Page 3 of A Different Kind of Hooker

When I came across a recipe for sugar cookies, I decided that sugar cookies were going to be my next adventure. I could decorate them in red, white, and blue, and then maybe say something kind about the Memorial Day holiday.

Satisfied with my choice, I went back to eating my lunch before heading back to work.

Chapter 2

Good Times.

Heron~

The Rapiers were in the Pacific Northwest Division and were in first place right now. Only four out of the twelve teams made it to the playoffs, the last man standing winning the American Championship Shield. The Rugby World Cup was another animal altogether, and that happened every four years with countries all over the world participating. It wasn’t as insane as soccer, but it was close.

Glancing around the stadium, kickoff was about to start, and everyone was in their assigned positions. Like soccer, our jersey numbers were based off the positions that we played. There were fifteen players on each team, and I was a hooker, wearing the number two jersey. A loosehead wore the number one, a tighthead wore the number three, locks wore the numbers four and five, a blindside flanker wore the number six, an openside flanker wore the number seven, a scrum wore the number eight while a scrum-half wore the number nine. A fly-half wore the number ten, an inside center wore the number twelve, an outside center wore the number thirteen, wingers wore the numbers eleven and fourteen, and the full-back wore the number fifteen. I could go on and explain what each position did, but that would take fucking forever.

As for me and my position as hooker, hookers were always positioned in the middle of the front row. Hookers were responsible for winning possession of the ball, throwing the ball during a line-out, tackling, working at the breakdown, and even poaching possessions. With fifteen players on each team, it wasn’t always easy to follow the sport, its players, or the positions. There was also the terminology that you needed to get used to if you didn’t watch rugby regularly in the US. Europeans had a better time of it since rugby was an older sport to them, but in the US, it sounded a lot like gibberish when talking about the ins and outs of the game.

Now, while I was positioned in the front row, Sean was a few rows back, almost in the center of the field as the fly-half. His position was regarded as the playmaker of a rugby team and was often the first receiver during an attack, and you needed good passing range in that spot. Though all the positions in rugby were physically taxing, Sean was a force to be reckoned with when he was wearing that number ten jersey. Now, if he could just get any one of his kids to like rugby over basketball, he’d be a happy man. Well, happier than he already was.

The stadium got louder as the refs made their way onto the field. Any athlete could tell you that there was nothing quite like having thousands of fans cheering for you. Playing without any fans might as well be a random practice on a Tuesday, and I was grateful enough that the US had enough rugby fans to make this all worthwhile. I was also grateful that the fire station had been willing to do without me for a few months out of the year.

Listening to the crowd come to life, I could remember the first time that I’d ever seen a rugby match while I’d been in high school. Like most teenage guys, I’d been into sports, but it’d been the basics; football, baseball, basketball, etc. Rugby hadn’t ever been on that list until a new kid had come over from England and had spoken about playing rugby overseas. He had spoken about it with enough passion to make me curious. Luckily, we’d been in several classes together, and when rugby season had begun, he had invited me to watch a match at his place, and I’d been following rugby ever since.

When Paulo Foci had gone on to live his life elsewhere after graduating high school, we had still managed to stay in touch. For all that social media was a toxic sonofabitch, there was no denying that it helped you keep in touch with friends, old and new. You were able to get a glimpse into their lives with no effort, and it really was the lazy man’s answer to maintaining friendships and social interaction. Nowadays, Paulo was a chemical engineer, and he worked for some outfit out of Geneva.

Eighty minutes and some change later, the Rapiers were celebrating another win, and I didn’t have to look to know that it was Sean that had just jumped on my back, despite being taller than me.

“Whoohoo!” he hollered. “Another win!”

I grinned. “Get off me, you fuck.”

Everyone was congratulating each other, but only Sean got over-enthusiastic when we won. It was like the man lived every second as if it might be his last. Every day was Thanksgiving for Sean, and his generous spirit was actually pretty infectious.

“Awe, don’t be a sore sport just because you’re going home alone,” he joked, jumping down, then slapping me on the back.

“Jokes on you,” I snorted. “I actually like going home alone.”

“That’s just sad, man,” he grinned.

Christian Alonzo saddled up to my left side. “Let Rian go home to his perfect life,” he said. “You can come with me and Muskrat to Veronica’s.”

Veronica’s was a sports bar that catered to us whenever we played at home. Again, we weren’t as famous as most other public athletes, but rugby was followed in this town, so we were local celebrities if nothing else.

As we started making our way off the field, I said, “The last time that we ended up at Veronica’s, we nearly got thrown out because of you. Or did we forget?”

Christian grinned. “Hey, how was I supposed to know that chick was married?”

I shook my head. “The wedding ring is usually a dead giveaway.”

“Only when they’re wearing it,” he sing-songed.

“Christ, I’m glad my single days are over,” Sean laughed. “That shit’s brutal.”

“Only if you make them promises,” Christian retorted. “I know better.”

“What’s going on?” We all turned as Brent Muskrat joined us. “You guys ready to celebrate?”

“Sean’s going home like the pussy-whipped fuck he is,” Christian answered as Sean said, “I sure the fuck am.”

“What about you, Treyton?”

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