TeamDurham: Women's Lacrosse team 1 (2010-11)

The number one reason why I am at Durham University in England is to play lacrosse. At least that is what captured my attention. Back in 2007, I thought that I would never again play a competitive game of lacrosse. Here I am in 2011, and I am on one of the best teams in England. It is hard, draining, demanding, and just as wonderful as I remember.

A connection between a team cannot be recreated. This is officially the best team I have ever been a part of, and I don't mean skill level. I mean there is no petty jealousies or drama. We love to play, so we play. I think it has something to do with the far less competitive nature of the British culture, but I have no gossip or bitchy stories about my teammates; that is first for me.

Here are a few pictures of TeamDurham! (purple and white)

Taking it easy after a long day of practicing, lifting, and conditioning

Preparing for a long day of lacrosse

Partying after a week of lacrosse

DIckens?

I have been getting some requests for images of where I live. My camera does not work because I have lost the battery charger like a dumb ass, so these pics were stolen from roommates and classmates. Durham City, Durham County, England, British Isles, Europe.

Game Days: 6-1-1

We had a good two month break from lacrosse due to the lack of an Ice Cowboy and Christmas break (they are all Christians in this country for the most part so we don't say winter break), so we were excited to jump back into games this week. We had two games in two days- both about 4 hours South of Durham, so we got a hotel room and made an adventure of it.

Wednesday, we tied. I know it sucks, but it's tue. Birmingham is a really good team, and they pressured us hard. My defense played well and my offense played well. Why did we tie? I sucked. For some reason I was just not my best. Well at least we did not lose I suppose.

Thursday, we kicked ass! Warwick was no match for TeamDurham! We played our best, and we were ready for more. We play Warwick once more as well as our 'rivals' Newcastle, and that is the end of the regular season. This leaves us as number 1 in the North. Pictured above is all the Premier teams and their standings. There are not many, but it is the highest level of lacrosse in England. I know we will make it to the national tournament, and I know we will do well. I just hope we win it all because I don't want it to end.

Rowlands in England

My dear family came to visit me from Christmas Eve to New Years Eve. No way was I doing more air travel this year, so they came to England. Even my sister who currently resides in Malaysia came. One would think a family spening Christmas Holiday in a forgiegn country would travel a bit, and we did... a little. We went to the city of old York, which is always worth the trip, and we spent Boxing Day in Newcastle (North East England to Newcastle is like Phili to South Jersey).

Mostly though, we drank. We went to every single pub in the small town of Durham, which happens to be the most densly PUBulated city I know. One thing to know about my familiy is that they are loud. I am the quiet one, and that is saying a lot. The Brits, unless absolutly shit faced and about to beat your face in, are a quiet bunch. In a bar with no music, you can not easily ease drop on any converstaiont. An Irish family from New Jersey, however, can be heard over the loudest of sound systems two blocks away. Needless to say, in every bar, people cleared out once we arrived. We even tended to 'own' entire back rooms of places after a good 15 min. The best though was when we played Cardnal Puff Puff, a drinking game popular in a small Rhode Island college invented in the 70s that involves memorization and chugging. We screamed, laughed, sang, and spilled beer. Every parton of the estabilishment moved to the tiny front bar while we spread out in back, which is the largest part of the bar.

It was a grand time, and we visited the following bars in the six days we spent drinking in Durham:

Osbournes (empty as usual)

Zen (not really a bar, but the Rowlands did drink pleanty)

The Boathouse (We did not drink, but it is worth mentioning)

The Big Jug (just chris- to catch a football match)

Slug and Lettuce (locely way to spend Christmas eve- the only place with out drunk and dissorderly locals)

Ask (don't ask for too much because the service is terrible)

Swan & Three (Victoria was begging to go here all trip because she wanted to know what the three stood for- I can never remember)

Varsity (3 times)

The New Inn (the only other patron was my conditioning coach)

Llyods (The Bishop Mill I.e. where my team goes clubbing after games)
The Court House (there was an Irish band rocking out to fiddles and accordians- my dad was happy)

The Shakespeare Pub (Cardnial Puff Puff lives on!)

The Half Moon (classic Durham drining hole)

Market Tavern (my family's first experience with muchy peas... i still don't know the difference)

(also about three bars in Newcastle)

The Ice Cowboy: A Preverbial Tale That I Just Made Up

When Jack Frost sticks his ethnically offensive nose around the corner of Fall and Winter, America meets it head on. The plows are a plowing; the salt is vigarously distributed; shovels are moving at a steady pace; snow blowers are obnoxiously blowing. America's fear of the law suit and cowboy heritege allows the country to be funtional in the snowy months of winter. Now I am only speaking for the parts of America that is USED to occational snow accumilation. It is as if these snowy states (VT, ND, NY, even NJ) have a mythical hero who preotects them from complete month long shut downs and danger. I call him the Ice Cowboy.

As you can see the Ice Cowboy carries not a pistol in his holster- but an ice scraper. In his arms in not a shotgun- but a snow shovle. He herds not cows- but snow plows. Those are not mini plows; he is just that big. As is his horse. The Ice Cowboy is the giant man who protects the colder snowy regions of America from a lack of production. We must always work and be active, valued members of society. Sometimes it is a bit much for him, but he is only slowed down a bit. He is never stopped. The Ice Cowboy will only allow stop to hinder him for a day or two. HOORAY!

Why do I bring this up? Because England has no such perverbial tale. England has not great protector to face blizzards head on bravely. So when the British Isles get a good inch of snow, everything stops. There are no plows, salt, or even shovels. Shops close. Roads are completely undrivable. Walkways are terribly dangerous. Life comes to a scetching hault for DAYS. The whole country shuts down. It only takes a flurry to provent any planes from leaving or entering Heathrow.

I live in North East England, and it is a far colder snowier place than London, and we were shut down for over a month. Classes continued, but obtaining any means of getting there was impossible. When you fall flat on your ass because of ice, no one laughs because they have fallen twice already. The snow started Wednesday of November 24th. It was light and fun, but it was continual. The snow did not stop for two weeks. The roads were finally safe to drive on New Years Day. I kid you not. There was ice to be found everywhere. If only they had a cowboy of their own...