The end of the month arrived and we went back to the doctor to be given the news that I could try playing rugby again but, that word again, any problems and I’d be off until the orthopaedic people could see me and make a decision as to what the problem was.
The doctor gave me a stern lecture about being honest where pain was concerned and my parents repeated it at home so I was left in no doubt as to the consequences of being untruthful. The next day I presented Killer with another letter and was welcomed back to the fully active list.
The second rugby session I almost scored a try but was brought down just a couple of yards shy of the line. As I was getting to my feet there was an audible crack and an involuntary squeal of pain, the next thing I knew I was being ordered off the pitch to sit on the touchline until the game was over.
One of the boys was detailed to walk back to school with me in case the knee gave out and I faced the certainty that my rugby career was pretty much at and end for the foreseeable future. After showering I did an exceptionally careful job of strapping the already swollen joint and politely declined a visit to the school nurse. There didn’t seem to be much point in seeing her, I knew what the situation was.
If I’d entertained any thoughts of toughing things out and playing again next week Killer put an immediate stop to them by ordering me to report the incident at home, threatening to check with my parents to make sure I did as I was told. I wasn’t planning any deception though, this really hurt and I didn’t want it to get any worse. Rugby and I were clearly severing our relationship for some time to come.
My parents were understandably upset but it clearly wasn’t my fault, there was obviously something fundamentally wrong with my knee and their greatest concern was that we get it fixed.
A third visit to the doctor with a very long and painful examination confirmed things, I was out of the game until I’d seen the orthopaedic consultant at St Richard’s. The McMurray test still didn’t indicate a torn cartilage but there was definitely something wrong. There was absolutely no point in appealing, my parents were sat right there agreeing with the decision.
Just to make me feel completely demoralised the doctor calmly informed us that I’d be unlikely to get an appointment in less than 3 months so, to all intents and purposes, I was out of rugby for the rest of the season.
Fortunately I had something infinitely more important to think about; rehearsals for Messiah were getting intense as the date of the concert approached and in the interests of maintaining the chronology of the story that’s what I’ll tell you about next
Love
Now that it looked like your rugby career was over for at least 3 months, I would have expected some sense of joy emanating from you. I realize you had to be suffering great pain from your injury, but to be free to persue your musical talents would seem to be a very happy time for you. Did you have remorse because you couldn’t finish the season due to your injury? Love and hugs, JR
JR
I definitely had mixed feelings. One of the most common insults that I suffered in my early days a grammar school was “weakling” and being able to play rugby surprising well mostly put a stop to that. I had a feeling that once the sympathy dried up during such a long lay off the old taunts would start again
It didn’t help that there wasn’t an alternative on offer, I had to stand there every week in the cold and wet and watch the other boys play which felt like a punishment.
Lastly I felt that I was letting my Games Master dow, ridiculous of course, it wasn’t my fault, but that how I felt
Love
Mac