It’s with great pleasure following a little persuasion by Mr Cameron Doster that I report on The Black Army. Albeit based on a brief period, it’s been highly entertaining. Enjoy.
My sweltering hot debut at home to Ynysybwl feels like an eternity ago and given the current state of the Cefn Mabely pitch, it’s hard to comprehend that it’s still the same season.
Having played against The Black Army in the 2010-11 season, it amazed me how a team could play such expansive rugby on a postage stamp-sized pitch. I vividly recall Ian Worgan influencing the game from full-back and it occurred to me that he was somewhat of a crowd favourite. The home team ran out 26-10 winners and I trudged back to ‘Posh Penarth’ with the heckles of “Come on, Jonny!” from the can-wielding supporters still ringing in my ears.
Influenced by the one and only Guy Griffiths, I was drawn down the M4 to Llantrisant with the promise of proper rugby, good training sessions and one hell of a laugh with a bunch of beauties. The initial half an hour of my first session provided all this and some and I was registered as a new player thanks to the able work of team manager, Jason Alford. My first exchange with the man they call Bap was utterly glorious,
“Alright Gar, I’m Jase – Team Manager. What the fuck are you doing up ‘ere then?”
Now I’ve got to know him, it’s just a classic Alfism and he’s full of them on match-days as he potters about trying to ease the tensions of game days. For an hour and a half on a Saturday afternoon, Alf finds himself in a position of authority and his officious, professional demeanour takes over. With flag in hand, Jason Alford is one of the finest linesmen around, but for a minor blip when Llantrisant played host to Bedlinog. There was an added edge to the game due to the 2nd team fixture against Senghenydd being forfeited. The members of One Team One Dream watched the first XV triumph 14-6; however, the day will be forever remembered for one of the finest one-liners ever delivered.
The Bedlinog right winger was having a bit of an off day and the unforgiving crowd were letting him know so. I was now part of the can-wielding crowd who had hurled abuse at a long-haired Penarth outside-half a year previous; and I was loving it. The winger in question had acted like a matador to the bull that is Harry Rees (pictured below) all afternoon much to the pleasure of the watching supporters.
Early in the second half, the winger was tested by an up-and-under. Preoccupied with his opposition, he seemingly ignored the ball and ran past it by ten yards before cowering and shielding his now bandaged wrist as the ball bounced into touch. Cue, Jason Alford. This was one mistake too many for Bap, and as he advanced towards the onlookers, he made his mark on the touchline, held up his flag and exclaimed in the most marvellous fashion,
“Fourteen, you may as well fuck off home, butt.”
This sent the already-set lineout into frenzy with all eight of Bedlinog’s pack volleying their threats the way of the linesman, who held his pose and delivered a familiar gormless smile, leaving his chorus of supporters behind him trying to catch breath.
Two weeks later, the first team produced a very good performance against Tylorstown in the league as they completed a 32-14 victory. The weather had turned and it was a gritty performance on a sticky pitch as the rain battered down. We had a lot to play for because everyone was gearing up for the Halloween fancy dress night and what a night it was, apparently.
Some of the outfits seen on the night were legendary and much thought and effort had gone in to win the bumper £150 prize for best dressed, which to this day is a result that eludes anyone who entered. It’s no surprise that a purse of such magnitude could be offered with the club’s fundraisers, Messers Alexander and Alford, taking £5 as an entrance fee only for the underage party-goers to be escorted from the premises before buying a drink. Inspired.
Much of that night was spent harmonising with a blacked-up cowboy in the form of Huw ‘The Hooker’ Williams. Ian Wharton’s uncanny resemblance to Gene Simmons was enough to send anyone to drink; which is exactly what everyone did and we did it really well. So well in fact, that I managed to get myself banned from The Wheatsheaf for arguing my case when the bar lady had decided that I’d had enough alcohol for one night. One can only imagine the scene as a highly intoxicated Brian Fantana put his points across, swiping his long black hair from his face and occasionally adjusting his moustache before Ron Burgundy escorted his colleague from the premises.
That night I was introduced to some remarkable tatoos, Dai Langdon and Daisy Duke the quiz king lead the way in improvised ink and the latter's armpit plays host to one of the finest tattoos I've ever set my eyes upon (pictured below)
On the field, things were going rather indifferently. The cold weather had set in and the pitch had begun tearing up. The numbers at training had started to dwindle slightly, but for those who were turning up, they were being treated to one of the finest sights in world rugby. This remarkable view was something that made the fitness sessions of Mr Groves Snr almost bearable. The reason being, when all the sprints had been completed, it was onto the skills and contact part of the session where the man affectionately known as Urban was in place to drill the hardy trainers. By this time, Urban had decided that the cold weather was worth countering and he did so with outrageous adaptability. Although I must applaud him on his versatility, trying to take a man seriously when he’s wearing a pair of shorts on his head to warn off the cold winter winds is almost impossible.
My first match-day experience was an enthralling one as I watched the first team win away at Fleur de Lys. Most of my afternoon was spent paroling the touchline with the inimitable Lee Austin as he tried to shake off Friday night’s demons. Some of the sentences coming from his mouth were barely words, let alone English ones, though through choice hearing or blind luck I did manage to decipher one line of pure gold,
“I had four cans of redbull for breakfast and it’s turned my arse inside-out twice.”
Since then, The Black Army have solidified themselves at the centre of division 2 east. It’s a league that leaves Llantrisant RFC in the very lonely position of 6th, fully thirteen points behind 5th placed Ynysybwl and six points (with a game in hand) clear of Bedlinog in 7th. They say that the league never lies and it’s especially true in this case. We’ve not lost to anyone below us with the exception of Llantwit Fardre away and we’ve not beaten anyone above us with the exception of Penallta at home.
If it wasn’t for two players, the club might well be rubbing shoulders with lowly Rhymney and Abercynon. Thankfully, the threat of Harry Rees and Kieron Evans has been enough to keep the team out of the doldrums. The way the two go about their work is extremely contrasted. The winger has scored 13 tries this season (9 league) and goes looking for work all around the park, crashing and smashing his way through players, often carrying multiple defenders over the line with him as he touches down. His front-row counterpart does things rather differently. Panda or Ganj as he’s more commonly known has mastered the art of goal-hanging in rugby and it’s resulted in a sensational four tries for the prop despite being out injured for a chunk of games due to a shoulder injury he sustained whilst attempting a dive. He may be useless at fixing floodlights but he’s a faultless finisher, the Francis Jeffers of the rugby world, a true fox in the box.
Away from the glitz and glamour of the try line, the majority of the players earn their keep more towards the middle of the pitch. The introduction of Ben Coombs half way through the season has bolstered the back-row sufficiently and has brought a real gusto to the pack. His physicality is something to behold and he’s a player you definitely want on your side in battle (excuse the pun). When the lineout is on song, it’s one of the most beautiful sights in amateur rugby. Simon Williams’ (aka Sean Keith Gilbertson) dominance with his acrobatic one-handed (he could easily take them two-handed, but when the cameras are about, you can’t blame him) takes really sets the backline firing and it’s a joy to play with. Rhys Ferris, Ryan Harrison and Keith produce some sublime ball for us backs, though the shortening of the lineout will surely soon amount to a one man lineout where Simon stands with his arms aloft and replicates what gave Derwyn Jones a career. The back three in Cameron Doster, Harry Rees and Matt Griffiths are three players who look to counter attack at any given opportunity. Their attitude to run the ball is second-to-none and it’s a shame that the soggy pitches have limited the three to express their potency. Glenn Holloway’s leadership skills came into question as he publicly revealed in a pre-match speech that he wanted nothing to do with the captaincy stating,
“…and remember boys, fourteen chiefs and ONE Indian!”
Funnily enough, the line hasn’t reappeared since that day and he’s lead by example on and off the field. Despite being a part-time trainer, the go-forward he gives the team from scrum-half is invaluable and his passion for the club shines through in his performances. Anyone questioning this need only to look at the Fleur de Lys game early in the season where for the first time, and probably the last, I saw Gareth Alexander speechless. He went to attend to Glenn who had gone down injured clutching his midriff and returned to the touchline bloody handed with only four words to offer,
“He’ve cut his cock!”
To those on the sideline still scratching their heads as to what had happened, they didn’t have to wait long for a full and graphic description from that man Jason Alford and Nicky Flyer Matthews.
It’s now that I have to come clean. Flyer haunted me for my first few games. My kicking routine has been commented upon regularly and has become somewhat of an annoyance to team-mates and opponents alike. Almost weekly I have to try and block out cries of,
“He’s only got a minute, Ref!”
However, while Cameron Doster, the Llantrisant Globetrotter, is fidgeting about behind me, wondering what to do with himself, my brain is furiously trying to engage itself into a state of focus. Unfortunately, due to my obsessive compulsive disorder, most of this time is spent arranging things into even numbers and correcting things that are in odd numbers (to explain this would take several weeks so you’ll just have to make do with that very vague summary) and the first time Flyer handed me my tee, it send my brain into turmoil.
Poking up, holding the luminous green tee was the strangest thumb I had ever seen in my life. Trying to rid the thought of that thumb from my mind as I lined up to take a kick was like not thinking about being cold in an ice bath, but when my mind used to envisage the ball as one of Flyer’s thumbs, I knew I was in trouble. I’ve since conditioned myself to make myself familiar with these enormous, bulbous opposable digits so that they need not cloud my train of thought before a kick. So Flyer, if you caught me staring, you know why! I’m told that Mr Matthews has a trademark song that he likes to sing when he’s not throwing balls into touch, I await the performance with great anticipation.
More recently, the world of Twitter has engulfed Llantrisant Rugby Football Club. Since the introduction of super-perves Lewis Montague, Rhys the ferret Ferris and the Williams twins, twitter has become a constant stream of exposed women, banterful exchanges and pictures of every meal Jonny Williams eats. Regular followers of llantwittant will have noticed the club grow in stature with world-famous scrum halves, Mike Phillips and Piri Weepu, showing their support for the @the_black_army thanks to the committed pestering of Lee Kerslake. It’s also been a chance for the more opportunistic members of the squad to set up imitation accounts for Flyer and backs coach Huw Jones. The way in which Rhys Ferris goes about his business on twitter is quite remarkable with one image in particular causing quite a stir (pictured below). The Ferret’s strategies on twitter are complex and well thought out, though his twitter philosophy is a rather simple one,
“I just mention ‘em and show their photo and if they want me to go up there and bang ‘em, then I will like.”
He’s a man that I could genuinely write a book about, and what a read it would be!
Although I’ve only been at the club a matter of months, I’m already wrapped up in the whole atmosphere of Llantrisant Rugby Club. The playing philosophy endorsed by Huw Jones is one of adventure, to throw the ball around and play rugby whenever possible and the characters around the place are uniquely brilliant. Although my working commitments have meant not enough Saturday nights out after games, the time I have spent in the maze that is the clubhouse has been sublime. From post-training quizzes to match days, it’s a refreshing environment of a whole club pulling together as one. There have been many things that I’ve learned from my short time with the Black Army, but here’s a short list:
1) The Worgan’s are two of the most naturally funny men on the planet.
2) Rhys Ferris should have his own magazine, newspaper, TV channel and website.
3) Alex James loves to tackle.
4) Leon loves to run really fast.
5) Andrew Thomas is always late and on the extremely rare occasion when he’s not, he’s the first to point out that someone else isn’t on time.
6) Winning player of the month is not worth it given the amount of stick you receive a la Chris Sharkey and Sean Gilbertson.
7) Julian Andrews has got the best pair of front row hands in Wales.
8) Chris Green’s relationship with his uncle is inspirational.
9) The Dosters are comfortably the wisest members of the club.
10) Owen Bater and Gareth Alexander really do love each other deep down.
H’away The Army!
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