T
thelockeroom
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In this edition of ‘Where Are They Now’, former Wasps and Bath mauling specialist and Cambridge University poindexter â€" Martin Purdy, regales us with his latest hi-jinx in NZ and around the world. Well known for his scintillating wit, charm and oral hygene, the blonde bombshell’s yarn should be a great read. Feel free to leave a comment.
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Rugby Player can have a Gap Year too...
Yes I decided that in the middle of my somewhat stalling career, I'd grow a beard, get my hair put in dreadlocks, start wearing tie-dyed clothes, stop washing, and travel round the world in the hope of “finding myself.â€
Well not quite.
For a start I can't grow a beard, and almost as importantly, I hate hippies. I have stopped washing, however.
Anyway, I have done a spot of travelling over the last few months; in fact I have made it all the way round the world. Towards the end of last season I was approached by the living legend that is Craig “keep it down I can't get a word in edgeways†Dowd. He had recently been appointed head of rugby development for Air NZ cup side North Harbour, and told me that their team was in dire need of a specialist scrummaging lock (jumping/ball carrying/handling skills very much optional). Obviously I jumped at the chance after hearing all of Wards yarns about the “mighty†Harbour, and the shenanigans which apparently go on on that side of the world. They provided me with a beautiful shiny new Falcon with sweet racing stripes, and I settled into the bogan way of life.
The pre-season didn't exactly go according to plan, losing all four games. I must say that it wasn't entirely my fault: I hurt my ankle and so missed most of pre-season and the first Air NZ Cup game. My first taste of first grade rugby was against the in-form Wellington, at the Stadium of Echoes (aka North Harbour Stadium). We managed to boldly pluck defeat from the jaws of victory, but came the closest anyone did to beating them until the final. A little more confident, we proceeded to beat Tony Hanks' (ex Wasps video guy) Waikato, and the dead-last Manawatu, but alas, it all came rather unstuck after that, and we failed to win another game until the last against Counties. In fact we ended up 12th from 14, which, depending on how you look at it, could well be the worst that Harbour has ever placed in the league! Northland placed ahead of us, to the smug delight of such former Harbour players as Marty Veale, Tony Cogland and Blair Urlich, who had all transferred north. Oh well.
Off-field, Harbour was a little quieter than I had expected from Ward and Veale's (no doubt hugely exaggerated) yarns, but I still managed to find a couple of drinking buddies, and living only crawling distance from such establishments as R'totos and Copper Room meant that I had a reasonable time!
Unfortunately, I hadn't had all that much spare time to “find myself†during the season so I had planned an extensive trip around Middle Earth. I managed to make it to the Coromandel for one weekend before being told I needed to be on the next flight to Italy: my agent had apparently got me a job playing for Padova, near Venice. On the day of the flight I got a phone call saying: “Um, you remember that contract in Italy? Yeah, well, um, they don't want you any more.†I didn't panic, just thought that it would give me some extra time to “find myself†in LA; I could only change the second leg of the flight at such short notice.
After a couple of weeks of playing on the rings, failing to learn how to surf, and doing weights outside at Venice Beach, I eventually checked my emails to discover that another Italian club had a second row (also a specialist scrummager, by complete coincidence) who had been caught taking steroids and banned for two years. I had to, once more, get on the next plane to Italy... specifically Parma! I packed up my stuff, bought a “learn Italian in three months†book, along with “Playing for Pizza†by John Grisham, which is a book about an NFL player who goes to play in Parma, and got on the plane.
In the same vein as our little furry friend Nick Adams, I could only speculate as to how the training regime would compare to that of Wasps. The weights room at the training ground is roughly the same size as changing-room C at Twyford Avenue. It reminds me very much of the weights room at Grange Road in Cambridge, where they have tried to squeeze a gym beneath the old wooded stand, except at Cambridge you'd only have a couple of people in at a time. Here we all go in at the same time! I have already been hit on the head and leg three times by people lifting too close to each other (apparently you get more adept at dodging barbells). That being said, the fitness trainer does a good job with what he has, and the guys are all in good shape. The training sessions out on the field are predictably long, and with all the fiery arguments you might expect from a group of red-blooded Italians, but with less full-scale biffo than I was expecting/hoping for. That is certainly something I missed when I was at Bath and also Harbour: the opportunity to try to injure my mates, or more likely myself, in training!
Thankfully we have won our two games since I arrived here. I have a feeling that if we hadn't then I may have been cut instantly and sent packing! But we have climbed from lowly 9th out of 10, to the giddy heights of equal 7th (8th on points difference). Ergo I am the self-proclaimed saviour of Parma! Life here is good â€" I am furiously trying to learn Italian, the boys are good value, (even if I can't understand much of what they are saying) and they play a charming game in the changing rooms whereupon you try to slap another (unsuspecting, and hopefully off-guard) man's bare bottom, and if you succeed exclaim “Weeeeee!†The town is beautiful, as is the food. They've provided me with a car as well: a little Peugeot 207 diesel. Probably the exact polar opposite of the Falcon, but a trifle more suited to parking in crowded Italian streets!
I'll say ciao a tutti now; I'm off to Milan for a little party I've been invited to by a couple of the Italians. Could be either a belter, or I might be stood there for several hours not being able to talk to anyone... such are the chances we take in life!
I think I've “found myself†for now, until the end of the season comes round and I have to decide what I'm really going to do with my life. Who knows? I may find myself back in London for one reason or another before too long.
Until then, arrivederci, alla prossima volta!
For more stories, videos and other rugby related stuff go to:
www.insidethelockeroom.com
Visit My Website
Rugby Player can have a Gap Year too...
Yes I decided that in the middle of my somewhat stalling career, I'd grow a beard, get my hair put in dreadlocks, start wearing tie-dyed clothes, stop washing, and travel round the world in the hope of “finding myself.â€
Well not quite.
For a start I can't grow a beard, and almost as importantly, I hate hippies. I have stopped washing, however.
Anyway, I have done a spot of travelling over the last few months; in fact I have made it all the way round the world. Towards the end of last season I was approached by the living legend that is Craig “keep it down I can't get a word in edgeways†Dowd. He had recently been appointed head of rugby development for Air NZ cup side North Harbour, and told me that their team was in dire need of a specialist scrummaging lock (jumping/ball carrying/handling skills very much optional). Obviously I jumped at the chance after hearing all of Wards yarns about the “mighty†Harbour, and the shenanigans which apparently go on on that side of the world. They provided me with a beautiful shiny new Falcon with sweet racing stripes, and I settled into the bogan way of life.
The pre-season didn't exactly go according to plan, losing all four games. I must say that it wasn't entirely my fault: I hurt my ankle and so missed most of pre-season and the first Air NZ Cup game. My first taste of first grade rugby was against the in-form Wellington, at the Stadium of Echoes (aka North Harbour Stadium). We managed to boldly pluck defeat from the jaws of victory, but came the closest anyone did to beating them until the final. A little more confident, we proceeded to beat Tony Hanks' (ex Wasps video guy) Waikato, and the dead-last Manawatu, but alas, it all came rather unstuck after that, and we failed to win another game until the last against Counties. In fact we ended up 12th from 14, which, depending on how you look at it, could well be the worst that Harbour has ever placed in the league! Northland placed ahead of us, to the smug delight of such former Harbour players as Marty Veale, Tony Cogland and Blair Urlich, who had all transferred north. Oh well.
Off-field, Harbour was a little quieter than I had expected from Ward and Veale's (no doubt hugely exaggerated) yarns, but I still managed to find a couple of drinking buddies, and living only crawling distance from such establishments as R'totos and Copper Room meant that I had a reasonable time!
Unfortunately, I hadn't had all that much spare time to “find myself†during the season so I had planned an extensive trip around Middle Earth. I managed to make it to the Coromandel for one weekend before being told I needed to be on the next flight to Italy: my agent had apparently got me a job playing for Padova, near Venice. On the day of the flight I got a phone call saying: “Um, you remember that contract in Italy? Yeah, well, um, they don't want you any more.†I didn't panic, just thought that it would give me some extra time to “find myself†in LA; I could only change the second leg of the flight at such short notice.
After a couple of weeks of playing on the rings, failing to learn how to surf, and doing weights outside at Venice Beach, I eventually checked my emails to discover that another Italian club had a second row (also a specialist scrummager, by complete coincidence) who had been caught taking steroids and banned for two years. I had to, once more, get on the next plane to Italy... specifically Parma! I packed up my stuff, bought a “learn Italian in three months†book, along with “Playing for Pizza†by John Grisham, which is a book about an NFL player who goes to play in Parma, and got on the plane.
In the same vein as our little furry friend Nick Adams, I could only speculate as to how the training regime would compare to that of Wasps. The weights room at the training ground is roughly the same size as changing-room C at Twyford Avenue. It reminds me very much of the weights room at Grange Road in Cambridge, where they have tried to squeeze a gym beneath the old wooded stand, except at Cambridge you'd only have a couple of people in at a time. Here we all go in at the same time! I have already been hit on the head and leg three times by people lifting too close to each other (apparently you get more adept at dodging barbells). That being said, the fitness trainer does a good job with what he has, and the guys are all in good shape. The training sessions out on the field are predictably long, and with all the fiery arguments you might expect from a group of red-blooded Italians, but with less full-scale biffo than I was expecting/hoping for. That is certainly something I missed when I was at Bath and also Harbour: the opportunity to try to injure my mates, or more likely myself, in training!
Thankfully we have won our two games since I arrived here. I have a feeling that if we hadn't then I may have been cut instantly and sent packing! But we have climbed from lowly 9th out of 10, to the giddy heights of equal 7th (8th on points difference). Ergo I am the self-proclaimed saviour of Parma! Life here is good â€" I am furiously trying to learn Italian, the boys are good value, (even if I can't understand much of what they are saying) and they play a charming game in the changing rooms whereupon you try to slap another (unsuspecting, and hopefully off-guard) man's bare bottom, and if you succeed exclaim “Weeeeee!†The town is beautiful, as is the food. They've provided me with a car as well: a little Peugeot 207 diesel. Probably the exact polar opposite of the Falcon, but a trifle more suited to parking in crowded Italian streets!
I'll say ciao a tutti now; I'm off to Milan for a little party I've been invited to by a couple of the Italians. Could be either a belter, or I might be stood there for several hours not being able to talk to anyone... such are the chances we take in life!
I think I've “found myself†for now, until the end of the season comes round and I have to decide what I'm really going to do with my life. Who knows? I may find myself back in London for one reason or another before too long.
Until then, arrivederci, alla prossima volta!
For more stories, videos and other rugby related stuff go to:
www.insidethelockeroom.com
