The USSR and Kamp Krusty's Upper Ottawa Valley pose after close championship match
| The USSR made it's 3rd attempt to gain the elusive
social title of the Ottawa Indians Summer 15s in 2002 and walked away with
the title. Upper Ottawa Valley, the allies in partying during the past
3 years, squared off on the warm July day, with a large wager on the line.
Strippers for the winners. Looks like our men in Red will be hording
the grand prize next summer. But along with every championship, there is always the behind the scenes. The background of how they got to where they were. The "Behind the Music" if you will for the game. Both teams had traveled a long and winding trail to this game and both walked away a little bit beaten, a little bit scarred, but most of all, a lot hung over. I was not attending on going on this trip. With a bank account in the negative balance area and no job, not to mention a screaming ex-spouse bent out of shape regarding my payment history for her bills, I figured it was not wise to attend. But, as Oddessius found while on his quest, friends and strangers are more than happy to assist in the triumph of a pilgrimage. When I first moved back to Washington, DC, a player once told me, "It is not a hand out. It is a scholarship. Hand outs go to the needy, whether worthy or not. Scholarships are given to only the worthy candidates." I was told this was such a case. I had several friends from Canada and the US both say straight forward, "Montana, it won't be the same without you. I want you here." The final straw came to me in a dream. Canadian female rugger and close friend (Dewey) appeared in my dream, telling me that I needed to be at Ottawa. It would be a series of firsts for me and I needed to be there to experience them. So with some nifty shifts on the schedule, I was able to go up to Canada, miss no work, and spend less than $20 of my own money. All in all, a good deal. So we were scheduled to depart at 9 AM on Friday, July 5. I had worked the night before at the bar and was a bit tired after my 2 hour nap. I got up and picked up my first two passengers, Idiot Sister Linda Keeler and future Idiot Sister Mo Donnelly (She swears she is no relation to IB 5, Brian Donnelly, especially after seeing pictures from Maggotfest). We went and picked up the rental van and crisis struck immediately. Instead of the famed Pontiac Montana (Creature comforts of CD player, larger van, all around better travel) we were in a Dodge Caravan. We realized at that point that there would be no way we could fit Shanks, another Idiot Sister on board. She had been rather wishy washy regarding traveling and I wasn't sure what would happen. I realized my plan to squeeze her into the van was unlikely once I finally noted its meager size. So when we got to the metro stop to pick up Shanks, Liza (another future FOIS) and Alison, we realized it would not be in the cards. I let Shanks know, set up a ride with one of the USSR backs (he actually waxes his body), and we left to get the final 2 in our journey north. We pulled into Arlington, loaded my equipment and beer into the van and headed over to pick up Ian and Boz. Boz was a recent addition to the FOIB and like so many others, was a member of our ARCH RIVAL rugby club. For some reason Washington Rugby enlists the ranks of good guys in the front row, but complete assholes, with a few exceptions, throughout the rest of their ranks. Maybe it is osmosis of the front row (the social behavior of their opponents being transferred through contact or maybe it is just one too many hits to the head has reprogrammed their bitter minds to accept social behavior with beer and song, but one thing is for sure, after PAC and the Denver Highlanders, Washington has the next highest amount of FOIB.) We gain the final members for the trip, and make a quick (yeah right) stop at McDonalds, 7-11, and Keeler's house to pick up a food, beer and a CD player, and we were off. Of course Keeler and MO were quick to bitch (being picked up at 7 AM and leaving town at 915 AM) but we were off and nothing was gonna stop us. After an hour of driving I was relieved of my driving duties (because they didn't want me to drink while driving....wasn't like I was gonna toss down 12 beers or anything, just one or two for the drive...) But I was fine with being relieved. My mind was wandering due to sleep deprivation and I would rather sit co-pilot and quench my thirst with Miller Lite. Boz joined me in the barley drink and we drank for the next few hours while Ian drove. The trip was a mix of chatter, movie lines, music, sing alongs, and one stop to pick up the young American University Girl's supplies from her mother. Living North of DC, her mother met us near the interstate and handed off a picnic basket that would have made Yogi Bear giddy. We all dug in and ate during the journey. We finally were approaching Canada, when Keeler, driving the 3rd leg of the trip decided she wanted to drink too and passed driving duties to Liza, who was quoted earlier to say, "I rolled my car 5 times at 100 mph 3 years ago." But I was half pissed and didn't care so much. What I did care about was the insane music she played. Portuguese Pop Rock flowed from the speakers, and with the exception of Ian, no one could understand a thing they were saying. So after several more songs, she submitted to my bantering (I had been labeled the Tour Dictator after declaring no foreign music could be listened to the rest of the trip). We put in some old 80s cassettes. First song was Sister Christian by Night Ranger. The van sang to the classic slow song (except Ian and Liza - who were still protesting - and Alison who may have been a wopping 5 when the song was released.) Then came Poison and a bit of Cinderella. Boz even requested "Every Rose has it's thorn" twice. Of course when we heard Guns and Roses we pulled the Hatter stunt and Boz and I went topless, much to the protests of the females on board. We redressed for the border crossing and bought beer at Duty free and found ourself at the famed Twin Elm park. The van was hushed with amazement. Like I was 4 years prior, the awe was inspiring. We unloaded our supplies and waited for the guys to return from the strip joint. I figured we would miss the annual trek to the strippers. By early evening, everyone was accounted for and we headed up to the bar to listen to the band, drink some of Canada's finest beers, and enjoy the comraderie. I spoke with my Canadian Idiot Brothers that were assisting my living conditions, and several of the USSR dropped a few Canadian dollars my way. Super Boy, who had traveled up with the July 4 crowd was also without job, but was fairing well. I shared a few pitchers with him and he meandered around talking to girls and guys. Other USSR boys were busy trying to hook up for the imfamous "which tent will I be sleeping in this year." The famed "Hook or Die" ploy of touring was well in hand by the USSR boys. Without a tent, you were forced to find someone willing to "share" their tent with you. By the end of the night, one thing was for sure. Several new idiot brothers and sisters would be found. Several of our boys made it to the select Coed Naked Rugby game, which had been moved from Saturday to Friday night. After several interesting tackles, line outs and scrums the game ended, the shower room washing began and we found ourselves back upstairs at the party. And after several more pitchers we were kicked out of the bar and found our way looking for our sleeping facilities. I awoke in the back of a van that was lent to me for my sleeping accomodations. I crawled out and looked at the overcast sky and pouted about the weather. Then I noticed the sun was actually a bright orange. Forest Fires had caused the sun to change colors. By noon the sky was blue and the sun was bright. And I was well into my 8th beer of the day. The team played their first match at 11 am, gaining the win, and we preceded back to the Kremlin. Our women counterparts, which had constantly been called "Sand" especially to the 2 or 3 guys that were dating the ladies, had also won, and sat around enjoying the day. I seemed to be the only guy actually drinking at this point. Chatter from the night before continued and we laughed at the night's escapades. I sat around collecting data for Kangaroo Court, of which one of the Idiot Brothers would be charged with "Wearing make up on tour" when someone pointed out to him that he still had a red ring around his mouth and on his finger nails from the night before. While he received his medal for Red Wings, he failed to clean himself up (especially before finding his second victim of the night...but more on that later.) Several other players admitted to playing in the "coed game" but turned out, it was the WRONG game, and impromptu event with many more men than women. The guilty would be found in court. My attire had not changed from Friday night, Big Black Cowboy hat, tshirt, and kilt. I wandered over to the Kamp Krusty site and used their barbque to cook up a big roast and a whole chicken. I shared some laughs with the UOV boys, who had shaved mohawks into their heads and sat around sipping on beverages, eating burgers and relaxing. Their site, while equal in social behavior as the Kremlin, had much more going for it. Being partially a military side, they had access to many comforts only the military finds while camping (showers, large social tent, freeze dried food). When I returned many of the team had left to play their match. I remained, sharing my chicken with whomever wanted some, and chatting with 2 of the female players about sexual techniques and hooking up ettiquette. When the crew arrived they tore the chicken apart like vultures and we sat back, ready to party. The team was 3-0 going into the Sunday Playoffs. The hardest fought battle was with the older and much more dirty Durbyshire RFC from England. Players were limping, aching, and ready for beers. We sent the crew out for beer and pizza and soon found everyone sitting around the Kremlin, chatting, drinking and discussing the nights adventures. Kangaroo Court was set for 730 pm, but would be pushed back to 815 pm after Idiot Sister #2, acting as Judge, would show up to her own court, late. But as many of you know, it is almost impossible to try the Judge. Acting as Prosecutor, I had a list of charges against most of the team, attempting to get women charged as much as men. The joint court was needed due to so many joint charges. When court finally began, it was dark, the fire was flaming high into the Canadian sky, and the crowd drank like the warriors they were. Charges of passing out early, going on tour while on the rag, wearing make up, being late for court, and hooking up on tour were handed out. The judge, overlooking defense pleas to speak, sentenced everyone quickly to punishments, most relating to pounding beers. Four members were charged for going on tour and NOT playing. Keeler, Mo, and I were 3 of the accused and were forced to pound beers for our crime. After court, the mood changed from isolationism to meandering in and out of camps, hosting other clubs at the Kremlin and when the beer finally ran out, we found our way into the club house to listen to the DJ. The entire trip I had described the Saturday night party as a "dance." Music played, people danced, beer was drank. Much like my 8th grade year in school. I quickly found my way to an isolated corner near the bar and sat with my pitcher and drank beer. Soon there after JC arrived and we drank more, watched some of the female players pose like Playboy models, and we danced some more. One future idiot sister provided some entertainment for JC and I (thank you JC and THANK YOU Karla). I found myself next sitting with Boz. He turned to me and said, "I think I am too drunk to dance anymore." So we drank more. When all our beer was gone, I gave him $8 Canadian and told him to get another pitcher. He walked up and found he was $4 short for the pitcher and started prostituting himself out to the ladies (including future FOIS MO) for beers for "Montana and I." He then returned with a lot of beers and we sat and drank more. Super Boy then approached, grabbed a couple and went to sit down, knocking the remainder of our barley stash down. He redeemed himself when he approached with a pitcher of beer. The night was getting late and players slowly found themselves wandering off. Boz failed to deliver on any of his business promises to the ladies that provided beer (he passed out) was the first to disappear. Future FOIS Karla then approached me and said, "Montana, I want to ride you." I quickly grinned, but she recovered by saying, "I mean get a piggy back ride." So I ran through the dance with her on my back, dancing on the dance floor to some country song, and having a good time. We remained 'til the bar closed and I found my way outside searching for the "Secret" beer I had strategically hidden earlier in the night. Finding several, I wandered around the camp grounds chatting with players. I was joined by another guy that had blown his knee the week earlier. Timmy was unable to play, but drinking he could do just fine. We hit every party we found and soon found ourselves at the Kremlin, amongst empty beer cans and a dying fire. I, like the fire, was slowly losing fuel to burn. And as the sun was rising found my head setting. Til there was only darkness. I awoke to a crowd assembled around the former fire pit, chatting away. I slowly lifted my head and saw the group and instantly got into the conversation. They all laughed at my "not missing a beat in the conversation," and we discussed more of the night's escapades. Later that day we would play a hard fought match vs Kingston to find our way into the championship match. We did lose Handsome Pete to a major Knee injury during our fight and would have to enlist some American Boys from Shippensburg to fill in our ranks. Cheers to them. The other American Squads held their own on the social front, but none more than a team from New York. The Goats Rugby club (I believe a hodge podge of players from around the area) actually kidnapped a goat from a farm and had it with them all weekend. Late in the night you would hear the bell ring and the goat baaaa into the night. It was quite a surreal feeling. Well the Championship game was on schedule. Upper Ottawa Valley, our allies in partying, vs the USSR. We had been here one other time and lost. This was their first time in the championship. Their Kamp was in full swing at the other end of the stadium. Ours was piping loud, drinking beer on the opposite end. The Hammer and Sickle were flying high and the teams were ready for rugby. USSR scored first and I quickly grabbed the flag and ran the length of the field, pausing to catch my breath at the end of each run. The Kamp Krusty croud rioted, but everyone knew it was all in fun. After the final whistle, two British touring players walked over and asked to borrow the USSR flag and before I could even agree, they had their clothes off and were running across the field completely naked. Post game, we posed together, social teams united in beer and laughed about the strippers they would have to pay for next year. We found our way back to the camp, packed up, and were on our way home. Flatulence and delays made the girls bitter and by late that night, Boz and I remained awake, sipping on beers and chatting about life, girls, rugby, and other Idiot chatter. We all made it home in one piece and would chat more about the tourney in coming weeks. The post Ottawa blues would hit several players, including one guy that took the trip as a baptism of social gala. Ian Speight, who will remain under consideration for FOIB, couldn't speak enough about the trip. Like after my first trip, you can't believe it all happened and you can't believe it ended as quick as it did. And he even spent some quality time with one of the East Coast Harlots. Hoorah. Quotes from the trip in no order: 5. Make my chicken wings hot....and do it like you mean it.- Lindo 4. I don't think I have seen Montana without a beer in his hand or dip in his lip since we arrived - Dair 3. Why would Dair (a guy that has dozens of real tattoos) want a "Fake Tattoo?" - Mo Donnelly (after Lindy volunteered to give him a temporary tattoo.) 2. You made out with him after he got his red wings. You tasted HER womb juice - Montana to unknowing 2nd victim of Boz 1. Montana, stop taking pictures of my breasts - Karla |