An E Mail from a Royalist: About the Bradby
In the last few days I’ve been somewhat critical of the behaviour of those involved indirectly with the Bradby. The trend is alarming. And as one of my friends remarked on FB in response to something I’d said, the two schools need to be above the ‘yakkoness, in the age of the yakkos’.
Clearly this discourse has hit home, and I had the following e mail from a very good friend of mine. A Royalist. And proudly so. I publish this e mail with his permission, and with respect to his wishes to remain anonymous. I am aware that I lack credibility, being a Thomian, to comment on the Bradby. But he doesn’t:
“I am a Royalist. Not a very famous one I might add.
I have watched my share of Bradby shield games, in Kandy and in Colombo. I have sat in the grandstands and in the cheap seats. The Bradby evokes the most passion and emotion in me, more than any other sporting event I watch. It is for this reason, that I write this humble piece. It is a very personal piece of writing and something that I did a lot of research into (in my own way).
My first memory of a Bradby shield was in 1988. It is a year that is difficult to forget if you are a Royalist. I mean we had a bloody New Zealander in the side. We were going to give Trinity a caning and we did. Surprisingly I also remember it because my family stayed at a Citadel, I misbehaved at the buffet queue, got my ears boxed and almost missed going to the Temple to see the newly stuffed Rajah (If memory serves me correctly, he passed away shortly before that Bradby Shield, I could be wrong, in any case a stuffed elephant has much appeal to a six year old).
Looking back, the memories of those early trips to Kandy made a huge impact on me. The sight and the sound of Bruce Cameron running circles around Trinity and the accompanying noise is what I have always attributed as being the cause of me preferring rugby to any sport. As a child those were supermen dressed in blue and gold. Hero’s of a bygone era, here they were Achilles and Ajax, Cameron and Gunaratne.
I suspect it is the same for many Trinitians. The champion sides that many grew up with probably left a similar or perhaps greater impression on their minds. Regardless of whichever school you went to, I suspect that these early memories are probably formed in the company of your father and possibly a rag tag bunch of young friends. Quite possibly, the bickering and games played at the bottom of whatever stand you were occupying is as much a memory as the games you watched. Those memories really are what forms the basis of the great love I have for this most prestigious fixture.
Years went by. I grew older. There was the glory of the Fiftieth Bradby shield victory. To me however this was dwarfed by the exploits of the very same Royal side the year before. Written off by most, under the pump for most of the two legs, glorious winners by 13-3 at the end. There was something of a mission impossible vibe about that side. I was older too and now able to appreciate the intricacies of the game. Make no doubt, I was no expert then. It was in that game of 1993 that it happened for the first time. A realization that I was fascinated not only by the celebrations but also by the defeat. I remember looking down from the tiers of Sugathadasa at the beaten Trinity 15. Many of them in tears, many exhausted lying down on the turf. There was something tragic about it, and at the same time heroic. They had played their hearts out. They had played most of the rugby. They had lost. It was all there to see, the tragedy and the romance of the Bradby.
Skip forward 4 years and the shoe was on the other foot. The year was 1997 and a penalty in injury time gave Trinity the shield and denied a valiant Royal side the chance of creating history by overcoming a points deficit of 8 points from the first leg. This Royal side captained by a man who I have come to regard as one of the foremost gentleman in the sport today, Mr Abdellah Yousuf.
A year later and a blood letting. A demolition of Trinity at Bogambara and a record points haul. I am now a teenager slowly embarking on the tricky path that leads to manhood. The games are no longer played at the foot of the stands. A surreptitious glance is stolen at the seats occupied by the old boys, and more importantly their daughters. You are a part of it now, able to identify with the players, pay your own way to the game. You have opinions on how the game went. Who played well. Who was useless. Etc. You see the players at house parties. They become super stars. There are whispers, one of the greatest teams ever, record breakers etc.
I moved abroad. In University now, thankfully the Bradby would be played during summer vacations. Sitting now in the grandstands. Four wins in a row. Halycon days. 2002 a record breaking side. Golden years. A new stadium even.
Something else is happening now. The sides are more professional. Warm up jerseys? What next? So figure hugging, our props look elephantine. And then it happens, you can no longer be part of it. That golden light no longer drifts through the stands, those memories of sunbeams and the roar of the crowd, the pineapple sellers, its all gone. Now there is television coverage, its difficult to get tickets. It gets worse. Dark mutterings.The referee was paid. The referee cheated. Royal bribed the referee. Trinity acted like thugs. A part of my childhood slowly dying.
I won’t point fingers and begin a game of “they started it”. To me both schools are to blame. Everyone knows the incidents, the Trinity Scrimmage taking the field in 2012 as well as the reaction to the Trinity “Haka” in 2013. This year I conducted an experiment. I sat in a Rs. 200 seat during the first leg in Colombo and then sat in the grandstand in Kandy. I doubt if I changed the order, the outcome of the experiment would be any different.
Somewhere down the line, those of us that probably should know better have contributed to destroying that which we love. Perhaps it was in trying to make the Bradby more of an occasion. We lost sight of what it is that makes this occasion so special. The thirty players and the triumph and tragedy of their own struggle on the pitch. That struggle which in its own way mirrors the emotions of those who have come to watch it. We bleed with those young men, and I’d like to think we bleed equally with both sides. Somewhere, we took their glory away from them because we were so desperate to capture some of it for ourselves.
To me the Bradby has become a a battle of ego. Who can have the grander show? Who can demonstrate the dominance of their tribe better? And most disgustingly, who can demonstrate this by belittling the other side? Long gone are the days when old boys refereed and manned the touch judge positions. I sat in Pallekelle and listened as perfectly good calls by the referee were hooted and jeered. Oh and before I am accused of bias, I’m sure the cat calls were much louder in Colombo.
Unless something is done to stop this rot, something magical will be allowed to die. I do not think this should be allowed to happen. I have many friends on the Trinity side of this divide, I know they share my views and I have nothing but the utmost admiration for Trinity college. I sincerely hope everyone gets together to preserve this, the pinnacle of rugby in Sri Lanka.I will not go to the Bradby shield next year. I might watch it on TV. I am lucky, I have seen the early evening sun shine through the grandstand at sugathadasa, I have seen the rain clouds gathering over bogambara, each in their own way adding naturally to the drama of thirty young lives. The memories I will always cherish are those that are created at the end of the game when I have often walked upon the field and observed young men dealing with triumph and disaster. Maybe one day I will return to my beloved Bradby, but only once we have again learnt to respect it.”
ballhandling101 
Eloquent and timely sentiments by someone who appreciates sport for the true reason of its existence.
Thank you Shanaka for sharing this bona fide and heartwarming essay. A must read for the youngest as well as the oldest of old boys.
Absolutely blew me away.
Made me relive my own Bradby experience of the past 8 years. 🙂
I think we are being a bit melodramatic here. Yes the sport is played with more emphasis now. The trainers and assistant trainers and fitness coach and what not. The fancy jerseys which not even schools in Canada can’t afford. I get it. After all I was instrumental in sponsoring Trinity’s 1st XV jerseys.
As someone who played for Trinity and to receive our jerseys from Australia was quite the excitement. We all do it not to boost our ego only cause we want to live that moment again. The ones who chant referee hire and the players were paid out by other team has always been there ever since I have been watching rugby as well.
Is there a bigger crowd of course. Is it a bigger spectacle, it has always been. Every girl who knew didly squat about rugby was still there for Bradby. So I think we all need to just chill and get life. Instead of birthing and whining about sub standards of Rugby nowadays. This is exactly what I use to hear in 97 from old boys then. Seems like an evolving trend. Let the boys enjoy the game and enjoy the attention. Afterall it only makes them confident!