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How was I now to argue that the NFL was the most violent of the three, what with Ribs on my right flank honking about the two busted ribs he had suffered in his pub's annual rugby game just a few weeks ago, and how ho-hum it was for ruggers to play right through fractured jaws and arms [and enjoy a postgame cold one to dull the pain]; what with Sydney City and Brisbane, wearing little more than jocks and shorts and shirts and snarls and mud, hurling their flesh and bones at each other over and over in a series of ground-shaking goal line stands in front of me; what with Nash dog-piling on from my left, bellowing, "Rugby's not even me game, Sepo, but look at 'em go at it! You can't even compare American football to this! Yours is just a chess game -- your players spend more time deciding what to do than doing it, and then it's not even the players deciding, it's some 50-year-old bastard on the side sending 'em messages what to do!"
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