All Captains

Surname	First names	Known by
Paulo	Ti'i Ti'i		view
Payne	Jared Benjamin		view
Peina	Lee Weneti Toha		view
Pene	Arran Rewi Brett		view
Penn	Anthony Wayne	Tony	view
Penney	Robin Hugh	Rob	view
Penrose	Ian Harold		view
Pereira	Benjamin John Tavita	Ben	view
Perenara	Thomas Tekanapu Rawakata	T J	view
Perry	Richard Grant	Grant	view
Pescini	Donald Justin	Don	view
Peters	Matthew Lambert	Matt	view
Phillips	Paul Lowther		view
Phillips	William Watts	Willie	view
Philp	Tony Allan		view
Phipps	Warren John		view
Pickering	Ernest Arthur Rex	Rex	view
Pihema	Shane Kiri		view
Playle	Rex Basil		view
Plummer	Harry R J		view
Poching	Sika T		view
Pohatu	Mana Brad		view
Poi	Henare Tripoli	Tripoli	view
Poihipi	Dan		view
Pole	Abraham A		view
Polwart	Liam		view
Polwart	Sean David		view
Porter	Neil Miller		view
Pou	Hemi Thomas		view
Prendergast	Gregory J		view
Prendergast	Philip Richard	Phil	view
Preston	Jon Paul		view
Price	Jason		view
Priest	Timothy Craig	Tim	view
Pringle	Bernard John	Bernie	view
Prinsep	Reed J		view
Procter	James A	Jim	view
Proctor	Matthew Phillip	Matt	view
Pulu	Augustine W		view
Pye	Neil William	Sam	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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