German Rugby Lads

Something which is sometimes taken for granted at Durham is the smorgasbord of sporting opportunities right on your doorstep. Although they might not be the most glamorous of settings, Maiden Castle, Farmer’s Field et al (let’s not forget the John’s dartboard) provide sporting types of all levels at least the chance to work off last night’s cheesy chips.

This network you quickly miss in the wilderness of the year abroad. Laziness seems almost obligatory, while the Düsseldorf beer halls have a certain allure to them that cannot, nay, should not be resisted. Yet when the belly starts to grow towards the majestic German ideal, you understand that not everything is gained by ‘going native’.

This realization, combined with an innate distrust of the smug and shiny chrome one-upmanship of the fitness centre world means that I find myself, having additionally been challenged by a “jovial” Irish barman (“All English are fucking wet posturing c***ish arseholes”), reporting on Tuesday to training at Düsseldorf Dragons RFC.

Yes, they have rugby here. And it’s not, as you may suspect, merely the preserve of ex-pat Brits; the majority of the members are German, with French and Japanese the next most represented nationalities.

German is thus the common tongue, which means that the ensuing fitness session is where I have a bit of a shocker. The combination of already bad German with a plethora of complex new phrases (“squat thrust” doesn’t often feature on prescribed vocab lists) make for blank looks followed by a stitch, as I am given laps of the pitch for “not following instructions”.

I am also not helped by the initial juvenile hilarity of hearing 40 fairly hefty guys screaming out press-up repetitions in German. Uncontrollable giggles are met with first bemusement, and then laps.

This turns out, incidentally, to be an incredibly effective teaching method (one can see why corporal punishment still has its proponents, although whisper that in Germany) but as a shortcut I stick with an Australian who seems to know what he’s doing, as 6 months without regular exercise come back to haunt me.

When we move onto regular drills, and then a short practice match at the end, the standard becomes more apparent. Düsseldorf are currently top of the 3rd Bundesliga, but while I will make no bones about my own ability – I’m rubbish – I’m able to just about hold my own.

There are clearly, for a city the same size as Sheffield, some extremely good players. Two Dragons have played 2nd division French rugby, another used to play for Treviso, while one more is in the German national setup, yet at the other end there are complete beginners.

While this can lead to mismatches, it also highlights the strength of minority sport’s inclusivity, something which will be tested in the next couple of years as rugby experiences a boom in popularity in Deutschland, with the Dragons experiencing ever increasing membership. However, for the time being, at least, the club certainly has a very different feel to anything I’ve experienced back in the UK.

Nevertheless, what is not lost in translocation from the Home Nations to here is the “team-bonding-through-drunken-and-naked-hi-jinks” which thereby ensues the final whistle, thus wrecking any net gain to fitness from the session. Team initiation consists of stripping half naked and allowing every member present to give you a red hand dipped in Guinness

There are 35 of us there when my turn comes. Even 5 days after this Max Moseley style shake down, the area between my shoulder blades could put any battered hausfrau to shame. But of course the whole experience would be poorer without the ‘Scherzen’ (Banter. Refreshingly underused aswell). After all, you can take rugby out of Britain, but…yeah, you get the picture.