Rock Against Rugby
- 5 Feb 07, 09:49 AM
Why do I feel so offended that a Ramones song is being used in a TV advert for rugby? Is it right to feel precious about an ancient punk song called ΅®Blitzkrieg Bop΅― when so many of the band members are no longer with us, and the New York bar that birthed them has recently been taken apart? The answer is still yes. Because rugby stinks.
In my experience, rugby players are a dull lot, with their misshapen ears and ill-fitting sweat pants. The Ramones, on the other hand, looked amazing in their leather jackets, their pipe cleaner jeans and white sneakers. The Ramones were raised on three chords, overloaded guitars and the majestic sounds of Phil Spector and The Ronnettes. Meanwhile, a rugby tour bus still resounds to tawdry versions of ΅®Old Sir Jasper΅―, ΅®Four And Twenty Virgins΅― and ΅®Dina Dina, Show Us Your Leg΅―. These people just don΅―t deserve punk rock.
Rugby is sustained by assistant bank managers, slumming it at the weekend in their sheepskin jackets, pouring pints of beer over each other΅―s heads. It has no style, no attitude. It΅―s the playground of the petite bourgeoisie, the school ties, the boys-own bores. The Ramones were genuine freaks who were shunned by the mainstream when they released their first record. Their style came from Marlon Brando and New York΅―s gay subculture. And they were rapidly hailed by the underground, by teenagers who had been bullied and sidelined by the jocks and their dumb culture.
In my school, punks were routinely beaten up by the rugger buggers. It was a clash between the creatives and the conservatives, and the latter could only respond with their fat fists. I doubt that anything has changed. Which is why I despair at thought of their sons, bellowing ΅°hey ho, let΅―s go΅± as they infect each other with scrum pox and trot smugly back to their locker rooms for another round of dirty jokes.
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