This was written by my good friend Glyn Scott from Barry.

I never could find them. Every week was the same.

Wheres my rugby boots , love? last minute as usual.

Where you left them probably. Ive told you before Im not touching those disgusting muddy relics. Isnt it time you stopped running round like a schoolboy every week? Very encouraging my wife.

Dont go on woman.

Its never again, when you come back with your aches and pains. Shes got a tongue that could rivet battleships.

Im going to hang my boots up, love she kept on.

I could hear her still going on as I slung my kit in the car.

Ideal weather I thought, dry and sunny but with a hint of heavy moisture that could cut the game short. Great in the bar early before the sun had firmly set.

I ambled into the clubhouse leaving my kit on the back seat where it could fill the car with its own unique fragrance and the sun would have at least a moment to attack the dampness.

At the bar Pete was checking off the team. Youre ere. He said licking his pencil. You fit ?

Im ere. was my honest reply.

I scanned the bedraggled group of human shapes known collectively as The Veterans.

I always had pre- match nerves, wondering whether I would let myself down. However looking around at the assembled crew, in comparison, I was practically a thoroughbred.

Where are we playing? a faceless voice asked.

Pengarn, have we all got transport? Pete enquired. Yes. was the collective reply.

Pat arrived shepherding a fresh faced lad who was wearing a fixed grin, and sporting new boots.

Ive brought along the wifes kid brother, if were short like.

Were always short. Pete coughed on his cigar. He fixed the lad with a deep frown.

Mind you, dont run around too fast this afternoon, young un. We old uns cant keep up see.

The lads grin disappeared. Poor misguided fool, probably thought wed welcome a fit young hero with open arms. In the car park the bartering began.

Ill come with you then, so I can have a drink after the game.

No its my turn to drink, I drove last time.

Liar!

This ritual continued to the point of fisticuffs. Then as suddenly as it started it was resolved and the convoy would depart.

For company I had Dave and Jed, real opposites on the great human scale. Dave, cool and neat, blazer buttons sparkling over designer jeans. Jed, on the other hand could best be described as comfortable in appearance. He overwhelmed the back seat. His face looked like sandpaper. This was not recent designer stubble either, this was one of his long standing features. He would leave his face get hairy then half way through a decent shave hed get tired and give up. During the journey I could see Dave admiring himself in my wing mirror, flicking his hair. Very much the ladies man was Dave he sat upright in the front seat next to me. Jed on the other hand snored his way through most of the journey, obviously no pre match nerves there. It was a not comforting to realise, that in a short time, I would be looking to these two for support in a dour physical struggle, thank goodness it was just a rugby match and not Rourkes Drift.

We all arrived together at Pengarn Rugby Club and formed a circle, like a wagon train. Dave and I prized Jed out of the back seat.

Youll have to get a four door car. He wheezed at me, Im not built for these flash sporty things

For Gods sake Jed, dont die out there today Ive an important date tonight. Dave was never subtle.

Your concern for my welfare is touching, my son.

Right Pete boomed. Lets get out there run off the jet lag.

Any journey, no matter how short reminded us of our ageing muscles. Well, some of us had arthritis and rheumatism. Help the Aged could have legitimately sponsored our team.

In the changing rooms the thick smell of liniment oozed and mixed with the stench of mouldy kit. Jed was now stripped down to his shorts.

Hey Buddha, fold all that skin up in a shirt will you! All of Jed chuckled and rippled on the edge of the bench.

From next door we could here the sound of young warriors audibly psyching themselves up for their game. It had little effect on us, we knew we werent playing them, they were the home first fifteen.

We jogged onto the field loosening up as best we could, arms flailing everywhere. The pitch was like a bowling green very impressive. No slope thank God, this week we wouldnt have to run uphill. The surface was lush and soggy, ideal for tackling and even just for falling down exhausted.

Are you B.P.Llandarcy ? questioned an official, all blazer and club tie.

No. Barry Vets.

Oh. youre not playing here, he said indignantly as if our mere presence soiled his beloved pitch. Youre down the road on the training pitch.

Typical sighed Pete.

We bade farewell to the beautiful carpet and clacked mournfully down the uneven country lane, where another official greeted us by a hole in the hedge.

By ere ,lads his rolled cigarette stuck firmly to his bottom lip. He announced himself as the other teams trainer and from his outward appearance we would not have been surprised if we were playing whippets or pigeons.

The pitch was another matter. On all four touchlines sheep were grazing and the grass resembled someone with a bad haircut.

Theyre bringing the M4 through ere , announced our trainer friend, proudly.

Have they already started? asked Pete.

Be fair weve shovelled all the cow and sheep shit onto the touchlines. He pointed to a great steaming Offas Dyke at the edge of the pitch. I contemplated the unhappy possibility of being tackled into that lot.

The other team arrived and fortunately the word athlete was not an expression you would use to describe them, any more than it would be for us. Jim our touch judge arrived and surveyed the mountain of mixed manure.

Gordon Bennett, who trained these cows, Billy bloody Smart, theyve all shat on my touchline.

The referee was suitably aged with thin stark white legs protruding from baggy shorts. He was arguing with our winger Nipper.

Look, I dont mind looking after asthma pumps, or even false teeth, but I draw the line at half a fag and a box of matches.

I always have one at half time, Ref, to calm me nerves like

For some unknown reason I chose this moment to remember Shakespeares the seven stages of man All the worlds a stage, well if thats so then there were a few of us on this pitch who are in danger of falling off said stage.

As I stood waiting for the whistle to commence hostilities, I looked to the nearby road and the interlocking hills that rolled off into the distance. Cars zoomed by carrying screaming kids, late businessmen and old couples poodling along on a Saturday afternoon drive.

And what of those hills? Did they hide secret spouses , maybe even my own, neglected by their partners and now clandestinely meeting their lovers in lonely country lanes? Hes at the rugby he wont be back for hours.

At last the first whistle, followed inevitably by the first scrum, I positioned myself in centre of the front row and gratefully clutched Jed and Bob for support we attempted to outstare our opponents. Gingerly, like hens settling on eggs, we locked into the opposition scrum with the odd grunt to make it seem like a major physical effort.

Ten years ago we would have stood five feet apart and charged at each other like raging bulls, but the bones were somewhat brittle now.

God, its dark in here. said my opposite number.

Jed, breath in your stomachs blocking all the light. How am I supposed to see the ball?

Their second row began to mournfully whistle Me in my small corner.

If youre not going to take this even half serious Im going off! said the ref angrily.

Games like this were uneventful. Hopes of a score from either side generally went unfulfilled. The few spectators seemed to regard it as a duty to watch. We settled into another sedate scrum, when suddenly a fist flashed past me and connected with my opponents already well worn nose. He hardly flinched and scanned the scrum for the culprit. I looked back to see the face of the young wifes brother ridden with guilt.

Trying to make a name for yourself, sonny? my indignant rival growled. I sighed at the inevitable. The lad had a lot to learn and it wasnt long in coming. Sure enough in the next melee, a high pitched scream rent the air and we parted to reveal our young friend spread-eagled, the earlier fixed grin had returned and was now joined by glazed eyes.

There were no fisticuffs in his support. Firstly, he got what he deserved and secondly, even throwing a punch, in these our sunset days, risked permanent injury.

We lifted him by the arms dragging him through the manure and propped him against the hedge.

As Shakespeare had said, he had been seeking the bubble of reputation. Unfortunately for him, the bubble had soon burst when their hooker caught up with him.

The game had settled down when something unexpected happened. Like a ghost from the past we surprisingly managed to actually string a number of passes together and the ball arrived in Nipper our wingers gnarled hands.

Nipper had been quite a sprinter in his day, his wiry frame and incisive running had graced many a pitch. We waited with bated breath. He had plenty of room and had just rounded his opposite number, his legs pumping rapidly. We all expected him to dart away, brief glory returned, adding wings to his feet. But no, it was not to be. The scene took on almost cartoon proportions, his legs were frantically moving up and down, but he was going, nowhere.

Managing to achieve a sort of glue-footed trot, he had left us behind, but that was no recommendation, in fact it proved to be a hindrance as he found himself isolated and alone with no one to pass to and some distance to go to the try line. Much as he tried to accelerate it was not going to happen. The final indignity was when he was over taken by a sheep, bent on rescuing her lamb that had lodged itself in the hedge surrounding the pitch.

The pained expression on Nippers face galvanised me into action. To save this once brave athlete any further embarrassment, I tackled him myself. Pete arrived moments later.

What the hell are you doing? he asked.

It was an errand of mercy. I said reverently. He had no way out

He understood. Nipper remained face down in the mud, physically unhurt.

We gathered round him unable to touch him, instinctively knowing that he had an incurable virus.

Lost youth had struck.. It would come to us all, that final moment when nothing functions, when the spirit is willing but the flesh is non-existent. That time when you have to hang up your boots----- forever!

Our trainer came on quietly and gently lifted Nipper to his feet, leading him to the touchline. Two ancient spectators removed their caps as a mark of respect, they had in by gone days experienced that irrevocable moment. Nipper staggered off to the changing room alone. Jim wondered whether he should follow to make sure he didnt try anything silly with his soap on- a -rope.

What did Shakespeare say, they have their exits and entrances.

How long to go, Ref? I asked.

Five minutes, pal.

We played out the rest of the game, shook hands and ambled off to the changing rooms, picking up the still concussed infant on the way, nobody knew the score or cared.

A lone perplexed cow chewed on the cud. Like all females, she probably had trouble understanding the sorry sad mess that was the male of the species, bovine or human.

Are we playing next week? I asked.

Taking Nippers fag from the referee and lighting up Pete said Depends on how many of us are still able to walk let alone run. He said.

We made the most of the hot showers, soothing aches and pains and within

two pints of beer from the kitty all sense of melancholy had ceased, even Nipper was offering his services as a future physio and cuts man.

Well its either that or shopping with the wife. he said.

A shudder ran around the assembled masses. A couple of jugs were emptied until those of us dry and driving began to protest a need to return home ditch our cars and salvage what was left of the drinking night.

So is it never again? my wife was lounging on the settee as I arrived home.

No, might as well keep going for bit I said, Youre a long time not playing you know.

Huh! Men will be boys I suppose. she said