Maggots Uncensored By Josh Mahan A Maggot prepares for the boots.

The story spread like wildfire through the ranks of the rugby club, and soon the driver had the bus humming down the interstate in pursuit of the Caddy. If you’re ever behind the Maggot bus and it’s swerving down the road, don’t worry, the driver’s the only sober guy on the bus. The Maggot bus wheel has more play in it than the entire club has ever gotten at a Rugby party, prompting a general swerviness to any Maggot travels. I digress. Did I mention that this motley crew had just annihilated four other clubs during pitch play at Fools Fest to become tournament champions? The beers were going down smooth for this bunch. After each brew downed, the ruggers chucked the empty can against the ceiling, aiming for some mate’s head, before returning to talk of getting the boots from some guy, or giving the boots to some other guy.

All such talk and shenanigans were put on hold as soon as they bus came wavering up along side the Cadillac, this time on the driver’s side of the car. The Maggots hollered, jeered, and showed their asses to this woman. They screamed for her to show her tits. Meanwhile the bus cruised in-and-out of lanes of Spokane interstate traffic. Occasionally another vehicle would find itself between the primordial conversation occurring between the Cadillac and the bus of sweaty, drunken Maggots. The woman motioned to the Maggots that she couldn’t roll down her driver’s side window, and hastily switched lanes of traffic behind the bus and eased up along the left side of the traveling clubhouse.   

The Maggots dove to the left side of the bus like they were busting through an opponent’s line on a heated scoring drive. The sudden redistribution of weight proved too much for the bus’ ample play, and it began careening back-and-forth across a couple lanes of traffic. The bus was riding at the height of post-game recklessness and these Maggots had a sense of invincibility to them as they hollered out the window, spilling beer on themselves and their mates, with the bus wobbling to-and-fro across the road. The Caddy kept stride though, and the woman popped her breast out again and began licking the nipple. She slowly accelerated the length of the bus and drove off once more. The Maggots, trophy ball in hand, surrounded by their crew, were pretty damn proud to be rugby players at that moment.

Rules and Rugby Even with journalistic credentials like Lowbagger.org, Roselle and I never would have made it past the front door of the Maggot bus if master Lowbagger and Maggot coach Jake Kreilick hadn’t paved the way. The day before the breast-licking incident we met at the traditional Maggot meeting spot, the Oxford, for a 6:30 a.m. breakfast. I had asked Jake if those fucking Maggots would make us pound beers or shave our legs on this trip.

We arrived at the tourney-site around 10 a.m. Fools Fest was to take place at a polo field on the bluffs above Spokane. These rugby players are definitely the Lowbaggers of the sports world. Since the “soccer-fags” won’t share their fields, the ruggers convert the polo field into a number of rugby pitches, complete with a PVC goalpost on each end of the pitches. Facilities included a Busch Light beer garden and a barbie serving up dogs and thin burgers with thick buns.

If rugby is the Lowbagger of sports, the Maggots are the Lowbaggers of rugby. They have a few proverbs. One discusses acceptable beer: cheap and free. Apparently the team name hails from a heated match in Canada some years back. The locals up there described the team from Missoula as a bunch of Maggots. Accepted as a compliment, the name stuck.

From morning to afternoon on the first day of play, Saturday, April 9, the sport of men’s and women’s rugby dominated on those converted fields. Multiple games of physical play, witnessed at close quarters, surrounded the few spectators. Occasionally a team would stall out at the try line near the barbeque and a crowd would mass at the end of the field, literally five feet from the play. If you like action sports fans, this is where it’s at.

You should see coach Kreilick come unglued on a Maggot going half-assed out on the pitch. No holds barred. Roselle and I couldn’t help but notice the difference between the way he treats hippies and the way he treats his ruggers. Usually we deal with the tactful and considerate Kreilick who can work his way through a PC-meeting like a Zen master meeting another on a road after a long journey. Instead it was, “Suck it up Black, and get aggressive.” The environmental movement could benefit from a little less hand-holding and a bit meaner attitude.

Kreilick addresses the Maggots.

“The young guys are fearless tacklers, but lack technique,” Brownie said after the game. “When you mix athleticism and technique you get a good rugby club.”

At times there were lulls in the excitement. About that time I could either find Roselle in the Maggot bus reading porno mags, or I could track down Spokane enviro-Lowbagger Mike Petersen in the beer garden. He had come to see the Maggots play and found a radio talk-show host colleague head-deep in the scrum on one of the Spokane female teams.

You could also always belly up with Russ to hear Maggot stories, new and old. The latest involved a run-in with a rugger who couldn’t get into the post-game drinkup because he was wearing a short skirt and no underwear. Cordially one of the female players took off her panties and handed them over for the Maggot to wear for the evening. Russ is the historian of the Maggot team, from my short experience with the club. You won’t meet a guy more in tune with the spirit of the rugby brotherhood, or more loyalty for his team.

The Maggots got the action going again in the afternoon, sweeping the tourney with a win over Lewiston, 55-7, and a decisive victory over 43^rd State with a score of 41-0. When the chips fell at day’s end on Saturday, the Maggots were facing fellow Montana Rugby Union (MRU) members, the Bozeman Cutthroats in the Fools Fest Championship. The rivalry and camaraderie between the two clubs runs deep. The Cutthroats hacked their way into a victory over the Maggots last year for the MRU championship.

All signs pointed to Maggot victory the next day, especially since the Fish were running a little light. The Cutthroats finished out their day by barely beating Washington State in a contested game. The same Washington State the Maggots had torn apart earlier in the day.

Champions, Court, and Pit Brawls

The guys stayed as tame as a bunch of victorious rugby players could be at a drinkup, which means they had a damn good time. You could tell they had business on their minds, though. Most teams stayed huddled around their respective tables. The dance floor bustled with lightweight hip-hop beats and a bad lighting scheme. But some steady traffic. The Lowbaggers bailed early, but we know someone had fun in there.

The next day the Maggots cleaned-out the Cutthroats. Mike and I sat at a distance at one point and watched a wave of black jerseys tear toward the goal line. It was an impressive sight. The final score, 58-0.

They received the game ball in front of the crowd. Reveled in the glamour, drank some beer, parted like the gentlemen social rugby players that they are, and bussed up.

Maggot Bus Rules

These Maggots were pumped on the bus ride home. I already told you about Spokane. There was a stop in Kellogg for more beer. Then a bar stop in Wallace. After that, true bus colors showed. Court was held in the pit, a sleeping section in the back of the bus. There were trials for a no-show on the bus ride over, and the stealing of a hot-chick, beer poster from a bar. The Maggots are adamant about not stealing.

Then came the stunner. Coach Kreilick was found guilty of one of the most heinous Maggot crimes, puking on the bus. Apparently the drinkup the night before had been a bit much for the old Maggot. While there were no witnesses, a Maggot forensics team laid out the case and Kreilick had no chance. His sentence, a hair cut. One snip from each Maggot, rookies excluded. If you think these guys are scary on the field, try letting them drunkenly brandish scissors in your face on a moving bus. Kreilick was good sport about it. All he could say was, “Power of the bus.”

I later experienced the power of the bus when the Maggots challenged me to pit wrestling. I couldn’t be the pansy-ass reporter the whole trip. It was time to get physical with the Maggots. The first man apparently was their wrestling star. A stout rookie named Alex, he seemed to have pinned most of the team. I later found out he was some sort of All-American. It certainly felt that way when he got me in a head lock. The second match was with a guy more my size, it got a bit rough and tumble, and I held my own for at least a little while. Ultimately, he too pinned me. While it wasn’t quite like Hunter getting beat down by the Hell’s Angels after riding with them, I couldn’t help but liken the two experiences.

There were more bar stops but by this time the Maggots were content playing cards. The next thing we were in Missoula and a bus tire was exploding. The driver had misjudged his angle. A rookie move, and a calling for court if I’ve ever heard of one.