The rumor that they stopped by a military base as the wandered back to the hotel is largely a myth (although they did talk to a couple guys with machine guns).
The end of day 1 came around 3 am. Day 2 coming and it only gets better. But that, my friends, is another story.