The Rugby Team

Last week, on a Monday – my women’s social organization met up with a group of MBA Rugby players. They were from a London school, but many of them were from a number of countries, including Ireland, Italy, England, and the US. I’m still not entirely sure how we became connected to them, but it was noon on a Monday and I was really not excited to go out for a pub-crawl.

One of my colleagues, someone who was part of a drinking society in college, encouraged me to look up some of the names on the roster we had been sent. I looked up a random smattering of names, and I was just dreading it even more. The men I had randomly looked up appeared to be very young – say early 20s – and not very attractive. Blurry photos, old silly photos – not the types of photos a man would use if he knew a group of women in their 20s would be looking at them.

After a back-and-forth with another girl in The Madison, we decided we would go, but we would be leaving by 10 pm. Not excited, I called an Uber Pool, deciding that being late was not a terrible idea.

--- I was late, almost 30 mintues ---

When I walked into the bar, I was absolutely blown away – every single man I saw dwarfed me, they all looked to be at least 6 feet tall. And handsome. And not too young.

They started calling out the names of who was in each team soon after I walked in. I asked someone how I would find my team – who Alex was – I was led to a very tall Australian in a red jacket with black velvet lapels. He was in fine spirits when I met up with him, everyone who would be on our team was standing around the general area, so I went from person to person, introducing myself to each, hearing a myriad of accents.
I quickly texted my coworker "They're all around 27-30, over 6 feet tall, and gorgeous." I'm not sure she replied, I'm not sure I saw it, there were easily over 40 good looking young men around my age in this bar and I was excited for a night of possibilities. 

One particularly confusing moment, “I’m John,” said a ridiculously handom man “Or Daniel.” He looked up and tried to get someone’s eye, and then looked back at me. “I'm not sure if we’re using actual names or Rugby names. My name is John, but some people might call me Daniel tonight.” Well if that wasn’t the weirdest way to introduce yourself…

I was the only one without a drink, so I went over to the bar, Monday is happy hour all day at a number of bar in DC and white wine was $5. An easy sell. I was able to get myself a glass one wine and went to talk to my girlfriends and a number of the Rugby Boys.

Come 8:30 – we headed for another bar. I ended up leading the way – I’m one of the oldest girls in my friend group and know DC the best, so I marched us up 14^th Street. Our first stop: P14 / or Provision 14. I had pulled up the formal rule of Pub Rugby, letting everyone know the challenge – but did the Rugby boys care about the rules at all? Absolutely not.

They ordered enough long island ice teas for the 15 people in our group: 11 men and 4 women.

I had never tried a long island ice tea before that moment. Like drinking lighter fluid. I had two, maybe three sips before begging a gentleman to take one for the team and help me out.  We move on to the next bar.

But the men don’t want to go to the bar on our Pub Gold listing, then just want to go somewhere on the way to our final destination. So I pull up GoogleMaps, alright we’ll go to this Asian place close by. It’s very cool, they do great cocktails.

We walk to the Asian bar, the door is closed, but not locked. We open the door, we walk in. There is NO ONE there. Literally no one, and a red light above the bar. The place looks like a crime scene. John, also called Daniel, walks out first, another girl refuses to go inside, I take a couple steps and immediately run out – to creeped out to stay. But the men…. Oh the men. They decided to stay – just long enough to take a picture. Not long enough to get in trouble, but still – you gotta get a picture.

So that was a bust. We keep walking and we pass a low-key bar. The boys want to get another quick drink in. I loudly call for tequila shots. Because that’s what I do. That is what I always frickin do – tequila shots. Give me some salt, give me some lime, it should be no surprise to anyone that my sports gel of choice is the salted margarita clif bloks. I like tequila.

So we all raise our shots, wait patiently, for limes, and then salt. Hands salted, lemons (sadly no limes) at the ready, and glasses raised – we drink to… something – but I wasn’t paying close enough to attention and I was 1.5 strong drinks in at this point with another shot about to go down.

As we exit the bar, I extend my umbrella (it was raining earlier) and lead the group of 20 now intoxicated millennials towards Franklin Hall. Alex - the 'Team Captain' shouts "She is a leader! She is fantastic, so professional!" I know he's half taking the piss, but I don't care, I'm going to own it. The only attractive boy on my team has decided he's interested in another girl - so fuck it, I'm gonna have fun now. 

As we entered Franklin Hall, we found the other 35 members of this (very large) rugby team. I almost literally walked into this tall, rather charming and tall Australian, Scotty, who I had spoken to briefly at the first bar about his brief stint on an Australian soap opera. (After some careful research, I’m pretty sure now that he was an extra). He was on another team, so while we ran into him briefly at P14, I did not spend my initial inebriation with him. 

He volunteered to buy my beers, we were all watching the UVA Play Off Basketball game and the bar was LIT. I’m a young millennial, I’m allowed to say that word. The men of the Rugby team are buying all the beers, UVA is killing it on the court and we are having a grand time.

Scotty is very interested in me, and even steals a kiss (I have to rub my lipstick off of him, the deep red was not a good look on him). Finally the Basketball game ends in a Tie – but it’s the playoffs – we can’t end in tie! The game goes into over time, I am a Virginia, I am INTO it. Scotty is loving my enthusiasm, he has he’s arm around me, standing behind me. I’m a little annoyed by how quickly he’s latched onto me, but not enough to stop him. (I have more important things to worry about – UVA could win or lose here in overtime!)

The next 5 (ish) minutes of overtime are excruciating, it comes down to the free throws – and then finally, time is called and UVA has won! The bar explodes – we are in UVA country – we are in the right place and the right time and I am LOVING it. I let Scotty kiss me – fuck the lipstick.

He then kneels down, and I am so confused, until suddenly his head between my knees, and then before I know it, I am sitting on his shoulders – in the middle of this large crowded bar. The bartended immediately yelled at us, I was more than happy to get down, but I was also SO impressed.

Before long, Scotty and I weren’t even being discrete about it. I was a glass of wine, a few sips of a long island, one tequila shot and two beers in and I was so flattered from Scotty’s attention.

We exchanged numbers on WhatsApp and did not part ways until 1 am. The Rugby team all had to go to bed because they had training the next day (sounds fun after a pub crawl), they were just passing through DC – so I came to terms with not seeing Scotty again. We have messaged a bit back and forth – he sent me a stellar picture of him covered in mud after rugby game. But I believe he’s back in London now.

Will I ever see Scotty again? Probably not. But was that an extremely fun night? It certainly was.

And yes, I was definitely hurting at work the next day.