Sadcox over at Hear It From Us recently posted on old Rugby T-Shirt ideas. This post sparked off some memories of rugby and the culture that surrounded it. For those of us who have played rugby in college (or previously) and then in the Men’s/Women’s leagues afterwards, rugby is often a dominant part of your day-to-day life. In fact, personally, rugby was a defining characteristic of mine while I was playing along with student, asshole, and guy-who-was-trying-to-figure-out-what-to-do-with-his-life. Now my defining characteristics are husband, father, provider, asshole, and guy-who-is-trying-to-figure-out-what-to-do-with-his-life.

Short of a post describing the intricate details of how to play rugby, let’s start with how you score (this will be important in a minute so bear with me). In rugby there are basically two ways to score, 1) Score a try. Scoring a try is analogous to scoring a touchdown in American Football, the biggest difference is in Rugby, the player actually has to place the ball on the ground while the ball is in control, this is worth 5 points. The second way to score, kick the ball between the goal-posts, much like a field goal in American Football, this is worth 3 points unless it is a conversion kick after a try and then it is worth 2 points.

Why is this important you ask? Well in rugby, it is a tradition that you perform a “zulu” after you score your first try. What’s a zulu? Do you mean this?

Well, not exactly. A zulu or “zulu warrior” is a little dance or act that you must perform at the post game drink-up (another rugby tradition), while naked. Typically, the team will starting chanting “zulu” or “hey, zulu warrior” while you disrobe and then run around like a maniac while they toss beer on you. Fun tradition right? I’ve seen countless variations on the zulu over the years, from a guy immediately taking off his clothes on the pitch (field) after the score to guys running naked in inner city Philly to order a big mac and fries from a very surprised, and pissed-off, McDonald’s employee (the best quote from this was “the sign doesn’t say anything about wearing pants”).

My personal zulu came after I scored a try in my rookie season against a small liberal arts college in Eastern Pennsylvania. I’m not naming the college to spare them embarrassment, they are a college full of pussies who were too scared to even party with us after the match (the only time I can remember this happening in rugby). At any rate, I was playing in the second side match and was able to block a kick with my right hand, catch the ball when it came down, and score the try. The only problem was when I dove to place the ball on the ground, I dove directly into the knee of an opposing player. The knee was in my eye, and the fucker blew up like Rocky. At any rate, because of the lack of a party after the match, I was spared my zulu until later that month. The only problem here was my zulu occurred at the next big rugby event, our date party.

I was hoping the guys forgot that I owed a zulu, but alas, they did not. The good news, there were a good 7 or 8 other savages already naked at the party (another common tradition, at least with the guys at my university) running around. My zulu was highlighted by my date following me around, slapping me on the ass, and yelling “woooo-whooo!!!”. Ahhh, memories.

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