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Underwater rugby: tough but silent

Michael Restin
17.4.2019
Translation: Eva Francis

A goal at the bottom of a pool. A buoyant ball. Underwater rugby is weightless and tough; full on and oddly silent. A fascinating sport that baffles the senses. Mine, at least.

To me, that's the death zone down there. After a few seconds there, I run out of air. I spend most time floating above this zone like a lazy sea turtle. I’m very close to ball and sometimes, for a second, I’m in the thick of the action.

Who are these people?

My underwater rugby experience is contradictory and interesting right from the start. When a guy shakes your hand like a hulk and introduces himself as «Piccolo», you can't help but wonder who else you’ll be meeting.

Luckily, the people who drop in one by one aren't all giant-like, strongmen swimmers, but a diverse mixture of young and old, men and women. Some strong, others agile. Under water, we're not all the same, but the differences are less noticeable, as hits are cushioned and raw force is slowed down.

Piccolo grande

Still, Piccolo's hands look like he robbed the food bowl from a clowder of hungry cats. They're covered in scratches. «Short fingernails are a good idea or you'll end up looking like this,» he says and smiles. Looks like not everyone at the Swiss Championships had short fingernails. But Piccolo and his team won the title.

The fact that players move in three dimensions makes underwater rugby quite unique. Apart from Harry Potter's Quidditch, that is. But what about the fourth dimension? «Air,» Piccolo says and touches his throat. The more air you have, the more time you have. That's your personal space where you can make a difference. Essentially, the sport is an endless sequence of personal game overs that must be compensated for by your teammates. No air? No chance.

Combat swimmers vs. scuba tourists

Time for a team talk. We're wearing blue water polo caps with ear protection and velcro wristbands of the same colour to keep track of who's who when we're all tangled up under water. Blue? My team. White? Opponent.

With their strapped-on goggles, sawn-off snorkels and speed-enhancing carbon fins, they all look like a Marines Special Forces unit. And then there’s me: the typical tourist on a lookout for marine animals, wearing wide shorts and squeaky yellow gear. «There are five of us on our team – and him,» I hear as we hang from the edge of the pool before the training match begins.

I give a puff through my snorkel, half-laughing, half-agreeing, and adjust my goggles. They're right, I wouldn't count on me either. I'm pretty sure most of this game will be taking place well below my level. Water level, that is.

Forward, back and goalie

Where am I playing? I’m made a forward. It's better to have a forward regularly rushing to the surface to catch air than to be left with gaps in the back line. The other two positions aren't an option:

The back is positioned in front of the basket and aims to prevent the opposition from approaching the goal. The last player, the goalie, lies or sits on top of the basket to block open attacks on the goal. Ass on basket. This might sound and even funny, but it's hard work. Nobody's allowed to hold on to the basket, not even the goalie, while the opponents are pushing, shoving and pulling towards the goal.

We’re playing six a side: two players share a position and must trust each other to be there when one runs out of air. This means coordinating breathing breaks. Bad news for Sabine. She’s my fellow forward.

And suddenly there’s the ball

«Just see how it goes,» she says. Then we dive down towards the ball that's waiting on the bottom of the pool. The game begins. I marvel at all the wriggling arms, bodies and legs. The only pressure I feel is on my ears, as I'm not expecting much from myself. If I can do something, great, but I don't have to. I'm trying to stay close to Sabine. That's difficult enough.

A pro would now accelerate and make the most of the time and space. What do I do? I spin around once and pass the ball off to the next best person, then rush to the surface to breathe. Did the ball arrive? I don't know. At least I wasn't tackled.

Time to breathe

Congratulations, you’ve reached the bottom. Well, almost. Feel free to dive even deeper into my articles.

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Simple writer and dad of two who likes to be on the move, wading through everyday family life. Juggling several balls, I'll occasionally drop one. It could be a ball, or a remark. Or both.


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