Happy Easter all. I hope you all remembered the Aeroguard and ‘adagoodweekend’.
Welcome to Episode 5 of the Chewsday Chew. The purpose herein is not to write something overly sagacious, complicated or mesmerising, but rather to pose a simple observation, question or proposition and let the good readers of this esteemed site share their opinions thereafter. Call it the lazy man’s attempt to fill a void by poking our collective bear of rugby knowledge to share their reflections and lift the average beyond the humdrum.
This week, I reflected on the things I see everyday. I live in the Blue Mountains to the west of Sydney. Up the top where I live (call it the Lawson to Mount Victoria locale) it tends to be a tourist sort of area. And with the borders being more generally open now, the roving budget-travellers in their ubiquitous ‘van life’ buses are returning in solid numbers. Plus, there are a lot of … well … I’ll call them ‘Alternative Lifestylists’ that live up here year ’round as well. Between the van-lifers and the local weirdos, we get to see any number of … different … approaches to the more mundane aspects of life. And one of those differences are the haircuts.
Now far be it for me to criticise. In my history of conflicted fashion (thankfully pre-social media) I committed my fair share of “My God, what were you thinking?” fashion felonies as well. Even I can see that. And in terms of the crowning glories, at one stage there I was even flouting a Vanilla Ice-esque flat-top of grotesque proportions. I mean, I look back at the few still-existing polaroids of that cranial crime and alternate between hysterical giggling and serious self-loathing. But such are the decisions the vain and wicked make I guess.
And it got me to thinking about what sort of follicle atrocities have we seen on the rugby field? And perhaps not even crimes against the viewing public, but also what sort of coiffured artworks have been displayed for our viewing pleasure down the years?
I for one still look at Radike Samo with avid wonder and awe about how could a man with so much self-inflicted wind resistance still run so magnificently, and at the same time I look at The Joe Marler Experience with a giggle and a sigh.
So c’mon one and c’mon all. Delve into the attic of memories, find a pic and share your recollections of rugby players coiffures that have stuck in your brains likely longer than any fleeting ability they may of had, ever did.