All Captains

Surname	First names	Known by
Whitelock	Samuel Laurence	Sam	view
Wi Repa	Morgan L		view
Wi Repa	Morgan Tutere Reginald Jnr		view
Wikaira	Hikitia M		view
Wilkie	Tuta Henare		view
Williams	Alexander James	Ali	view
Williams	Amy L		view
Williams	Bryan George (Sir)	B G	view
Williams	Bryce Leslie		view
Williams	Dirk Antony	Tupu	view
Williams	Graham Charles		view
Williams	Gwyn Edmund Dean	Jed	view
Williams	Karl John		view
Williams	Kate R		view
Williams	Kieran		view
Williams	Nick U		view
Williams	Ronald Oscar	Ron	view
Williamson	Adam C J		view
Williment	Michael	Mick	view
Willis	Thomas Eion	Tom	view
Willison	Jackson Don Kingi		view
Wills	Murray Clifton		view
Wills	Stephen Albert	Steve	view
Wilson	Arnold James		view
Wilson	James William Rangi		view
Wilson	Jeffrey William	Goldy	view
Wilson	Nicholas E	Nick	view
Wilson	Reginald George	George	view
Wilson	Stuart Sinclair	Stu	view
Wilton	Kathleen A		view
Winiata	Selica C	Shorty	view
Winterburn	Anzac	Nui	view
Wisnewski	Hayden A		view
Withy	Sean M		view
Wood	David Robertson		view
Wood	Rebecca J		view
Woodhams	Simon James		view
Woods	Gemma-Louise		view
Wordley	William Rangi	Bill	view
Wright	Graham William Joseph	Joe	view

Endorsement

When the battle scars have faded
And the truth becomes a lie
And the weekend smell of liniment
Could almost make you cry.
When the last rucks well behind you
And the man that ran now walks
It doesn’t matter who you are
The mirror sometimes talks
Have a good hard look old son!
The melons not that great
The snoz that takes a sharp turn sideways
Used to be dead straight
You’re an advert for arthritis
You’re a thoroughbred gone lame
Then you ask yourself the question
Why the hell you played the game?
Was there logic in the head knocks?
In the corks and in the cuts?
Did common sense get pushed aside?
By manliness and guts?
Do you sometimes sit and wonder
Why your time would often pass
In a tangled mess of bodies
With your head up someone’s......?
With a thumb hooked up your nostril
Scratching gently on your brain
And an overgrown Neanderthal
Rejoicing in your pain!
Mate – you must recall the jersey
That was shredded into rags
Then the soothing sting of Dettol
On a back engraved with tags!
It’s almost worth admitting
Though with some degree of shame
That your wife was right in asking
Why the hell you played the game?
Why you’d always rock home legless
Like a cow on roller skates
After drinking at the clubhouse
With your low down drunken mates
Then you’d wake up – check your wallet
Not a solitary coin
Drink Berocca by the bucket
Throw an ice pack on your groin
Copping Sunday morning sermons
About boozers being losers
While you limped like Quasimodo
With a half a thousand bruises!
Yes – an urge to hug the porcelain
And curse Sambuca’s name
Would always pose the question
Why the hell you played the game!
And yet with every wound re-opened
As you grimly reminisce it
Comes the most compelling feeling yet
God, you bloody miss it!
From the first time that you laced a boot
And tightened every stud
That virus known as rugby
Has been living in your blood
When you dreamt it when you played it
All the rest took second fiddle
Now you’re standing on the sideline
But your hearts still in the middle
And no matter where you travel
You can take it as expected
There will always be a breed of people
Hopelessly infected
If there’s a teammate, then you’ll find him
Like a gravitating force
With a common understanding
And a beer or three, of course
And as you stand there telling lies
Like it was yesterday old friend
You’ll know that if you had the chance
You’d do it all again
You see – that’s the thing with rugby
It will always be the same
And that, I guarantee
Is why the hell you played the game!

By Rupert McCall

Credit: Sutton & Epsom Bs

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