Rugby Pub

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Rugby is a rather fascinating sport. A number of big guys without padding trying to beat the shit out of each other with the excuse of transporting a ball past the opponent’s goal line. Sometimes running, sometimes passing, sometimes kicking the ball. But more often stuck in a huddle that is moving with the speed of ketchup. Sometimes the huddle breaks up, only to re-form a few meters away the next minute.

For a rugby lover, Edinburgh is the ideal city to visit. Not because the teams from the city are extraordinarily good, or because the Scottish are outstanding. It’s because as opposed to most other cities all over the UK, rugby has been outcompeted by football in popularity. Edinburgh is the home of a couple of mediocre Scottish football teams, but a visit to Edinburgh doesn’t remind you the slightest of this fact. Edinburgh is rugby. Maybe it’s because in the struggle for power, popularity, people, whatever, between the two major cities in Scotland, Edinburgh got rugby, and Glasgow got football. The upper-class rugby to the upper-class Edinburgh. Working-class football to working-class Glasgow. Kind of makes sense, but what do I know…

Rugby is ideal to watch in a pub according to the initiated. Hence, during my visit I follow the initiated to a pub for an afternoon game. It’s a large place. Few seats. Lots of people. Big screens. A bit of a strange feeling. Something is missing. I doubt no one in the venue would share my desire to watch a big fat football match. But that’s not what’s missing. Smoke. I for one welcome the smoking ban, but this place with its high ceiling and redundancy of light create a strange atmosphere for someone like myself who couldn’t care less about the game. Even with my limited knowledge of rugby, I can tell that the Scottish team stinks, getting their asses kicked by the Irish. But Edinburgh is rugby. With or without smoke.

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