What does not kill me only makes me stronger.
This is true for bones and joints, right?
We lost Saturday. The sandy ground took out five of our guys' knees/ankles in the first twenty minutes. Everything after the game was great though. The social was crazy. Everyone in Miami knows how to party. Our scrum-half was hoisted over the shoulder of a lesbian and squatted a dozen times. They use golf balls instead of quarters for down-in-ones, and one of our backs got the drop on one of the regional directors of rugby--an older, refined-looked guy who more or less runs the show. Despite being engaged in what looked to be a serious conversation, he glared at our guy, smiled and downed the glass of beer as fast as a 70-year-old could. After all, that's what rugby is all about. A group of men getting together to share their vices. What better example of this than the head coach of the miami team offering me some high-grade blow. What a great city.
Good picture of the scrum. I'm on the far right in the scrum cap. That is the face you make when you're pushing off two twisted ankles. Also, if you look closely, our scrum-half is doing a dead-on Freddie Mercury impression.