Not such a super injunction

As a footy fan, I know I shouldn’t be bothered by it. This is a story for the other half to whinge about from behind her glossy magazine. He has been a fantastic servant to British football, defying all rules of physics to play for 20 seasons in the fastest and toughest league in the world. Yet I am; in fact it makes my blood boil.

            It is not the affair part. Though terrible that it is, they are two-a-penny in the Premier League these days and I am slightly ashamed to say my moral senses have been somewhat deadened to them. Indeed, I have returned to viewing Crouch as a freak and not just a love rat, and no longer is Robin Van Persie an accused rapist in my eyes. (I’ll admit Wayne Rooney and Ashley Cole haven’t yet been forgiven, but a granny hooker and cheating on Cheryl is just idiotic.)

            No, it is the deceit, the cowardice and his defiance to mug us all off that has ruffled my feathers. It is rumoured that his teammates advised him to save what little reputation he could by confessing, but it is too late. Tonight it is **** ***** (can we type it yet?) with egg all over his face.

            What a farce it was. In the end Giggs has been made a mockery of by Twitter, blogs, MPs, even the Scottish – in fact, just about everyone in Britain’s biggest game of Chinese whispers.

            There are a few specific aspects of the injunction that I take objection to. Primarily, it is that Giggs has used the media to build a personal empire worth £25 million over his 20 years in football; he can’t just shoot the messenger now the story line doesn’t suit him. Does this episode ring a bell?: “And your 2009 Sports Personality Lifetime Achievement Award award goes to… actually he can’t be named for legal reasons.” No, me neither. Nor did I see his face blurred out on Reebok posters.

            He has built a brand image (and fortune) not only based on his silky skills, but also his clean cut, family man persona. Now that this lies in tatters, taming the media beast isn’t an option. Fans and parents of impressionable children have the right to know what they are buying into.

            Secondly, whilst he has gutlessly hidden behind anonymity, teary Imogen Thomas has been the face of the saga. Although Imogen is far from angelic, she has attracted sympathy as a representation of much of what is wrong with injunctions. Whilst rich and powerful (not to mention married) men can buy their soul back from the devil, those less fortunate are hung out to dry, bearing the brunt as the sole perpetrator in the case.

            If you’re (understandably) finding it tough to spare a thought for Imogen in these long library days, it would take a heart as cold as ice to ignore the trauma Giggs’ wife must be going through. She had to endure the cruelty and humiliation of fans tormenting her on Saturday, as her husband continued to run around with all the delusion of a headless chicken.

            Sceptics naturally point to the vested interests the media have in reporting the scandal. Although I don’t envy innocent celebs who are subjected to a distorted celebrity culture that preys on their private lives, if he was so keen to avoid the circus, perhaps jumping into bed with a glamour model who shot to fame from a reality TV series wasn’t the smartest idea, eh, Giggs?

            Finally, I suggest the majority are less than impressed to see Giggs f*ck up and then order us to shut up. Freedom of expression is our basic human right and we will use it between friends, on Twitter and on blogs if we so wish. Today it is just another WAGs affair, but the precedence is set. Large and worrying strides have been made towards George Orwell’s 1984 dystopia. Although Fleet Street’s hands have been tied, it will take more to constrain the Internet's might. 

In Search of 'Castle Rugby'

Before every game and during every half time we would form a huddle, as is customary to do on the rugby field. And I have to say, in every huddle there would be confusion. Tactics would be vague and weren’t helped by the abundance of swear words. Certain players were notable for contradicting previous inputs of ‘wisdom.’ It’s uncanny the number of times ‘We aren’t committing enough players to the rucks’ would be followed by, ‘We are over-committing to the rucks!’

            Invariably there would be two phrases that would sum up our team talks. ‘For the ******* badge, boys!’ showed our immense pride in pulling on those cardinal shirts, but the second remains somewhat ambiguous: ‘Let’s play Castle rugby, boys!’ I think it was supposed to mean the forwards boss the game, before our flair backs are given the space to play expansive, running rugby and finish off in the corner. Unfortunately, ‘white line fever’ often plagued our forwards, most notably Jack Pile, winner of the ‘Props’ Pot’ for 3 consecutive years.

            The traditional season opener against Hatfield ‘Freshers XV’ was always a tense affair. A draw and a narrow loss in first and second year respectively were respectable results for Castle, considering the small army of yellow and blue that would greet us at the end of our undoubtedly bleary eyed trudge down to MC. But the boys were elated to go a step further, finally hoisting the flag this year after a stunning display of ‘Castle rugby’ (whatever that may be).

            This fine performance was surpassed only by our first year run to the semi-finals of the Floodlit Cup, beating several premiership teams en route. There we met Grey, or more specifically, their colossal full back. Though then captain, Andy Ball’s magical side step cut him down to size. We put in a performance that we were immensely proud of in front of a sold out (almost) crowd, but fell just short.

            Off the field, Castle continued to thrive in the Undie. ‘Initial socials’ were always conducted in good humour, with boathouse traumas and wardrobe malfunctions soon forgotten. The team took their flair brand of ‘Castle rugby’ to Prague in the spring of 2009, though it was in the bars that the majority of the action happened. Debbie Dumpling holds a special place in many of the boy’s hearts. Her impressive magic trick of vanishing a fully grown rugby player under her (naked) body will not be forgotten by anyone present, particularly by me – I was the poor soul that was vanished!

            Thanks must go out to ’10-‘11 team captain, Alex Ritchie, and club captain, Sean Sarafilovic for doing an exemplary job. It is a testament to the club that we attract players of all kinds, from Korean first timers to Durham County U20’s players. Win, lose or draw, our beloved Undie will always unite the squad for a drink or several. After all is said and done, I think this is what ‘Castle rugby’ is all about - long may it continue.

Floreat Castellum,

Thomas Clarke