The Gentle Giant Problem

We've come up against several gentle giants over the years - one who was so gentle that after half a match at prop, on a surface like liquid Bournville, he came off looking like a Persil advert. We have another at the moment. I won't mention any names because that would be embarrassing and the latest thinking is that we should be nice to kids. So I'll just call him JR.

Now, JR isn't as bad as the other case I mentioned above but he is a bit on the gentle side. His mother was telling me on Sunday she thinks she may be to blame for him not being aggressive enough at rugby as she has always tried to bring him up not to kill his siblings (who are normal size). He isn't normal size; he's so big that his feet have their own post code.

All joking aside though, I'd probably have done the same; rugby is great but not at the cost of fatal injuries to the rest of the family. Social Services can be so picky these days...

For the moment the programme of helping him shake off these years of conditioning consists of shouting abuse to wind him up. It's a crude technique but you have to start somewhere. Later I intend gaining access to his i-pod and inserting subliminal messages (kill, kill) into the song lyrics. Failing that I'm going to record some Sugababes songs over his favourites. Don't know about you but that would make feel like being aggressive. I've just got to make sure he thinks the opposition did it.