Camp Half-Blood Beyond the Highway: Rugby Reflections from B Field

A site where recounted legends could only begin to encompass its true magnificence spreads its uncut body between two sets of kicking posts. Bodies broken and souls challenged, the 35 lighthearted boys lose their petty pride and personas to become gods, forged of steel, prepared for the inevitable weekly battles on Gillespie in the third term sun.  Untended and unkempt, the oversized icy mud bath shows its true colours over the months between Winter and Spring Breaks. The expanse of yellow and green grass, burned by the summer sun, takes the shade of fresh mulch as the inch-long steel studs and the winter cold stirs up the sludge. On any given sports day, one might see the forwards gracefully whale-diving into the beautiful chocolate covered fields, while the backs attempt to keep dry the fresh gels in their coiffed hair; their tutus, fitting snugly beneath their rugby shorts, remain mud free. Returning home after the rigor of colliding teammates, the camaraderie formed within the team is surprising and humbling: despite the bumps, bruises and bashed brains, not a single member feels out of place walking back from the fields of war. The game, the sport, and the life of a dedicated team brings each player back to the cold, every day, ready to put in the work. Chiron would be proud.