Give blood. Play rugby.

I'm back from my weekend getaway to Elkhart, Indiana. Thankfully, weren't there for sight seeing. We spent most of our time on the rugby battle field screaming at high school boys that look like they moonlight as lumberjacks. Or would that be daylight? Can you chop wood at night? Whatever.

Some of these kids were bigger than any college guys I've seen. I guess this is what they look like before their submission to beer and laziness surpasses their health and determination. Where were these guys when I was in high school?

(Checking the bitterness at the door to continue this post.)

Joe's team played three games. They started off a little shaky. Some of the parents questioned their sobriety the evening before seeing as the team stayed in the same hotel which is basically a breeding ground for bad behavior. They pulled it together the second game, annihilating the team by scoring 40-something points enabling their first shut-out.

Today. Wow. Today was intense. The boys approached the field under a blanket of black clouds. They hoped for rain which would mean mud which would mean really cool dirt smeared all over their faces making them look infinitely more manly. The parents whimpered, Michael leading prayers to the rain gods begging them to hold off until the match ended.

No such luck. An ominous voice in the distance relayed an urgent message forcing everyone off the fields. Frantically, players grabbed jerseys, bags and game faces before locating their loved ones, throwing them over both shoulders and sprinting to the car.

After half an hour of hiding from the storm, Joe and a few of his pals tired of this cowardly behavior, exited their cars and let out a deep howl calling the rest of their team to join them under the black clouds. Time to finish this tournament.

The boys warmed up and joined the referee on the pitch. The Michigan team is a select team made of talented players from different schools and districts that came together like the French, British and Ottomans during the Crimean War. Michigan started the match and quickly made Iowa their bitch as the storm had done to the parents.

Iowa didn't stand a chance. Michigan scored try after try. Sometime in the second half, Iowa started getting cranky and playing dirty. They slipped arms around our boys necks and metal cleats in their faces. The ref, clearly sight-impaired and lacking intelligence, failed to call most of these illegalities.

That's when it started. One of our players went down during a play. Joe called to the ref and the coaches because the kid wasn't standing up. From the sidelines, we stood on our toes wondering if the player was unconscious. Another player sprinted off the pitch toward the sidelines seemingly dazed. We looked over to see blood gushing from his face. Some barbarian with poor sportsmanship punched him square in the eye. Mom started freaking out and screaming for a medic but all attention was still on Passed-out-kid. Like Florence Nightengale, mom sprung into action and hustled around the field to the medic table. I stood on the sidelines wondering what the hell was going on when an ambulance pulled into the left parking lot to pick up an injured kid from another team. Two minutes later, a fire truck pulled into the right parking lot and three medics sprinted onto another field. Mother Nightengale ignored the perplexed teams and parents, ignored the lines on the grass and sprinted across the pitch bobbing and weaving through a mass of lumberjacks. She slid on her knees for two feet landing in front of Busted-face-boy where she cleaned the blood dripping from his face. The rest of the team watched and quietly planned their revenge on the opposing side.

In the end, Passed-out-kid stood up but may have sustained a minor concussion after being rammed in the head while he was standing 90 degrees to the ground. Busted-face-boy needed several stitches. Mother Nightengale proceeded to help the weak and wounded for years to come. And dad waited on the sideline with his Hawaiian straw hat ready to catch any balls gone astray.