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spotlight-studios
2nd December 2010

“I’ll have a rugby ball, scalpel, and some clunge please, mate”

There are a section of people present at most universities in Britain who probably accumulate more dislike from the rest of the student body than any other. They are the only group cliquey enough to organise their own ski trip, whilst being the only sports team more unbearably annoying than the organisers of the normal ski trip. I’m referring to the single most ‘banterific’ group of students that has ever walked the Earth, the Medic Rugby Boys.
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There are a section of people present at most universities in Britain who probably accumulate more dislike from the rest of the student body than any other. They are the only group cliquey enough to organise their own ski trip, whilst being the only sports team more unbearably annoying than the organisers of the normal ski trip. I’m referring to the single most ‘banterific’ group of students that has ever walked the Earth, the Medic Rugby Boys.

These bench-pressing, ‘get your rat out’ singing, six pints an hour lads encompass everything there is to dislike about students, and well, people in general.  They’re the British university’s equivalent to high-school jocks. The difference is that they’re several years older than their American counterparts and are studying something far more challenging than third grade maths, so we should be able to safely presume they have the intellect to not act like complete tools. I really can’t quite grasp what it is that makes them prance around like they own the place, or rather, that bit of Manchester between the Stopford building and the gym.

Any niggling annoyances I had were emphatically confirmed during the Medics’ Panto last year; a performance of The Wizard of Oz with a twist. I’m no amateur theatre critic, but I thought the whole thing was well written, and would have enjoyed watching Dorothy follow the Medic Prick Road a whole lot more if it wasn’t for that particular section of the audience who thought it was funny to scream abuse at Dorothy every time she came on stage. I understand I sound like a teacher who’s lost control of his class and “Just can’t understand why they have to ruin it for everyone”, but it equated to a two hour long barrage of “Get em out Dorothy, you shlagg!”. I didn’t like the fact that I’d paid five pounds for something I could have seen by standing outside Robbos for ten minutes during an initiation.

I do have friends who fall within this category, so whilst I clearly am making a very sweeping statement I do realise there are some exceptions.  Just be aware, if you do recognise yourself in my words, not everyone is giving you ‘lad points’.


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