The long weekend of May 2010 (not so long for some) will go down in many people’s memory for the sacrilegious bombing of McDonalds. But for a select few rogues, recollections of singing, dancing (of the watching variety) and cubes will be the dominant images stuck in their minds. But when a tour starts off with Uzbeki and Lithuanian prostitutes being lulled in with bad chat at 6am, you know it is going to be fun.
It was always going to be an emotional affair with 4 boys putting in their last performances for the club. But as always in Southerners rugby, new faces were also appearing; unfortunately French, but desperate times and all that. Also being the friendly welcoming bunch of guys that we are we even picked up ourselves some foreign on-loan signings. Thank you Nigel, Ali and Ahmed!
The tournament itself was completely fixed against us and Saturday was a lot tougher than anticipated. The only reason I can think of is payback for Sod forgetting to bring his team along. So a win, a draw and a loss was not exactly the game plan. The highlights reel of the day would have been short and mostly filled with Munny falling over himself and intercepted passes. Although no names will be mentioned, that said Au revoir to our target of smashing every team that dared come near us. With playtime over we put our game faces on and headed to the pool.
The Hoo was by his standards very well behaved, so Brad stepped up to take on the role of ‘wasted, can’t take his piss Aussie’. The aforementioned Frenchy also showed off his rebellious ancestry by showing no respect for hierarchy or tradition, but was fully abused as beer bitch and got to practise his Thai toilet stance. The mood of the team was also greatly improved by the addition of cans, great big 50% extra free sized cans. Piss was drunk, national anthems were sung and no toilet visits were made – success all round. So on to Walking Street.
Things get vague from there. I remember shots (rooky BB very expensive shots), puppy dog boyfriend expressions (get a job), 4 way wrestling with commentary (but no spanking), Pattaya’s first Russian/Welsh window dancers and push-ups. Were there any lessons learnt from the night? Well the Special Forces live by their motto “leave no man behind”, but we don’t, Zorba.
Saturday had cost us several lower tier players through broken toes, fingers and ‘fankles’ but the team was still obviously awesome. We then showed our northern hemisphere foundations and dazzled the crowd with spectacular rugby under heavy Thai rain. Semi’s were reached, bodies were put on the line, Sod visited the nurses tent for the 13th time that weekend, but our tournament was over with no silverware. What to do at this point? Ignore the rest of the rugby and head to the pool for some piss.
Khao San road was our next destination and the roof top bar saw some of its finest Southerners drinking games and singing for a long time. Victims got pulled in, more push ups were administered and cubes got ejaculated all over the deck.
At this point I had to leave as it was not, as previously mentioned, a long weekend for all (although some muscled up and did the “dodgy thai food” work phone call of shame). So to find out the rest of what happened on that fateful night you’ll have to ask one of the lucky few who persisted.
Tobias “knock on” Eveleigh