Haxey Hood (Part 6): Mud, Blood and Booze

The Ood's other casualty is a brawny outdoor fitness instructor whose curly reddish hair and pink cheeks make him look like a cherub on steroids.

"I weigh 17 stone (240 pounds), and it didn't protect me," laughs Brian Briggs, wincing from the pain.

"I got crushed. Everyone went over, and I 'ad about three people layin' on top of my chest, and just crushin' my lower ribs so I couldn't breathe. I don't reckon they're broken, but they are very, very painful—I 'eard them crack when I was landed on."

A similar thing happened two years ago, when Brian broke his collarbone.

"This year it's just as well we fell on the field, 'cause it's a soft landing. Nice an' muddy, you don't get 'urt. When you fall on the road, that's when it really does 'urt."

This from the guy who just cracked his ribs on the field.

"One lad last year got three of 'is fingers dislocated from landin' down near the pub. So he got 'is fingers dislocated and"—he cracks his knuckles for effect—"he puts 'em all back in place and carries on!"

What with all the drinking and scope for injury, you'd expect the paramedics to frown on the Hood.

However, the moustachioed man from St. John's Ambulance takes the casualties in stride.

"Mainly just sprains and strains, the odd bit of crushing, like. When you come against something like a solid object, like a wall, or a car, it's not gonna give. So you may get a couple crush injuries, but—y'know"—he shrugs—"I think it's brilliant. I think it's absolutely fantastic. It's Old England, isn't it? It's Old England. It's something that's been goin' on for years—something we should never get rid of."

Over the next few hours, the swaying, hundred-footed drunk, the bedraggled knot of humanity, stumbles through Haxey in the dark, steaming and heaving and careening off walls, windows and even a car.

Halfway through, an old-timer shouts to the boggins to rescue him from the mob. Despite his wife's warnings, after downing two gallons of beer, he couldn't resist the pull of the Sway.

"I shouldn'ta been in it, lad" he gasps. "Aye, I'd an 'eart attack three months ago."

By the time the Hood reaches the King's Arms on the other side of the village, I'm feeling revitalised by the mad rush I get whenever I go to these events.

Mud, blood and booze in Old England; maybe I'm not so crazy after all.

* * *

©J.R. Daeschner

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