Scott Adamson, Author at Adamsonmedia.com

I’ve become a major fan of Major League Rugby

I spent 30 years working for daily newspapers, and I don’t think I wrote a single story about rugby during my entire career. In fact, the only times I even used the word was contextually – as in explaining how the Interprovincial Rugby Football Union merged with the Western Interprovincial Football Union to form the Canadian Football League.

**Out of Left Field is written by Scott Adamson. It appears weekly and sometimes more frequently if he gets up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl**

However, I’ve become a pretty big fan of the game since my retirement, and thanks to NBC Sports Network’s coverage of Premiership Rugby and Six Nations competition, I’ve gotten up to speed on its rules and a bit of its history.

But being a guy tucked away in the southeastern portion of the United States, I kinda wanted to have a circuit rooted closer to home.

With Major League Rugby, which began its inaugural season last Saturday, now I do.

And I like it a lot.

I watched the debut match on CBS Sports Network, an exciting contest that saw the Glendale (Colorado) Raptors beat Austin Elite, 41-26. And throughout the weekend I tracked the other two games (there are seven active clubs this season, including the Seattle Seawolves, New Orleans Gold, Houston SaberCats, San Diego Legion and Utah Warriors. New York and Dallas entries are expected to join in 2019).

I’m hardly an expert, and I’m sure those who follow rugby closely had some nits to pick, but I was impressed. I thought there was quality across the board and it made me want to put it in my regular sports-watching rotation.

I even decided the NOLA Gold would be my favorite team this year because, well, why not?

I won’t bore your with a rules breakdown; if you’re interested, you can fire up the ol’ Google Machine and find them for yourself. But my favorite sports are association football and American football, and it combines the best elements of both.

I like the fast-pace of the games and how rugby successfully balances brute physicality with great skill.

So why hasn’t pro rugby ever caught on here before?

Although the game itself has been around since the 19th century, it didn’t spawn professional leagues until the 1990s.

So to that end, it’s still in its infancy.

But while it enjoys a strong following throughout much of the rest of the world, it has seemingly been stuck in neutral in the U.S.

Before MLR, a league called PRO Rugby tried to gain a foothold back in 2016. However, that five-team organization lasted just one season.

MLR – which has a single entity structure – has placed flagship franchises in hotbeds of the sport, and is attempting to build on the strong amateur rugby infrastructure of its communities.

The Gold, for example, is spawned from the New Orleans Rugby Football Club, which was formed in 1973 and has won several amateur championships during its existence.

And while there are some international players dotting the rosters (each team is allowed five), there are many more who have come up through the ranks of elite American-based clubs.

The result is a league that is serious about making pro rugby in the United States stick, and I hope MLR has found a recipe for success.

It’s certainly off to ambitious start; landing a TV contract right out of the gate was no small feat.

I plan to watch the Glendale vs. Seattle match on CBSSN this Saturday. In fact, I’m going to try to watch as many contests as I can going forward, because it’s worth my time and interest.

You might discover it’s worth your time and interest, too, if you give it a shot.

It’s a great sport with great players, and perhaps one day it’ll have even more franchises scattered across North America.

In the meantime, Geaux Gold.

Our newest critter has a devilish side

If you’ve happened to peek at this space, you know I’m an animal lover and are probably quite familiar with the newest four-legged addition to our family – Steve Rogers, Captain America.

**Brain Farce is an alleged humor column written by Scott Adamson. It comes out basically whenever he feels like writing it. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl**

He’s a rescue and a Chihuahua, so his arrival in my world accomplishes two things.

One, an animal who needed a home gets one that he can live happily in forever.

Two, he has helped fill a void for my wife and I, who lost our 17-year old Chi a year and a half ago.

Now at this point you’ve probably had your heartstrings tugged and are saying things like, “Awww,” and “How sweet.”

And I am a lovable little fellow, and therefore appreciate that reaction.

But in the interest of full disclosure, I need to share something with you:

I’m pretty sure Steve is possessed by demons.

There really is no other explanation for his frequent and horrific outbursts.

Remember the movie “The Omen?”

Remember the movie “The Exorcist?”

Now imagine Damien Thorn and Regan MacNeil getting married and then having a dog-child.

You know what you’d get?

Beelzepup, aka Steve Rogers. Captain America.

As is the wont of his breed, he yaps and he yaps a lot.

We knew this before we got him, and I’m fine with that. Sure, it’s startling when you hear a shrill, blood-curdling bark for no apparent reason – sorta like canine Tourette Syndrome. But hey – I unleash a similar scream when I get a call from a number I don’t recognize.

Then, though, he gets this evil look in his bulbous eyes and decides to attack.

Bane, our big, beautiful Maine Coon-size cat, will be minding his own business when suddenly Steve will leap from the couch, jump directly on top of Bane and take a huge bite of hair while making this unnerving hellhound-like noise.

Bane is so sweet and gentle he lets Steve get away with it, although occasionally he’ll throw a roundhouse when the tiny terror goes after his ears.

Thor, our other cat, was smart enough to rough Steve up early on, so he is rarely on the receiving end of Steve’s evil actions. Steve has learned to try a take a quick bite out of Thor’s butt, and then run away.

However, our 10-year-old dog, Charlie, can’t escape Steve’s wrath.

Any time Chuck so much as moves, Steve charges him and starts biting his legs.

Even when Charlie takes a break in the backyard and lies in the sun. Steve will run at him at full speed and dive into his chest, teeth-first.

Charlie has the sweetest nature of any dog I’ve ever known, but even he gets agitated by Steve.

The other day, I’m pretty sure I heard him call the little one an asshole.

And then there’s me.

Steve will be laying on my lap, sleeping the sleep of angels, and then suddenly jump into action and start gnoshing on me.

He went hard after the bird finger on my right hand just last week, and yesterday while I was working on this very column he chomped down on some love handle spillage on my left side.

It hurt like a mother.

My wife and I are peaceful people, so we don’t strong-arm our critters. And when it comes to Steve we try to correct him by sternly chastising him or, sometimes, sending him a terse text message.

He tends to mind his human mama much better than me, although he has tried her patience as well.

To date, however, he refuses to follow any of my orders. Yet just when I’m about to lose my temper, he’ll start wagging his tail and licking my face and being a precious little creature.

And he’ll stay that way for about five minutes … and then try to bite me.

Hopefully, we won’t have to resort to an exorcism; perhaps as he loses his puppy energy, he’ll give up the dark arts.

Meanwhile, I’ll just deal with his craziness as best I can.

After all, I do love the little devil.

A magazine, TV show and handbook cemented my soccer fandom

The 1970 World Cup final was the first soccer match I ever saw on TV … and I saw it on a six-month delay.

**Scott Adamson opines about The Beautiful Game periodically in Sidewinder Insider.**

ABC’s Wide World of Sports rebroadcast the final between Brazil and Italy on Dec. 26 of that year, even though the match was actually played on June 21, 1970, in Mexico City.

Brazil won, 4-1, with Pele scoring the first goal and ending his World Cup career with three titles.

As a 9-year-old in Birmingham, Alabama, I was mesmerized by the skill and artistry of the game. And seeing more than 100,000 fans in the stands – singing, chanting and cheering – left an indelible mark.

If I had to pinpoint one thing that ignited my passion for The Beautiful Game, this would be it.

Soon I was learning everything I could learn about soccer, and trying to get up to speed on world class players such as George Best, Johan Cruyff, Eusebio and Sepp Maier.

Still, soccer was not something easily accessible for an American fan in the American South, at least not in the 1970s.

Except for occasional blurbs in the local newspaper, the library was the only place where I could learn about the game.

That’s why to this day I still owe a debt of gratitude to three names you might not even recognize – Clay Berling, Toby Charles and Zander Hollander. These were men who brought the game to me through word and voice.

Berling published a biweekly newsletter called “Soccer West” in 1971 and a year later it went national as “American Soccer” magazine.

What morphed into “Soccer America” became my go-to source for the sport, and I cheerfully parted with my allowance in order to pay for a subscription and read great work from great writers.

Berling, who died last October, was inducted into the National Soccer Hall of Fame in 1995, honored as one of the sport’s builders in the United States.

In 1976, however, I was introduced to both the TV series “Soccer Made In Germany” and the annual publication “The Complete Handbook of Soccer.”

For me, it completed an association football holy trinity.

Charles provided play-by-play for truncated broadcasts of West German competition, an hour of soccer beamed into my home each week thanks to the Public Broadcasting System.

One of his most famous phrases, reserved for off-target shots, was “high, wide and not too handsome,” but the fact that he had such knowledge of the game increased my knowledge of the game. Thanks to YouTube I can still hear his terrific voice – and get a taste of “Soccer Made In Germany.”

As for Hollander, who spent much of his career editing encyclopedias of every major sport, I’ll be forever grateful for “The Complete Handbook Of Soccer.”

The first was published in 1976, and I own two copies.

Shoot, I still read one from time to time; the other is on display in my fan cave.

What made it such a valuable resource for me was that it featured previews of each North American Soccer League team, profiles of 100 of the NASL’s top players, an overview of the American Soccer League, a breakdown of college soccer, and a handful of features.

One story in the 1976 edition, written by Andrew Cagen, profiled NBA legend Bob Cousy, who had taken over as commissioner of the ASL.

Who knew?

Until the handbook came out, I certainly didn’t.

Hollander died in 2014, but I like to think he’d be pleased to know that my bookshelf is stocked with much of his work.

By 1976, I felt as “caught up” on soccer as I could possibly be.

Between reading “Soccer America” and “The Complete Handbook Of Soccer” and watching “Soccer Made In Germany” to the soundtrack of a Welsh broadcaster, my love for the game was cemented forever. It led me to build a makeshift goal in my backyard and go on to enjoy a highly undistinguished high school playing career.

So, if you ever ask me who my “heroes” are in the sport, the names Berling, Charles and Hollander won’t be the names you expect.

They will, however, be the names you’ll hear.