I was 13 and my school, despite spending only one P.E. lesson on rugby, somehow ended up at an inter-school competition. It was a ******* nightmare, we had no idea what we were doing and our teacher had no knowledge at all about the sport. Fortunately there was no set-pieces because positions were giving to us entirely at random. I was incredibly scrawny and all the posh schools had absolute behemoths. Bumped off tackles repeatedly and smashed any time I got the ball, it looked a bit like the video of Abendanon vs the Tuilagis. At one point I gave chase to one of their players who had broken through, running at full tilt I noticed out of the corner of my eye their biggest lad passing me by. This fucker looked like Kieran Brookes at his worst and he just burned me. Basically I had all the size and strength of George Ford with the speed and grace of Dan Cole.
I realised at that point it was time to hang up the boots and, after a long conversation in which he begged me to change my mind, Sir Clive reluctantly accepted my decision. It's funny now but I genuinely did completely lose interest in the sport for a couple of years after that day. If it wasn't for Jonny's heroics down-under I might not be here today watching Tigers get spanked 43 nil by Glasgow at Welford Road...Ahhh ****.