Peter Steward's Weekly Blog

Interested to see that coverage of my story on the medical crisis in Hethersett in the Eastern Daily
Press newspaper was next to an article showing what the Winter Gardens in Great Yarmouth could
look like in the future. So two of my interests that I have covered in recent blogs right next to each
other.
I got plenty of feedback and comments from my blogs and newspaper articles on lack of services to
support the building boom. It seems we are anything but alone. I received comments from Canada,
Australia and the USA in a similar vein. Too much development and not enough facilities to go with it.
I cannot understand how any Government can just blindly go forward with building projects without
any thought whatsoever to what the consequences will be for local facilities. But enough of that. I'm
sure it's a topic that I will write about numerous times in the coming months and years.
So let's have a sporting theme for today. I will ignore the Olympic Games which are due to start today
and which probably shouldn't be going ahead at all and dredge up some rugby memories.
Rugby is a bit of a hot topic at the moment with all the repercussions (or should that be concussions?)
on the subject of head injuries in the sport. It really doesn't take a genius to see that continually
pounding head-first into people in search of a strange shaped ball is going to cause damage over a
period of time. After all you wouldn't bash your head against a brick wall (although I often feel I am so
doing).
Next thing we know somebody will be coming out with the revelation that boxing can be dangerous!!!!
My rugby memories are partly prompted by the Rugby League Challenge Cup Final at the weekend
which saw St Helens beat Castleford. Now for most of my life Yorkshire (Castleford) and Lancashire
(St Helens) and rugby league were all foreign countries to me. They might well have been Outer
Mongolia.
Then fate took a hand. I met and married somebody from Yorkshire (incidentally tomorrow is out 45th
wedding anniversary) who happened to be a fan of Featherstone Rovers, who I had never heard of.
One of my brother-in-laws was a Castleford (known locally as Cass) fan and another supported
Wakefield Trinity (known locally as Trinity). I have no idea what nickname Featherstone Rovers had
unless it was "The Thugs." I was introduced to the delights of Post Office Road where "The Thugs"
played. It's a relatively small ground tucked away amongst backstreet housing in industrial West
Yorkshire.
I went on a number of occasions but only for the violence. No this wasn't football or rugby hooligan
violence on the terraces. The fans were very well behaved. The violence was on the pitch. You could
guarantee that at some time during the 80 minute match there would be a punch-up. I heard a story
that one particular Featherstone player worked down the coal pit in the morning, played rugby league
in the afternoon and got arrested for GBH and affray in the evening. No idea whether there was any
truth in that. Another legend surrounded the exceedingly obese Featherstone supporter who was so
fat that he took up three seats in the stands and they had to open the large double doors to get him in
because he would have got stuck in the turnstiles. Again no idea whether it was true.
Anyway I always came away from a match left feeling disappointed if there wasn't at least one punch-
up and I was rarely disappointed. Today rugby league is a much more cultured game. Ok a few livers
do get ripped out in your usual match but apart from that it's all pretty sporting.
Mind you rugby league does provide one of the greatest sporting gaffs of all time. You can view this
on You Tube if you have a mind to do so. Who would have thought back in 1968 that one day this
horrendous miss would be available to everyone at a touch of a button?
To set the scene. Don Fox was playing for Wakefield (known as Trinity as I've already mentioned)
against Leeds. It was the last minute and Wakefield scored a try underneath the posts giving Fox the
chance of the easiest conversion kick possible to win the match. Slap bang right in front of the posts.
The kind of kick he had taken probably hundreds of times before without even thinking about it. Fox
just needed to pop the ball in between the posts and over the crossbar for Trinity to win the cup.
Somehow a grey mist must have descended as he screwed the ball horribly wide. All legendary
commentator Eddie Waring could say was "poor lad." Ironically before taking the kick Fox had been
named man of the match. Again I have no idea whether that changed with what became the miss of
the century. Funny how stress and pressure can affect even the best.
I played my fair share of rugby at grammar school. Enjoyed it at first but then went off it when
everyone else seemed to grow and I didn't. That meant I was always chosen to play hooker and that
to the uninitiated is the poor s-d in the front row of the scrum. On most occasions the scrum would
collapse and guess who ended up on the bottom with a load of heavy sweating males on top (not a
nice thing I can assure you).
We used to play Rugby Union and not League. There is a considerable difference. Union was a posh
game and league was for them heathens from up north. Rugby Union is also 15-a-side and League
13-a-side. Rugby Union continually has scrums (although not as many now as in the past) whilst
League have that silly little thing of passing the ball backwards to a teammate with your feet whilst
being jostled by the opposition. Union players used to be and still are super fit whilst League players
played better with about 10 pints inside them (although to be fair they are now very professional and
also super fit).
At school we played on a pitch on Cow Tower on Norwich's waterside and close to the ancient
monument of (yes you've guessed it Cow Tower). The edge of the pitch was close to the river so we
were banned from kicking the ball as it would inevitably end up in the water. This seemed ludicrous
because Rugby Union has always been known as the kicking game with teams gaining territory by
hoisting the ball high into the air or kicking for touch. This again has been cut down on in recent times.
Occasionally we would kick the ball into the river and then apologise to the master taking us for
forgetting the no kicking rule. As kicking was an integral part of the game, he could scarcely discipline
us. It did mean we got a breather as we had to wait for rowers or a boat to pass to hurl the ball back to
us. The master never had two balls (sorry about that schoolboy joke). So I would suggest that he was
quite happy to see the ball go in the river and have a break himself.
The Cow Tower pitches are now part of the riverside walk and no longer used for sport. I no longer
play rugby, haven't been to a rugby league match for decades but still watch Union on television. So I
must still have a little enthusiasm for it.

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Interested to see that coverage of my story on the medical crisis in Hethersett in the Eastern Daily

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