Son, in this world there are scrums.

And in these scrums you need props.
Are you willing to do it?


As a prop I have more responsibility than you can possibly fathom.

You use words like "drunk" and "out of shape"; those words are the very backbone of a life I have spent drinking and partying in, and you use them as a punch line.


You weep for your wings and centers, and curse the prop.
You have that luxury.

You have the luxury of knowing that the front row, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, wins these games you play.


Truth?

You can't handle the truth.
Because deep down in places you don't talk about in your selection meetings, you want me in that scrum; you need me in that scrum.

I neither have the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a back who scores on the very blanket of ball retention that I provide, and questions the manner in which I provide it.


I would rather you bought me a beer and went on you way.
Otherwise, I suggest you crawl into a scrum and get dirty.