the guy got Monkey Steals the Peached by a **** spiked boot in the middle of a rugby game. Displaying what can only be the utter, literal definition of balls-out, Shelford amazingly didn’t even seem to give a shit about a wound that would have brought even a berserking Viking warrior to his knees in agony. Bleeding badly, missing a ball from his goodie sack, and in what could only have been excruciating pain in both his face and groin, Shelford didn’t roll around on the turf crying like some kind of professional soccer flopper punk. He didn’t get carted off to the hospital in an ambulance for emergency surgery. He didn’t even go to the locker room strapped to the back of one of those little golf cart thingies. This psychotic madman got up, walked off the pitch holding his balls back in place, stood on the sidelines, and waited patiently while the team doc stitched up his nutsack on international television. Without anesthesia. With a cameraman right in his face, taping the entire gruesome procedure.
My grandad was born in 1915 andhe was sports mad. So pre nhs and that (as an aside he reckoned the NHS was the best thing the UK ever did in his101 yeas on thisearth)
During a game of football his leg was broken, like fully snappy broken. So they stretchered him off the pitch.
Just off the pitch.
So he watches the rest of the match including a half time before someone deve him to the hospital.
You don’t have to go that far back to see some proper shenanigans before it got all handbags. Surely one of the highlights of the Premier League era is Roy Keane and Patrick Viera kicking ****ing lumps out of each other? All the refs knew the score and just let them get on with it
Keano didn’t even wait until he got on the pitch. Look at his eyes, the mad bastard! Oh that we had a player like that now. The ultimate Midfield General. I bloody love Roy Keane!…
A couple of excerpts from Bobby Windsor’s autobiography.
I remember one game, I had a black eye by half-time. So, I said to Charlie, when we go down in the next scrum I am going to kick that bloke in the mush. So I just booted Esteve as hard as I could in the chops and there was this big punch up. Then, as he was walking back, he just winked at me. I thought to myself ‘I am in for it now’.
There was another game where one of their props was coming across in the scrum and having a nibble of my ear. I said to our loosehead Glyn Shaw to let him have one, which he did. The trouble is when Glyn hit him, the bloke shut his jaw and my ear was in there! I ended up with 16 stitches.
Another one… Duncan Ferguson. What a legend. They were doing a retrospective of his career on Sky Sports and some of the challenges? Sweet baby Jesus and the orphans! They’d all have been straight reds today. Rarely even got a card back then.
The irony of it is that everyone says that ‘Hunky Dunky’ (as Mrs Binners refers to him) is a lovely bloke – an absolute gentleman – but once he crossed the white line he was a ****ing animal
If everyone is being honest they’d kill for players like Fergerson or Keane on your team, because it only are they devastatingly effective but if anyone else is giving less than 110% they’re getting down the banks
Like Billy Bremner he was from Stirling maybe not Raploch.
Big Dunc’ was from the other side of town – the St Ninians / Bannockburn end on Glasgow Rd. Went to Bannockburn High School while Billy Bremner went to St Modans – which was also up that end of town until the 2000s.
David Goodwillie is also from Stirling – and played for Carse Thistle, like Billy Bremner – but we won’t go there.
There was another game where one of their props was coming across in the scrum and having a nibble of my ear. I said to our loosehead Glyn Shaw to let him have one, which he did. The trouble is when Glyn hit him, the bloke shut his jaw and my ear was in there! I ended up with 16 stitches.
It’s an old joke that rugby players eat their dead, that’s obviously an aperitif…
My step-dad was a high school teacher in Gainsborough (poor bugger) and he used to tell the story of hosting an All Blacks prop to come and talk to the kids about being a rugby player (pre-professional days of course 😉 ).
In front of the kids he says “What’s the best thing you’ve learnt from being an international rugby player?”
“How to break a nose with a six-inch punch.”
Probably not something he needed the kids to hear.
The irony of it is that everyone says that ‘Hunky Dunky’ (as Mrs Binners refers to him) is a lovely bloke – an absolute gentleman
There are plenty of stories that suggest otherwise. There’s no magic effect that turns someone into a nutter when they hit the pitch, they bring that on with them.