Countdown: Ireland's 30 greatest players of a successful ...
The 50 best rugby players in the world in 2020 Rugby ...
Planet Rugby's six players to watch in the Six Nations ...
Antoine Dupont crowned Six Nations' best Planet Rugby
Six Nations Rugby Rising Stars: Who to look out for in ...
Six Nations 2021 fantasy rugby tips: The best players to ...
Six Nations Fantasy Rugby 2020 tips: 15 players to pick in ...
The Six Nations player power rankings as 20 best ...
10 best rugby players in the world in 2021 - Radio Times
best rugby players in the six nations
best rugby players in the six nations - win
So here it is... rugbymas is upon us
And so, I've woken with an extra beat in my heart. Rugbymas is finally upon us. It's been a weird one, to be sure, but we finally get to see what 2021 is all about; Can anyone best the big bad boys in pristine, perfectly ironed white shirts? Will the welsh finally click and remember how to catch a ball? Who the fuck are France? Wales are looking rrrrrelatively resurrected, but with a massive burden upon those brrrrrroad shoulders, and more expectation than when I go to the toilet after a massive pizza from Ffwrnes. Anything less than a world cup trophy and a Nobel peace prize from this Six Nations shall bring a 100 year spell of Doom and Gloom Ireland are a little robotic, but in that 'it's just learning your actions' kinda way, before absolutely going off script, ripping you arm from arm, and obliterating the human race kind of way. Will they finally break the shackles of the most furious man to ever wear a number 10 shirt? Or will they just eat the young of their rivals in a bid to win back that most coveted silver cup? England have had a jam in their Orc Processing Plant of late with quite a few not being available through injury, bans, or associated shithousery, and that leaves it open for, well....a big brown envelope being passed to the referees by Boris to ensure the status quo is kept. Italy look genuinely exciting! Will we see more technical bullshittery that has players scampering to the ref for an explanation mid-match, only to be ridiculed on camera? Will a certain team in white be brought tight to the edge by an impassioned team of skilful and upcoming, brainy, rugby hipsters? God I hope so... A rejuvenated Scotland, complete with Russel et al, might be the final dash of lemon, the pinch of paprika, the parsley atop the dish of delectable deliciousness that is the Six Nations. They may draw this entire tournament together like never before, perfecting it in ways hitherto unheard of, for once showing the kind of vim, vigour and vengeance necessary to actually challenge the crown for once and not just be an 'also ran', for the 20th time in 20 years... And then, our gallic cousins to the south.. The team that causes more upsets, both on the pitch and in newspapers than anyone, from Trump to Johnson, fom Huget to ..... Huget.... A team more indecisive than a white flag on a blustery day. But also a team more decisive than a bullet through la tête; will France finally vanquish the white-clad wankers and rid the world of their continued obnoxious scourge? I dont know. But I'm fucking dying to find out. To all those about to enjoy this years six nations, I truly hope you have a good one (even you, England fans) and enjoy it. It's been a tough time these last 12 months, and for a time I thought we'd never get here. But today I am filled with hope, anticipation and ridiculous dreams... and I shall sit at home and scream at my telly with the rest of you. Happy Rugbymas folks x (Edit. I cant fucking do it I hope you lose every match england and Im not sorry fuck you x)
Needless to say just how hard/impossible ranking players in rugby is given the drastically different roles each position plays. But that hasn't stopped me from attempting. I expect the list is probably still too 'flashy' player heavy and missing several more front-rowers that should be in it but that's just the nature of the beast. I've tried to go for a mix of player talent and player importance/value to a team (so there are a disproportionately high number of Fly-halves for instance and more Tight-head props than loose-heads) Of course everyone will have wildly different views on their own versions of this list. Please bear in mind this is only my 1st draft of the list and I'm very open to listening to counter-arguments for players.
25 - Duane Vermeulen
Nation: South Africa Club: Bulls Position: Number 8 Age: 34 Height: 1.93m (6ft 4) Weight: 117kg (258lbs) Position Rank: #2 Despite his advanced age Vermulen has really hit a second win since his stint in Toulon ended in 2018. Returning to the Boks he has provided regular front-foot ball whilst still holding on to his deft ball skills. Completely outshone Billy Vunipola in the RWC final and has continued to put in the work in Super Rugby Unlocked. Clearly still one of the best 8s in the world
24 - Eben Etzebeth
Nation: South Africa Club: Toulon Position: Lock Age: 29 Height: 2.03m (6ft 8) Weight: 123kg (271lbs) Position Rank: #3 Whitelock vs Etzebeth vs Snyman for this slot was and is admittedly very difficult. With the Springboks having more 'recent' success and with good showings in Toulon Eben just gets the nod. Quite simply, one of the scariest players in world rugby. His physicality is unmatched in the Second Row. However, he just lacks the same level of refined skills (of the two second rowers I have ranked higher) to move up the list.
23 - Grégory Alldritt
Nation: France Club: La Rochelle Position: Number 8 Age: 23 Height: 1.91m (6ft 3) Weight: 115kg (254lbs) Position Rank: #1 In a world currently bereft of top-class number 8s. Gregory brings some much needed reprieve. His combination of destructive power, surprising speed and ball-handling ability sees him just usurp Duane Vermulen as the best 8 in the world. Only 23, he looks set to be in the spine of this french team for the best part of the next decade. Continuing a long-line of destructive french number 8s (Picamoles, Chabal etc) He has the ability to make fans gasp and wince and also the ability to make Scottish fans endlessly wish his dad stayed in Scotland for just a little bit longer.
22 - Taniela Tupou
Nation: Australia Club: Reds Position: Tight-head Prop Age: 24 Height: 1.81m (5ft 11) Weight: 132kg (291lbs) Position Rank: #2 A difficult player to place. Not your average prop. His vulnerability at scrum-time certainly made me consider leaving him off the list however his work in the loose is just too incredible not too. He plays like a 130kg fly-half with deft flicks and steps to beat defenders. His game in the tight is improving and at only 24 his potential ceiling is stratospheric.
21 - Richie Mo'unga
Nation: New Zealand Club: Crusaders Position: Fly-half Age: 26 Height: 1.76m (5ft 9) Weight: 83kg (183lbs) Position Rank: #4 Another tough player to rank. Peerless at Super Rugby level yet seemingly un-exceptional at international level, questions remain over his long-term future. International 10s need time to develop and with Beaudy gone for 2021, Mo'unga will have just that. His performance in Bledisloe 3 was superb and showed what threat he can be ball-in-hand but we wait to see how he'll hold up against tougher, faster defences found in SA and the NH.
20 - Dane Coles
Nation: New Zealand Club: Hurricanes Position: Hooker Age: 34 Height: 1.84m (6ft 0) Weight: 110kg (243lbs) Position Rank: #1 At 34 he is coming to end of his illustrious career. However, he showed enough in 2020 to prove he still has 'it'. Unmatched in the loose and with a tough edge he's just done enough to squeeze onto this list ahead of Bongi Mbonambi and to take the title of #1 Hooker.
19 - Romain Ntamack
Nation: France Club: Toulouse Position: Fly-half /Centre Age: 21 Height: 1.86m (6ft 1) Weight: 86kg (190lbs) Position Rank: #3(Fly-Half) The Youngest player on this list. It seems the sky is the limit for the son off french great Emile Ntamack. With a game almost a smooth as his hair, Romain seems to have all the tools to be a generational fly-half talent. The poise and skill he has shown on the big stage from such a young age has shown echoes of Carter. Happily for French fans, his biggest future obstacle may come in the form of competition from his 'even younger' compatriots as Matthieu Jalibert and Louis Carbonel look to have the talent to take the French 10 jersey off his back should he slip up.
18 - Beauden Barrett
Nation: New Zealand Club: Suntory Sungoliath Position: Fullback/Fly-half Age: 29 Height: 1.87m (6ft 2) Weight: 91kg (201lbs) Position Rank: N/A What to do with Beaudy? I assume it's what most Kiwi's think about every night. It's clear that he is ultimately just slightly limited at 10 against the top, top defences of world rugby. Yet, it also seems that he is somewhat wasted at 15. His upcoming sabbatical will provide a good opportunity for the ABs to experiment around. I personally think that Barrett is a very high-quality international fullback. He'll admittedly get less ball to play with than he did at 10 but if Mo'unga can find his international feet then the ABs have more than enough talent to make up for Beauden's lessened attacking role. Still, prime 2015-2017 Barrett was some of the best rugby I've ever seen played.
17 - Justin Tipuric
Nation: Wales Club: Ospreys Position: Flanker Age: 31 Height: 1.88m (6ft 2) Weight: 102kg (225lbs) Position Rank: #4 The most skilled forward in the world and it isn't really that close. Getting into his 30s now, the odd sign of decline is creeping in (see missed tackle on Henshaw last week). However, Tipuric is still the standout player in the Welsh pack. A menace at the breakdown and with the ball skills and defensive ability to play in the centres he is a wonderful player. It speaks hugely of the back row depth in the Home Nations that Tipuric is far from guaranteed from having a starting role for the Lions (his lesser physical edge may well see him lose out to the similarly talented Hamish Watson)
16 - Ardie Savea
Nation: New Zealand Club: Hurricanes Position: Flanker Age: 27 Height: 1.90m (6ft 3) Weight: 99kg (218lbs) Position Rank: #3 Reminds me of Barney the dinosaur, I think it's the hair and the smile (and the fact he plays like a human possessed by a velociraptor) His explosiveness is second to none of any forward in the world and he is the premier southern-hemisphere back-rower in the loose. However, it seems it is still not clear just what role he is best suited to in the All Blacks back row. If Haskins Sotutu can prove himself as the ABs 8 of the future then Savea may find himself in a freer number 6 role which may suit him well, playing out wider.
15 - Damian Penaud
Nation: France Club: Clermont Auvergne Position: Wing/Centre Age: 24 Height: 1.88m (6ft 2) Weight: 93kg (205lbs) Position Rank: #2(Wing) The most ludicrously balanced and graceful runner in world rugby. Peneud can find his way through even the most unyielding of defences. His future for France looks to be on the wing but he comfortable at outside centre too. Injuries seem to be his most major obstacle partnered with the occasional lapse in his defence (though far better than Teddy Thomas who is excluded from this list due to defensive deficiencies). Yet, his upside is too good to pass on for any team.
14 - Tom Curry
Nation: England Club: Sale Sharks Position: Flanker Age: 22 Height: 1.85m (6ft 1) Weight: 110kg (240lbs) Position Rank: #2 Incredibly tough picking between Curry, Ardie and Tipuric (and Watson, Hooper and Cane too!) Curry's physicality and youth just pushes him ahead in my rankings. Whilst not as refined at the breakdown as some smaller 7s, Curry's athleticism allows him to get around this and also helps to offer plenty in all facets of the game. If he continues on his current trajectory he will end up as an incredibly scary player for oppositions. I fear his main challenge may be overcoming whatever unusual idea Eddie Jones cooks up for him next.
13 - Semi Radradra
Nation: Fiji Club: Bristol Bears Position: Centre /Wing Age: 28 Height: 1.88m (6ft 2) Weight: 105kg (231lbs) Position Rank: #3(Centre) I've seen some people put Semi as the best player in the world so perhaps I have been harsh putting him down at 13. Easily one of the most freakishly talented players around. However, he doesn't seem quite as integral to his team as those I've placed ahead hence his ranking. No doubt this perception of him is due to him playing for a tier 2 nation and not getting the opportunity to play in the biggest tournaments as often as others. But there is certainly an argument to be made to push Semi way up into the top-10.
12 - Frans Malherbe
Nation: South Africa Club: Stormers Position: Tight-head Prop Age: 29 Height: 1.90m (6ft 3) Weight: 125kg (276lbs) Position Rank: #1 Doesn't exactly look like your typical world-class athlete. But Malherbe embodies what a prop should be, a dominating presence in the set-piece that provides the platform upon which a team can win the World Cup. I can't attest to knowing much about the secret life of the front row of the scrum (can anyone?) but I've never seen Frans take a backwards step and he applies himself in the Loose. So despite tough competition from Koch, Furlong, Porter, Fagerson, Tu'ungafasi and Sinkcler, Malherbe gets my nod as the #1 tight-head in the game today.
11 - Gael Fickou
Nation: France Club: Stade Francais Position: Centre /Wing Age: 26 Height: 1.91m (6ft 3) Weight: 100kg (220lbs) Position Rank: #2(Centre) I can't believe he is only 26! With 10 tries in 50 caps for France, Fickou has proven himself at 12, 13 and on the wing. One of the most graceful players of the generation he is a joy to watch and helps elevates the game of those around him (no doubt much of Ntamack's early success has been helped by having the quality of Fickou on his shoulder) Perhaps a little underrated by many given the big names playing either side of him but from an outsiders' viewpoint it certainly seems Fickou is much of the glue that holds the French backline together.
10 - Finn Russell
Nation: Scotland Club: Racing 92 Position: Fly-half Age: 28 Height: 1.82m (6ft 0) Weight: 87kg (192lbs) Position Rank: #2 The most talented player in the world? Russell plays the game unlike many other 10s; taking the ball flat to the line whilst being aggressive and active with every pass and/or kick. Very seldom does a game not run through him, it is 'the Russell show'. Far more consistent than his many detractors claim, if Russell can win some more silverware (be it the Champions Cup with Racing, or international success with Scotland) then he would comfortably move up into my top 5 and be the #1 ranked fly-half in the world.
09 - Stuart Hogg
Nation: Scotland Club: Exeter Chiefs Position: Full-back Age: 28 Height: 1.80m (5ft 11) Weight: 93kg (205lbs) Position Rank: #1 It's no coincidence that Scotland's rise from the doldrums of international rugby coincides with Stuart Hogg's emergence in 2012. Offering a bright spot when there was none, Hogg has done his best to drag Scottish rugby, kicking and screaming, into the professional-era proper. Only the second player (after BOD) to win multiple Six Nations Player of the tournaments (2015, 2016) He has been the premier Full-back in World Rugby for the past 5 or so years. Always turning up in the biggest games (see Sco vs NZ 2017) he deserves his place among the top-10. Very few players in world rugby can strike as much fear into opposing teams as Hogg returning a miss-placed kick.
08 - Handre Pollard
Nation: South Africa Club: Montpellier Position: Fly-half Age: 26 Height: 1.88m (6ft 2) Weight: 97kg (214lbs) Position Rank: #1 Currently recovering from a ruptured ACL he suffered for Montpellier in September 2020 (just one of several serious injuries that have threatened to severely hamper his career) the RWC winner is the model fly-half. With a big boot, safe hands and a great rugby brain, Pollard can dictate the course of a game with his game-management skills (which are second to none). However, with good size and decent speed he is a definite triple threat ball in hand (kick, pass or run) His injury-proneness is his only clear downside and currently the only thing potentially preventing him from becoming one of the clear greats of the game.
07 - Aaron Smith
Nation: New Zealand Club: Highlanders Position: Scrum-half Age: 32 Height: 1.71m (5ft 7) Weight: 83kg (183lbs) Position Rank: #2 The textbook perfect scrum-half! Perfect long spiral pass, nippy, no wasted footwork, great reading of the game, perfect box kick and can work well in tight spaces under pressure (something.. something... airport toilets) Smith has everything you could want from a scrum-half. After a wee wobble in form a couple of years ago amid pressure from TJ Peranara, Smith has reasserted himself as the premier southern-hemisphere 9.
06 - Maro Itoje
Nation: England Club: Saracens Position: Lock /Flanker Age: 26 Height: 1.95m (6ft 5) Weight: 115kg (254lbs) Position Rank: #2 The heart of the England pack. Can get on the wrong-side of the penalty count (see last Saturday) but he plays on a fine-line and can cause havoc to opposing teams when things go his way. Still yet to reach his peak at only 26, he will be charging down kicks, winning turnovers, tackling and living rent-free in opponent's heads for years to come. Along with Hogg as the only definite starters for the Lions
05 - Pieter-Steph du Toit
Nation: South Africa Club: Stormers Position: Flanker /Lock Age: 22 Height: 1.85m (6ft 1) Weight: 110kg (240lbs) Position Rank: #1(Flanker) 2019 World Rugby Player of the year. Enough said. PSDT causes opposing players and coaches PTSD
04 - Brodie Retallick
Nation: New Zealand Club: Kobelco Steelers Position: Lock Age: 29 Height: 2.04m (6ft 8) Weight: 124kg (273lbs) Position Rank: #1 Been in Japan since the 2019 RWC but assuming Retallick still has 'it' he's an easy shoe-in as a top 5 player. Been stand-out for the All-Blacks ever since his 2012 debut. The rangy athletic lock can do it all. Will go down as one of the, if not the, greatest Second Rowers to ever play.
03 - Virimi Vakatawa
Nation: France Club: Racing 92 Position: Centre /Wing Age: 28 Height: 1.87m (6ft 2) Weight: 99kg (218lbs) Position Rank: #1(Centre) After an on-and off start to his international career, where he split time between 7s and the 15-a-side game, Vakatawa has now firmly established himself as integral to this new look French side. He has all the tools a 13 could ever want and then some. His partnership in the midfield with Gael Fickou looks to cause wreckage among opposing defenses whilst still providing stern defence to opposing attacks. At Racing he causes havoc too; acting as the main weapon for Finn Russell to play off, catching chips over the top and breaking through with regularity.
02 - Cheslin Kolbe
Nation: South Africa Club: Toulouse Position: Wing /Full-back Age: 27 Height: 1.71m (5ft 7) Weight: 80kg (180lbs) Position Rank: #1(Wing) Is there currently a bigger 'superstar' in world Rugby than Cheslin Kolbe? Either way, there is certainly no better a stepper. It now seems criminal he only got his first crack for the Spingboks in 2018 (he only has 14 caps!) however he has owned the pitch, both for Toulouse and SA, ever since. His RWC Final try already ensures his place in history but that doesn't mean we can't hope to see him make more mockeries of Jacob Stockdale and others in the years to come.
01 - Antoine Dupont
Nation: France Club: Toulouse Position: Scrum-half Age: 24 Height: 1.74m (5ft 8) Weight: 85kg (187lbs) Position Rank: #1 No contest here. Even Aaron Smith agrees. He is so alert and aware of everything going on the rugby pitch that he may as well be playing in his own game. 8 tries in his first 28 caps fails to show the impact he has had on this resurgent French team. And at only 24 years of age he is still one of the youngest on this list. He'll be hoping to stay #1 fora long time to come. If he keeps this form up for the rest of his career he'll surely go down as one of the greatest (perhaps even the greatest) to ever play the game.
Thank you to everyone who participated in this year's contest! There were a lot of great books released last year and I think all of them were nominated in our Best of 2020 contest. Here are the winners for the Best Books of 2020! Just a quick note regarding the voting. We've locked the individual voting threads but that doesn't stop people from upvoting/downvoting so if you check them the upvotes won't necessarily match up with these winners depending on when you look. But, the results announced here do match what the results were at the time the threads were locked.
Best Debut of 2020
Place
Title
Author
Description
Nominated
Winner
My Dark Vanessa
Kate Elizabeth Russell
Exploring the psychological dynamics of the relationship between a precocious yet naïve teenage girl and her magnetic and manipulative teacher. Alternating between Vanessa’s present and her past, My Dark Vanessa juxtaposes memory and trauma with the breathless excitement of a teenage girl discovering the power her own body can wield. Thought-provoking and impossible to put down, this is a masterful portrayal of troubled adolescence and its repercussions that raises vital questions about agency, consent, complicity, and victimhood.
Shuggie Bain is the unforgettable story of young Hugh "Shuggie" Bain, a sweet and lonely boy who spends his 1980s childhood in run-down public housing in Glasgow, Scotland. Thatcher's policies have put husbands and sons out of work, and the city's notorious drugs epidemic is waiting in the wings. Shuggie's mother Agnes walks a wayward path: she is Shuggie's guiding light but a burden for him and his siblings. A heartbreaking story of addiction, sexuality, and love, Shuggie Bain is an epic portrayal of a working-class family that is rarely seen in fiction.
Luster sees a young black woman figuring her way into life as an artist and into love in this darkly comic novel. She meets Eric, a digital archivist with a family in New Jersey, including an autopsist wife who has agreed to an open marriage. In this world of contemporary sexual manners and racial politics, Edie finds herself unemployed and living with Eric. She becomes hesitant friend to his wife and a de facto role model to his adopted daughter. Edie is the only black woman young Akila may know.
The Vignes twin sisters will always be identical. But after growing up together in a small, southern black community and running away at age sixteen, it's not just the shape of their daily lives that is different as adults, it's everything: their families, their communities, their racial identities. Many years later, one sister lives with her black daughter in the same southern town she once tried to escape. The other secretly passes for white, and her white husband knows nothing of her past. Still, even separated by so many miles and just as many lies, the fates of the twins remain intertwined. What will happen to the next generation, when their own daughters' storylines intersect? Weaving together multiple strands and generations of this family, from the Deep South to California, from the 1950s to the 1990s, Brit Bennett produces a story that is at once a riveting, emotional family story and a brilliant exploration of the American history of passing.
Piranesi's house is no ordinary building: its rooms are infinite, its corridors endless, its walls are lined with thousands upon thousands of statues, each one different from all the others. Within the labyrinth of halls an ocean is imprisoned; waves thunder up staircases, rooms are flooded in an instant. But Piranesi is not afraid; he understands the tides as he understands the pattern of the labyrinth itself. He lives to explore the house. There is one other person in the house—a man called The Other, who visits Piranesi twice a week and asks for help with research into A Great and Secret Knowledge. But as Piranesi explores, evidence emerges of another person, and a terrible truth begins to unravel, revealing a world beyond the one Piranesi has always known.
Gifty is a fifth-year candidate in neuroscience at Stanford School of Medicine studying reward-seeking behavior in mice and the neural circuits of depression and addiction. Her brother, Nana, was a gifted high school athlete who died of a heroin overdose after a knee injury left him hooked on OxyContin. Her suicidal mother is living in her bed. Gifty is determined to discover the scientific basis for the suffering she sees all around her. But even as she turns to the hard sciences to unlock the mystery of her family's loss, she finds herself hungering for her childhood faith and grappling with the evangelical church in which she was raised, whose promise of salvation remains as tantalizing as it is elusive.
Augustus Everett is an acclaimed author of literary fiction. January Andrews writes bestselling romance. When she pens a happily ever after, he kills off his entire cast. They're polar opposites. In fact, the only thing they have in common is that for the next three months, they're living in neighboring beach houses, broke, and bogged down with writer's block. Until, one hazy evening, one thing leads to another and they strike a deal designed to force them out of their creative ruts: Augustus will spend the summer writing something happy, and January will pen the next Great American Novel. She'll take him on field trips worthy of any rom-com montage, and he'll take her to interview surviving members of a backwoods death cult (obviously). Everyone will finish a book and no one will fall in love. Really.
Danika Brown knows what she wants: professional success, academic renown, and an occasional roll in the hay to relieve all that career-driven tension. But romance? Been there, done that, burned the T-shirt. Romantic partners, whatever their gender, are a distraction at best and a drain at worst. So Dani asks the universe for the perfect friend-with-benefits—someone who knows the score and knows their way around the bedroom. When brooding security guard Zafir Ansari rescues Dani from a workplace fire drill gone wrong, it’s an obvious sign: PhD student Dani and ex-rugby player Zaf are destined to sleep together. But before she can explain that fact, a video of the heroic rescue goes viral. Now half the internet is shipping #DrRugbae—and Zaf is begging Dani to play along. Turns out, his sports charity for kids could really use the publicity. Lying to help children? Who on earth would refuse? Dani’s plan is simple: fake a relationship in public, seduce Zaf behind the scenes. The trouble is, grumpy Zaf’s secretly a hopeless romantic—and he’s determined to corrupt Dani’s stone-cold realism. Before long, he’s tackling her fears into the dirt. But the former sports star has issues of his own, and the walls around his heart are as thick as his... um, thighs.
After a messy public breakup, soap opera darling Jasmine Lin Rodriguez finds her face splashed across the tabloids. When she returns to her hometown of New York City to film the starring role in a bilingual romantic comedy for the number one streaming service in the country, Jasmine figures her new “Leading Lady Plan” should be easy enough to follow. After his last telenovela character was killed off, Ashton is worried his career is dead as well. Joining this new cast as a last-minute addition will give him the chance to show off his acting chops to American audiences and ping the radar of Hollywood casting agents. With their careers on the line, Jasmine and Ashton agree to rehearse in private. But rehearsal leads to kissing, and kissing leads to a behind-the-scenes romance worthy of a soap opera. While their on-screen performance improves, the media spotlight on Jasmine soon threatens to destroy her new image and expose Ashton’s most closely guarded secret.
After receiving a frantic letter from her newly-wed cousin begging for someone to save her from a mysterious doom, Noemí Taboada heads to High Place, a distant house in the Mexican countryside. She’s not sure what she will find—her cousin’s husband, a handsome Englishman, is a stranger, and Noemí knows little about the region. Her only ally in this inhospitable abode is the family’s youngest son. Shy and gentle, he seems to want to help Noemí, but might also be hiding dark knowledge of his family’s past. For there are many secrets behind the walls of High Place. The family’s once colossal wealth and faded mining empire kept them from prying eyes, but as Noemí digs deeper she unearths stories of violence and madness. And Noemí, mesmerized by the terrifying yet seductive world of High Place, may soon find it impossible to ever leave this enigmatic house behind.
On an island off the coast of Ireland, guests gather to celebrate two people joining their lives together as one. The groom: handsome and charming, a rising television star. The bride: smart and ambitious, a magazine publisher. It’s a wedding for a magazine, or for a celebrity: the designer dress, the remote location, the luxe party favors, the boutique whiskey. The cell phone service may be spotty and the waves may be rough, but every detail has been expertly planned and will be expertly executed. But perfection is for plans, and people are all too human. As the champagne is popped and the festivities begin, resentments and petty jealousies begin to mingle with the reminiscences and well wishes. The groomsmen begin the drinking game from their school days. The bridesmaid not-so-accidentally ruins her dress. The bride’s oldest (male) friend gives an uncomfortably caring toast. And then someone turns up dead. Who didn’t wish the happy couple well? And perhaps more important, why?
In a peaceful retirement village, four unlikely friends meet weekly in the Jigsaw Room to discuss unsolved crimes; together they call themselves The Thursday Murder Club. Elizabeth, Joyce, Ibrahim and Ron might be pushing eighty but they still have a few tricks up their sleeves. When a local developer is found dead with a mysterious photograph left next to the body, the Thursday Murder Club suddenly find themselves in the middle of their first live case. As the bodies begin to pile up, can our unorthodox but brilliant gang catch the killer, before it’s too late?
The American Civil Liberties Union began as a small group of idealists and visionaries, including Helen Keller and Jane Addams. A century after its founding, the ACLU remains the nation’s premier defender of the rights and freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution. In collaboration with the ACLU, prize-winning authors Michael Chabon and Ayelet Waldman have curated an anthology of essays about landmark cases in the ACLU’s 100-year history. In Fight of the Century, bestselling and award-winning authors present unique literary takes on historic decisions like Brown v. Board of Education, the Scopes trial, Roe v. Wade, and more. Contributors include Geraldine Brooks, Michael Cunningham, Jennifer Egan, Dave Eggers, Louise Erdrich, Neil Gaiman, Lauren Groff, Marlon James, Viet Thanh Nguyen, Morgan Parker, Ann Patchett, Salman Rushdie, George Saunders, Elizabeth Strout, Jesmyn Ward, Meg Wolitzer, and more.
Solutions and Other Problems includes humorous stories from Allie Brosh’s childhood; the adventures of her very bad animals; merciless dissection of her own character flaws; incisive essays on grief, loneliness, and powerlessness; as well as reflections on the absurdity of modern life.
What happens when a childhood hobby turns into a lifelong career? The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Cartoonist, Adrian Tomine's funniest and most revealing foray into autobiography, offers an array of unexpected answers. When a sudden medical incident lands Tomine in the emergency room, he begins to question if it was really all worthwhile: despite the accolades, awards, and opportunities of a seemingly charmed career, it's the gaffes, humiliations, slights, and insults he's experienced (or caused) within the industry that loom largest in his memory. But as those memories are delineated in excruciatingly hilarious detail, a different, parallel narrative plays out in the background. In between chaotic book tours, disastrous interviews, and difficult interactions with other artists, life happens: Tomine fumbles his way into marriage, parenthood, and an indisputably fulfilling existence. While mining his conflicted relationship with comics and comics culture, Tomine illustrates the amusing absurdities of life and how we choose to spend our time.
There are no teachers, no holidays, and no friendships, save strategic ones. Survival is more important than any letter grade, for the school won’t allow its students to leave until they graduate… or die! The rules are deceptively simple: Don’t walk the halls alone. And beware of the monsters who lurk everywhere. El is uniquely prepared for the school’s dangers. She may be without allies, but she possesses a dark power strong enough to level mountains and wipe out millions. It would be easy enough for El to defeat the monsters that prowl the school. The problem? Her powerful dark magic might also kill all the other students.
Linus Baker leads a quiet, solitary life. At forty, he lives in a tiny house with a devious cat and his old records. As a Case Worker at the Department in Charge Of Magical Youth, he spends his days overseeing the well-being of children in government-sanctioned orphanages. When Linus is unexpectedly summoned by Extremely Upper Management he's given a curious and highly classified assignment: travel to Marsyas Island Orphanage, where six dangerous children reside: a gnome, a sprite, a wyvern, an unidentifiable green blob, a were-Pomeranian, and the Antichrist. Linus must set aside his fears and determine whether or not they’re likely to bring about the end of days. But the children aren’t the only secret the island keeps. Their caretaker is the charming and enigmatic Arthur Parnassus, who will do anything to keep his wards safe. As Arthur and Linus grow closer, long-held secrets are exposed, and Linus must make a choice: destroy a home or watch the world burn.
When his traditional Latinx family has problems accepting his true gender, Yadriel becomes determined to prove himself a real brujo. With the help of his cousin and best friend Maritza, he performs the ritual himself, and then sets out to find the ghost of his murdered cousin and set it free. However, the ghost he summons is actually Julian Diaz, the school's resident bad boy, and Julian is not about to go quietly into death. He's determined to find out what happened and tie off some loose ends before he leaves. Left with no choice, Yadriel agrees to help Julian, so that they can both get what they want. But the longer Yadriel spends with Julian, the less he wants to let him leave.
A well-timed leak has revealed that the US government might have engaged in first contact. Cora Sabino is doing everything she can to avoid the whole mess, since the force driving the controversy is her whistleblower father. Even though Cora hasn’t spoken to him in years, his celebrity has caught the attention of the press, the Internet, the paparazzi, and the government—and with him in hiding, that attention is on her. She neither knows nor cares whether her father’s leaks are a hoax, and wants nothing to do with him—until she learns just how deeply entrenched her family is in the cover-up, and that an extraterrestrial presence has been on Earth for decades. Realizing the extent to which both she and the public have been lied to, she sets out to gather as much information as she can, and finds that the best way for her to uncover the truth is not as a whistleblower, but as an intermediary. The alien presence has been completely uncommunicative until she convinces one of them that she can act as their interpreter, becoming the first and only human vessel of communication. Their otherworldly connection will change everything she thought she knew about being human—and could unleash a force more sinister than she ever imagined.
You know that feeling when you’re at work, and you’ve had enough of people, and then the boss walks in with yet another job that needs to be done right this second or the world will end, but all you want to do is go home and binge your favorite shows? And you're a sentient murder machine programmed for destruction? Congratulations, you're Murderbot. Come for the pew-pew space battles, stay for the most relatable A.I. you’ll read this century.
Multiverse travel is finally possible, but there’s just one catch: No one can visit a world where their counterpart is still alive. Enter Cara, whose parallel selves happen to be exceptionally good at dying—from disease, turf wars, or vendettas they couldn’t outrun. Cara’s life has been cut short on 372 worlds in total. On this Earth, however, Cara has survived. Identified as an outlier and therefore a perfect candidate for multiverse travel, Cara is plucked from the dirt of the wastelands. She works—and shamelessly flirts—with her enticing yet aloof handler, Dell, as the two women collect off-world data for the Eldridge Institute. So long as she can keep her head down and avoid trouble, Cara is on a sure path to citizenship and security. But trouble finds Cara when one of her eight remaining doppelgängers dies under mysterious circumstances, plunging her into a new world with an old secret. What she discovers will connect her past and her future in ways she could have never imagined—and reveal her own role in a plot that endangers not just her world, but the entire multiverse.
After forming a coalition of human resistance against the enemy invasion, Dalinar Kholin and his Knights Radiant have spent a year fighting a protracted, brutal war. Neither side has gained an advantage, and the threat of a betrayal by Dalinar's crafty ally Taravangian looms over every strategic move. Now, as new technological discoveries by Navani Kholin's scholars begin to change the face of the war, the enemy prepares a bold and dangerous operation. The arms race that follows will challenge the very core of the Radiant ideals, and potentially reveal the secrets of the ancient tower that was once the heart of their strength. At the same time that Kaladin Stormblessed must come to grips with his changing role within the Knights Radiant, his Windrunners face their own problem: As more and more deadly enemy Fused awaken to wage war, no more honorspren are willing to bond with humans to increase the number of Radiants. Adolin and Shallan must lead the coalition’s envoy to the honorspren stronghold of Lasting Integrity and either convince the spren to join the cause against the evil god Odium, or personally face the storm of failure.
Piranesi's house is no ordinary building: its rooms are infinite, its corridors endless, its walls are lined with thousands upon thousands of statues, each one different from all the others. Within the labyrinth of halls an ocean is imprisoned; waves thunder up staircases, rooms are flooded in an instant. But Piranesi is not afraid; he understands the tides as he understands the pattern of the labyrinth itself. He lives to explore the house. There is one other person in the house—a man called The Other, who visits Piranesi twice a week and asks for help with research into A Great and Secret Knowledge. But as Piranesi explores, evidence emerges of another person, and a terrible truth begins to unravel, revealing a world beyond the one Piranesi has always known.
France, 1714: in a moment of desperation, a young woman makes a Faustian bargain to live forever and is cursed to be forgotten by everyone she meets. Thus begins the extraordinary life of Addie LaRue, and a dazzling adventure that will play out across centuries and continents, across history and art, as a young woman learns how far she will go to leave her mark on the world. But everything changes when, after nearly 300 years, Addie stumbles across a young man in a hidden bookstore and he remembers her name.
In the stirring, highly anticipated first volume of his presidential memoirs, Barack Obama tells the story of his improbable odyssey from young man searching for his identity to leader of the free world, describing in strikingly personal detail both his political education and the landmark moments of the first term of his historic presidency—a time of dramatic transformation and turmoil. A Promised Land is extraordinarily intimate and introspective—the story of one man’s bet with history, the faith of a community organizer tested on the world stage. Obama is candid about the balancing act of running for office as a Black American, bearing the expectations of a generation buoyed by messages of “hope and change,” and meeting the moral challenges of high-stakes decision-making. This beautifully written and powerful book captures Barack Obama’s conviction that democracy is not a gift from on high but something founded on empathy and common understanding and built together, day by day.
The Splendid and the Vile: A Saga of Churchill, Family, and Defiance During the Blitz
Erik Larson
On Winston Churchill's first day as prime minister, Adolf Hitler invaded Holland and Belgium. Poland and Czechoslovakia had already fallen, and the Dunkirk evacuation was just two weeks away. For the next twelve months, Hitler would wage a relentless bombing campaign, killing 45,000 Britons. It was up to Churchill to hold his country together and persuade President Franklin Roosevelt that Britain was a worthy ally--and willing to fight to the end. Erik Larson shows how Churchill taught the British people "the art of being fearless." It is a story of political brinkmanship, but it's also an intimate domestic drama, set against the backdrop of Churchill's prime-ministerial country home, Chequers; his wartime retreat, Ditchley, where he and his entourage go when the moon is brightest and the bombing threat is highest; and of course 10 Downing Street in London.
Beyond race, class, or other factors, there is a powerful caste system that influences people’s lives and behavior and the nation’s fate. Linking the caste systems of America, India, and Nazi Germany, Wilkerson explores eight pillars that underlie caste systems across civilizations, including divine will, bloodlines, stigma, and more. Using riveting stories about people—including Martin Luther King, Jr., baseball’s Satchel Paige, a single father and his toddler son, Wilkerson herself, and many others—she shows the ways that the insidious undertow of caste is experienced every day. She documents how the Nazis studied the racial systems in America to plan their out-cast of the Jews; she discusses why the cruel logic of caste requires that there be a bottom rung for those in the middle to measure themselves against; she writes about the surprising health costs of caste, in depression and life expectancy, and the effects of this hierarchy on our culture and politics. Finally, she points forward to ways America can move beyond the artificial and destructive separations of human divisions, toward hope in our common humanity.
Thank you for everyone who participated in this year's contest and especially thank you for bringing so many great books to our attention so we can add them to our reading lists! If you'd like to see more of the best books of 2020 here are the links to the individual contests:
Alright guys! Time to give this Fantasy Rugby thing another go! Sadly, last years one could never be finalised so fingers crossed we'll get a full run at it this time. I'm assuming everyone knows how these work, but the ELI5 version of it is you pick your best rugby team by choosing players out of the 6 playing (Ireland, England, Scotland, Wales, France and Italy), let them loose to play for ya and reap the glory of the points they bring you in. I'm thinking I'll only do a free league, perhaps with reddit gold awards at the end of it, because I don't really want a repeat of last year. But in saying that, if there is enough interest, I've no problem holding a side paid league also. Just, ya know, if it gets cancelled again, we'll have another mess on our hands! The website I'll be using is this one as the Irish Times one doesn't appear to be up and running this year. So set up an account there and use this link to join . They have an auto fill option too, for those that can't really be arsed with choosing a team but wanna participate! If you could use your username from here as your team name, that'd be handy, but if you already have an account with a different name, if you just email your username and the team name to [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected]), then I can have it for the posted league tables. All fixtures for the 6 nations are here and the first game is Italy v France at 2.15 on the 6th Feb. I'll be posting live chat threads for each match as they're on too, so ye can goad each other to your hearts content. So thats 10 days to get signed up, pick your team and make sure you're in with the jocks for about 8 weeks. Get er done lads!
This will get a lot of hate but it needs to be said.
The hate that people give officials when a result doesn’t go their way is becoming too much. It is reminiscing sports such as football that rugby players usually pride themselves on being more respectful than. The match this afternoon between France and England was intense, even and extremely entertaining. Many amazing performances from both sides. The game was very much in France’s hands in the first half but they failed to manage the game in the second. In no way is this a fault of the referee. And claiming that it was the officials fault is quite frankly childish. Penalties in the modern game have been known often times to be very 50/50 depending on the perspective and sub-conscious biases. In no way am I innocent of blaming officiating but i think it is in the best interest of both the sport and the community if we strive away from it. Well played France. Extremely deserving of second place. The growth you are showing both in experience and your new up and coming U20’s winners is exiting to see from every neutral’s perspective. Good luck for the upcoming six nations.
Ireland legend Ronan O’Gara on life at La Rochelle
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/edition/irish-sport/ireland-legend-ronan-ogara-on-life-at-la-rochelle-rjgnmt0rt Things could be worse for Ronan O’Gara. The Top 14 cranks back into action next Friday evening when his La Rochelle team hosts Bayonne. They should win, and that will put them top of the table, a little over halfway through the league programme. A Covid outbreak at the club brought some unscheduled time off this past week, and O’Gara’s only duty was to turn up for daily testing. France is in lockdown, with a €135 on-the-spot fine for breaking the 6pm curfew. Schools are open though, so he and his wife Jess have the house to themselves during the day. They live on Île de Ré, a picture postcard island off the west coast and a popular holiday destination. O’Gara knows he is fortunate, but sometimes venting is allowed. He’s frustrated by the interruptions to the rugby season and especially the empty stadia. “You wonder how long the players can keep doing it,” says the 43-year-old. “Just the fact that there’s no emotional energy in the grounds, positive or negative. Adrenaline levels are definitely lower. The commercial consequences could be huge too. We need to get crowds back sooner rather than later. “I really noticed it when we played in Pau [in November]. The big, empty stand, the echoes from the players’ voices, the cold. There was something nearly sad about it.” O’Gara is easily bored. It’s one of the reasons that you might have doubted his suitability for this line of work. The other reasons? Well, the most talented footballers don’t always make the best coaches. They can be impatient when lesser mortals fail to meet their standards. As a player, O’Gara never suffered fools. He wasn’t great at accepting criticism either — especially from journalists. He’d ring you up and let you know what he thought, his tone ranging from cranky to downright aggressive. We must have had five or six of those ‘conversations’ over the years. But maybe what we saw as irascibility was just the pure self-belief that you need to make it as a player, and as a coach. Looking back, there were other telltale signs. I recall an interview from 1999, when he was established at Munster but impatient to make his international debut. We discussed books and he told me that he was reading In Search of Excellence by Tom Peters and Robert H Waterman Jr, a study of America’s best-run companies, that had been given to him by his dad, Fergal. He was 22 at the time. He was always fiery but also analytical, a problem-solver. It probably had something to do with the fact that he wasn’t one of those exceptionally gifted athletes. Whether the issue was tactical or technical, he had to use his head to find solutions. There’s a game against Connacht that he remembers, when the wind in Galway was biblical and the result came down to place-kicks. “I just kicked off the turf, no tee” he recalls. “‘Shunting’ I called it, like choking down on a three-iron. I don’t think anyone picked up on it, yet it probably gave me the biggest buzz I got out of kicking, ever. That was what floated my boat.” O’Gara also has an advantage over so many other career coaches. To play fly half at the highest level for over a decade means making hundreds of quick, clear-sighted decisions on the spot, under enormous stress. It means being able to make sense of the chaos, having a priceless feel for the ebb and flow of a contest. He recalls an occasion when those fly half’s survival skills were transferable to coaching. Quite a big occasion, in fact: the Top 14 final in 2016. Racing v Toulon at the Nou Camp. Just over 99,000 people were there, still a world record for a club game. After 18 minutes, Racing scrum half Max Machenaud is sent off for spear-tackling Matt Giteau. For the coaching team — Laurent Travers, Laurent Labit and O’Gara — this feels like their worst nightmare made real. O’Gara says: “I’d be a paper-and-pen man on the touchline, as opposed to an iPad, and at the time, I threw down the notebook, thinking, ‘F*** it, it’s over. Fourteen men against Toulon? No coming back.’ “But it’s so interesting as a coach, I don’t know what comes over you. The obvious thing if your nine is gone is to get another nine on to direct your attack, but we just sat tight for a little bit and in fairness to the lads [the two Laurents], they went with my instinct of using Juan Imhoff there. He had played sevens for Argentina as a scrum half. “As Juan found a rhythm, you could see the realisation dawning on our sub nine [Xavier Chauveau]. For seven or eight minutes, he was stripped off and ready to go. The poor fella, he’s absolutely hating you. “We hung in there. It was one of those days when everything comes together, when we managed to win silverware against the odds, four years into the journey with the two Laurents. When you get frustrated with the coaching game, you have to think of nights like that and you get massively re-energised.” If that final revealed anything to O’Gara, it was that truly world-class players deliver in the most stressful situations. That was the night when Dan Carter earned his not insignificant corn. “You never saw him rattled,” says O’Gara. “It’s a great trait in a 10.” Others remember the game for the spirit and organisation of Racing’s 14-man defence, which was O’Gara’s responsibility. It’s still an amusing idea, the skinny fly half turned defensive guru. It’s also one of coaching’s great reinventions; how O’Gara organised a disparate, multilingual group and got them pulling together by force of his charisma and smarts. Spending a couple of seasons with the Crusaders was smart too. It doesn’t sound particularly attractive, dragging your wife and five kids from Paris to the South Island of New Zealand, particularly when it involved a sizable salary cut. But he had an impressive advocate in Carter and a hunger to learn. In terms of professional development, it was the best move possible. “When I look back, you’re definitely in a haze for the first four months,” he says. “You’re up against it because it’s a sink-or-swim environment so it really gives you confidence to know that you can make a difference there. I made some really good friendships and connections. But they completely reshaped you, made you understand yourself first as a person and then as a teacher, then as a coach, then connecting with players. “The whole culture was so different to what I’d known at Munster. I grew up in the era where you nearly punished yourself mentally to perform. We were reared on fear factor, on being the underdogs. The Crusaders just expect to win. The dynamic is incredibly positive, from senior players to academy, very connected. There is huge detail in their game but the connection between players comes before the strategy side of it. “I’m completely of a growth mindset as a result. To succeed, you always need to be evolving, you need to be building expertise and collaborating and discussing ideas and then you need to connect with your players. When you get people of similar mindset in a room, you don’t know your limit.” Two Super Rugby titles later, O’Gara pitched up on the west coast of France. Whenever he travelled to La Rochelle with Racing, he had always liked the atmosphere at the Stade Deflandre, a compact arena that was always full to its 16,000 capacity. “They had fervent supporters who reminded me a bit of Munster years ago, and the responsibility of head coach was something I wanted, something I felt ready for,” he says. “The Top 14 puts you under pressure as a coach. Standards have improved a lot — there are maybe eight or nine clubs who can win it now. Also, people in Ireland just don’t understand the stress of having relegation. Every coach will say they are only ‘concentrating on the process’ but it’s only true to a point. Like, if the club gets relegated, you’ll be hated in the town!” There were other positive aspects to La Rochelle. The club has a hugely enthusiastic, supportive president in Vincent Merling, now in his 30th season. O’Gara already knew the director of rugby, Jono Gibbes. The squad is strong too, and deep enough to handle losing four players to the upcoming Six Nations. “There’s a saying in New Zealand: You’re only as good as the cattle you have,” he says. “Like, we’re near the top of the league but you have to put your hand up and say: is it my coaching or is it Will Skelton coming on loan from Saracens? He’s an excellent rugby player and he has come from a winners’ environment, but he has inspired people because of his personality too.” Inspiring people is the business O’Gara has chosen. It is easy to imagine Gibbes as the bad cop, the man who delivers unpalatable news on contracts and so forth. O’Gara can be ruthless of course, but when he talks about man-management, he returns to words like ‘empathy’ and ‘tolerance’. “Dictators don’t last,” he says. “You find with the passing of time that maybe some players you coach are not as driven as you are but that is not a weakness of theirs. It’s their personality. I am incredibly competitive but we are all wired differently so you have to appreciate and respect how they are wired. “One of the big things in the Crusaders was understanding players’ personalities and how they take on information — visually, aurally or whatever. Add in the fact that you’re coaching through French to a group who aren’t all from France and that’s another challenge. But I’m enjoying that challenge.” Donnacha Ryan, another Munster émigré, set him up with the technology required to keep a close eye on Irish rugby. This is essential, given his continued media presence here on radio, TV and through his weekly column in the Irish Examiner. Munster v Leinster will have his undivided attention next Saturday evening. A contest of equals? “Yes, it is,” he says. “Munster have mental resilience now because they’ve reached the stage where they’ve had enough of watching Leinster be successful and they want to have a crack off some silverware. Damian de Allende has been a class signing for them and up front, they seem to have a lot more dog about them. “This game is exactly what Ireland needs too. There are a lot more positions up for grabs than has been the case.” There’s another reason he keeps an eye on Irish rugby, of course, and why Irish rugby is keeping an eye on him. “There will be bumps along the way, but it’s about enjoying the journey,” he says. “I am ambitious. You’d like to have a crack off international coaching but that looks after itself because if you’re successful in what you’re doing, people in influential positions will want you as a coach.” O’Gara has always been a compelling character. As Ireland’s second-most capped player, he deserved a better ending to his international career than an ignominious defeat in Edinburgh, back in 2013. You never seriously believed he would just fade into the background, though, did you?
Kickstarter Roundup: October 11, 2020 | 30+ Ending Soon (including: THE 7th CITADEL) & 55+ New This Week (including: Frostpunk: The Board Game)
What this is:
This is a weekly, curated listing of Kickstarter board game projects that are either:
newly posted in the past 7 days, or
ending in the next 7 days (starting Oct 12) and have at least a fighting chance of being funded.
All board game projects meeting those criteria will automatically be included, no need to ask. (The occasional non-board game project may also sneak in!) Expect new lists each Sunday sometime between midnight and noon PST.
Ending Soon
Project Info
Players
Backers
Min / Avg Pledge
Ends
Comments
Broadside Empires of Steel A fully printable tabletop miniatures game set in the era of the Dreadnought Battleship. // Has raised A$11,322 of A$3,000 so far. (~377%) ☑
Random Fun Generator, Dice Games from Steve Jackson Games A collection of over twenty dice games from Steve Jackson Games! Use any existing six-sided dice, or play using our many custom dice!!! // Has raised $79,119 of $500 so far. (~15824%) ☑
Sharks Feeding Frenzy Life getting you down? Wouldn't you rather be a shark? Eat new and exciting people! // Has raised $11,309 of $10,000 so far. (~113%) ☑
Kingdom (2nd Edition) Build your community together. Fight for what you believe in… or watch it burn. A game about communities by the author of Microscope // Has raised $35,010 of $2,500 so far. (~1400%) ☑
Soulgivers Absorb the Souls of the fallen heroes and capture the Fragment to survive the Decay in this competitive strategy game for 2 players. // Has raised €64,148 of €40,000 so far. (~160%) ☑
Fruit Salad: The Multiple Games in One Game We will be creating a board game called Fruit Salad. This game comes with 8 different games perfect for all kind of players. // Has raised $4,301 of $7,064 so far. (~61%)
Bots Up Build a bot, send it to battle and compete to be the last bot standing!Find out more at botsupgame.com // Has raised £15,831 of £3,500 so far. (~452%) ☑
Hogs Of War The Miniatures Game A 1-4 Player Tabletop Miniatures Game with Tech-Tree, Hidden Movement and Base-Building mechanics. Solo and Co-op Modes included! // Has raised £101,206 of £18,000 so far. (~562%) ☑
Machina Arcana ~ To Eternity A dark and immersive experience awaits you and your group of explorers. Travel the unknown, face cosmic horrors and fight for survival! // Has raised $447,554 of $30,000 so far. (~1492%) ☑
Best Left Buried: Deeper A new version of the rules light fantasy horror roleplaying game, Best Left Buried. // Has raised £23,277 of £10,000 so far. (~233%) ☑
Night Parade of a Hundred Yokai Raise an army of supernatural beings to haunt the islands of Japan in this asymmetrical engine building game! // Has raised $51,323 of $10,000 so far. (~513%) ☑
Mythalix: Chapter 1: Greek Mythology Gods and Titans clash in a new world.Battle opponents, control areas & build your deck in this light strategy board game. // Has raised £14,588 of £10,000 so far. (~146%) ☑
Castaway Curse (Second Printing) The shipwreck adventure game, now available with international shipping! 2-6 players, 20 min/player. Ages 13+ // Has raised $1,748 of $1,000 so far. (~175%) ☑
Set 🔥 Watch: Swords of the Coin ⚔️ The highly anticipated stand alone expansion to our acclaimed 1-4 player cooperative game, Set a Watch // Has raised $167,927 of $20,000 so far. (~840%) ☑
Ultimate Bestiary Miniatures A horde of miniatures for your tabletop adventures! Based on the best selling monster book; Revenge of the Horde! // Has raised $85,513 of $75,000 so far. (~114%) ☑
What's The Point? - The Cactus Card Game What's The Point? is an exciting, family-friendly, and cacti-loaded card game! // Has raised $7,925 of $3,000 so far. (~264%) ☑
Pets Gone Shady - Card Game A card game that lets you throw octopuses, deal with naked turtles and avoid hangry hamsters! // Has raised $25,190 of $12,500 so far. (~202%) ☑
Good vs Gooder Fun debates for funny people—a family-friendly party game celebrating the gooder things in life // Has raised $17,758 of $18,500 so far. (~96%)
Dinosaur World and Dinosaur Island: Rawr 'n Write Dinosaur World and Dinosaur Island: Rawr 'n Write are two stand-alone games set in the Dinosaur Island Universe! // Has raised $642,373 of $25,000 so far. (~2569%) ☑
DOPPELT ODER NICHTS Ein Kartenspiel, bei dem niemand sicher ist. Du hast die Wahl, aber wenn du dich überschätzt, trifft es dich doppelt -ENGLISH AVAILABLE // Has raised €5,803 of €7,000 so far. (~83%)
Escape Deathrace 2182 A pocket-sized table-top dungeon crawler that pits you against your friends (and aliens!) in a cosmic street race to save the galaxy! // Has raised $4,044 of $8,200 so far. (~49%)
Arms & Influence A political strategy card game, where you compete with neighboring nations to achieve world dominance. // Has raised $10,916 of $7,500 so far. (~146%) ☑
"Really Karen?" Party Board Game Live the life of a 'Karen' as you argue and complain around town with your friends in this hilarious party board game. // Has raised $2,715 of $10,000 so far. (~27%)
2 - 6
43
$30 / $63
Nov 06
13 Monsters: Armed to the Teeth - Battle expansion pack Supercharge your battles with 13 Monsters: Armed to the Teeth, the brand-new expansion pack for 13 Monsters: The game. // Has raised €1,558 of €6,500 so far. (~24%)
Additive Drinking: The Card Game For Drinkers A fast paced and competitive drinking game. Influence your opponents drinking tasks to impossible levels using cards like +1, +4, x2. // Has raised $451 of $500 so far. (~90%)
2 teams
16
$12 / $28
Nov 02
Ambush Epic A semi-cooperative Dungeon game. Lead your hero to the creepy and darkest nook of the dungeon. // Has raised €14,570 of €25,000 so far. (~58%)
Animal Family A card game for the whole family. It matches animals in different family dynamics, which has rules for both ages 3 - 6 and 6 - 10. // Has raised $1 of $5,000 so far. (~0%)
Blood & Plunder: Raise the Black Golden age pirates join the world of Blood & Plunder as we move into the 18th century! // Has raised $220,954 of $120,000 so far. (~184%) ☑
Bluffy pirates An extremely fun, highly competitive, strategic party game, suited for groups from 4 to 6 people. // Has raised €862 of €5,000 so far. (~17%)
4 - 6
25
$19 / €34
Oct 26
Card Bard A highly thematic card game where players take up the mantle of the bard! // Has raised $4,182 of $12,000 so far. (~35%)
Cartographers Heroes + 3 Map Pack Expansions The stand-alone follow up to the critically acclaimed map-drawing game - Cartographers: A Roll Player Tale. // Has raised $218,516 of $20,000 so far. (~1093%) ☑
Dice Command A semi-abstract tactical wargame for 2-4 players with dice action selection and engine building! // Has raised C$10169 of C$7000 so far. (~145%) ☑
2 - 4
183
$35 / C$56
Nov 05
DICTATOR-Y LITTLE BITCH: A Cooperative Card/Board Game Team up with intelligent life forms from all over the Universe to resist the DICTATOR-Y LITTLE B!†₵Ħ before he totally Fµ₵кs the WORLD. // Has raised $1,357 of $13,000 so far. (~10%)
2 - 6
22
$34 / $62
Nov 02
Disciples - The Immoral Game of Cults and Consequences Start a cult! Perform ridiculous rituals, collect disciples and forget your morals in this fun global strategy tabletop game. // Has raised $2,653 of $3,333 so far. (~80%)
Dungeon Drop: Dropped Too Deep and Tavern Tales Prepare to drop deeper with an epic expansion to the premier "drop-style" tabletop game. Then complete your story with Tavern Tales! // Has raised $143,731 of $14,500 so far. (~991%) ☑
Eternal Eight A Miniature War game with True 3D Castles and Villages! // Has raised $1,855 of $100,000 so far. (~2%)
1 - 4
19
$89 / $98
Nov 09
EvenQuads A new card deck, and five new games, featuring the biographies of women mathematicians through history. // Has raised $6,043 of $3,000 so far. (~201%) ☑
Filibust! Party Card Game A party card game full of laughter; just don't let it out! You and your friends must keep a straight face saying your whacky lines. // Has raised $587 of $10,000 so far. (~6%)
3 - 8
10
$25 / $59
Dec 08
Frostpunk: The Board Game A city-survival game where heat means life and every decision comes at a cost. From the designers of Nemesis and This War of Mine: TBG. // Has raised €1,093,059 of €200,000 so far. (~547%) ☑
Gun and Gun A fast-paced competitive card game featuring action-packed 1v1 duels and a two-deck draft system, brought to you straight from Japan. // Has raised $27,313 of $10,000 so far. (~273%) ☑
Herbaceous - Pocket Edition A new, compact version of Herbaceous that's just as relaxing and beautiful as the original // Has raised $18,466 of $4,500 so far. (~410%) ☑
Hey Doc, A adult party game for health care workers, students and anyone who finds bodily functions humerus! // Has raised $12,005 of $11,000 so far. (~109%) ☑
3+
269
$35 / $45
Nov 01
#take2 #lolwut
Hidden Society of the Gnomes: Great Invasion Gnomes are taking over the world! The invasion is inevitable! Will they succeed, or will the human race prevail? The choice is yours! // Has raised €222 of €60,000 so far. (~0%)
2
4
$47 / €56
Dec 08
#hmm
High Rise: The UltraPlastic Edition The tabletop board game about construction and corruption, now with gorgeous plastic buildings // Has raised $49,273 of $50,000 so far. (~99%)
Jack Rabbit JAM: Battle Roulette A casino-style 1v1 game of strategy and luck, inspired by classic arcade fighters. // Has raised £83 of £777 so far. (~11%)
2
13
$10 / £6
Oct 28
Journey to Ecrya: A roleplay-driven board game Play as 1 of 8 unique heroes and embark on a dangerous journey through a rich fantasy landscape in this 2 to 4 players game. // Has raised €2,180 of €13,000 so far. (~17%)
Mighty Armies: Invasion The dead have risen! The living must form armies as they combat the forces of foul necromancers. Welcome to Invasion. // Has raised $1,441 of $500 so far. (~288%) ☑
2?
22
$10 / $66
Oct 18
MUD: A Political Card Game The dirty game of American elections. // Has raised $19,427 of $12,000 so far. (~162%) ☑
NOONGK - the future is already here! Harness the power of technologies and leverage them as a tool to achieve the sustainable development agenda. // Has raised €182 of €30,000 so far. (~1%)
?
5
$35 / €36
Nov 11
#hmm
Pocket Paragons 3-minute Asymmetrical Duel // Has raised $11,591 of $8,000 so far. (~145%) ☑
Prosperitea A simple and elegant card game about blending, selling, and trading loose leaf tea. From the studio that brought you Cantankerous Cats! // Has raised $3,714 of $20,000 so far. (~19%)
Rainbow Unicorn Rescue Rainbow Unicorn Rescue is a true family board game; created by two young sisters and brought to life with a little help from dad. // Has raised $4,046 of $5,000 so far. (~81%)
2 - 4
56
$30 / $72
Nov 01
Random Fun Generator, Dice Games from Steve Jackson Games A collection of over twenty dice games from Steve Jackson Games! Use any existing six-sided dice, or play using our many custom dice!!! // Has raised $79,119 of $500 so far. (~15824%) ☑
varies
3166
$15 / $25
Oct 12
Rathskellers Modular Table : For Dining, Gaming & RPG's Rathskellers' 1st kickstarter project ! Presenting Sunnygeeks: A truly epic & modular table for Dining, Gaming & RPGs. // Has raised €269,740 of €100,000 so far. (~270%) ☑
-
231
$1182 / €1,168
Nov 12
#bling
Reputation: The Game of Fame A scandalous card game about your journey to superstardom. // Has raised A$1,155 of A$1,500 so far. (~77%)
?
25
$18 / A$46
Nov 02
ROTTEN MINIATURES MMXX Resin miniatures in dark fantasy style for players, collectors, and painters. // Has raised €4,486 of €2,500 so far. (~179%) ☑
-
79
$10 / €57
Nov 07
#minis
RPG Battles: The Card Game The easiest roleplaying, cards, and strategy game ever! Based on the mechanics of the Pathfinder RPG, without the complication. #TTRPG // Has raised $961 of $1,000 so far. (~96%)
Spindlewheel A tarot-like interpretive storytelling game where you weave a story from card to card. // Has raised $19,970 of $5,000 so far. (~399%) ☑
?
321
$35 / $62
Nov 07
#rpg
Studies in Sorcery Studies in Sorcery is an engine building and drafting game for 1-4 players about getting your master's degree in the dark arts. // Has raised $16,327 of $5,900 so far. (~277%) ☑
Takkure, a cyberpunk rugby game In a violent cyberpunk universe, the players take on the role of coaches to lead teams of 4 players. // Has raised €19,734 of €13,000 so far. (~152%) ☑
The Sleepover A lightly horror themed family friendly co-op board game. Where you have to restore power to the house before the Boogeyman gets you. // Has raised $2,569 of $27,000 so far. (~10%)
2 - 6
32
$45 / $80
Nov 06
Time Vault Soccer - The football card game A 2 player starter pack and expansion for the original Time Vault Soccer "Debut" set - with added World Cup-ness. // Has raised £613 of £1,000 so far. (~61%)
To The Moon And Back A fun and highly tactical board game where in up to six players compete against eachother as intergalactic parcel couriers. // Has raised €3,724 of €20,000 so far. (~19%)
Truth or lie, do you know your friends? The boardgame where you will have to discover if your friends are lying or telling the truth, with the most intimate questions // Has raised €322 of €2,200 so far. (~15%)
?
8
$24 / €40
Nov 03
Unforgiven: The Lincoln Assassination Trial Relive one of the most famous trials in US history--a tense, tabletop duel where you sway a jury & a nation for swift justice. // Has raised $22,177 of $7,999 so far. (~277%) ☑
WOKE UP! “There is no such thing as a single issue struggle"Audre Lorde (Black, Lesbian, Mother, Warrior) // Has raised £1 of £4,600 so far. (~0%)
2 - 6
1
$20 / £1
Nov 04
Yonder: A Fantasy Tabletop Roleplaying Game Refugees from a cataclysm venture into a magical land where they are transformed as they reveal their inner nature. // Has raised C$8192 of C$6000 so far. (~137%) ☑
#hmm means that something about the project seems a little off. Buyer beware kinda thing.
#lolwut is reserved for projects that seem like copycat games or campaigns put together with little thought. Check 'em out for amusement.
#take tags are for projects that have been restarted for some reason, with the number indicating what iteration we're currently on.
Did I miss something? Particularly something new in the last 7 days or ending in the next 7 days? Let me know in the comments and I'll add it in.
Tip Jar
These lists take time and money to put together. Not a lot, but a little. If you enjoy them, maybe toss me a buck now and then. Signing up for a free AirTable account via my referral link can help, too. Plus, it's swell!
Since Gregor Townsend has been Scotland coach I have never been so uninspired by a Scotland team, and I have never had such spite towards a Scotland coach. We seem to have no identity under Townsend, I’ve got no clue what we are known for. Under Vern cotter we were known for our attacking prowess, now I don’t even think we have that. Townsends record for Scotland is quite frankly appalling. If I did my counting properly he has a record of 17 wins, 1 draw and 18 losses. Now I know vern cotter probably has a worse record, but when he took over it was a very young an inexperienced side, introducing players like finn russell, Mark bennet and Tommy Seymour, we were going through a transitional phase with him I personally think. When vern left in 2017, I had mixed feelings about the appointment of Gregor Townsend, I felt that vern had finally created the squad that he was trying to create since he became Scotland coach in 2014, and it was a very good squad at that. Townsend had the very simple job of continuing what vern did, and for a while it felt like that, with Stuart Hogg establishing himself as the best fullback in the world after a 22-17 loss to New Zealand, and also hew Jones performing to a world class standard in every game. As soon as the 2018 six nations came around, it was blatantly obvious that this Scotland team had officially become a Gregor Townsend team and no longer a vern cotter one, with a pummelling to Wales in cardiff. In that game we were on top for the first 10 minutes or so, but as soon as Ali prices pass was intercepted by gareth Davies we completely fell apart and had no idea how to bounce back, and ever since then it has been the case, and it feels like we can lose every game if this happens. I was extremely hopeful for the 2019 World Cup, as I felt that Townsend had the choice of some amazing talents, the main one in my opinion being Rory Hutchinson, who was overlooked by Townsend despite being in the premiership team of the season in 18/19. When the first game arrived against Ireland, the selection was poor, maitland and Seymour on the wings instead of kinghorn and darcy graham, both of which proved their worth in the six nations that year. We ended up getting knocked out of the World Cup by Japan which was flat out embarrassing and that was the moment when I completely turned on Gregor Townsend because a vern cotter managed Scotland wouldn’t get knocked out of the World Cup by Japan. So why hasn’t Gregor Townsend been given the sack yet? Well I personally feel that it is because he manages to pull out a result against a good opposition when his job is on the line. Two examples being the 25-13 win against England in 2018, and the 38-38 draw to England the next year. Another reason to why he hasn’t been sacked is because the Scottish RFU love him, because he is a yes man and always looks at the positives instead of addressing the negatives and improving on them. It’s just outstanding how someone can smile and say what the Scottish team did well after a disgusting performance. It’s disgraceful, vern cotter would never do this and would give our side an absolute bollocking if they aren’t playing well. The best example of this is when Scotland were playing wales in the 2017 six nations, and we were losing 13-9 at half time. The second half we came out like a completely different team and nil’d them, getting a 29-13 victory in the end. It was quite obvious that vern had given the side a bollocking at half time and inspired them. Gregor Townsend can’t do this, and before someone say “oh but what about that England game” that comeback wasn’t because of Townsend it was because finn russell decided to scrap his own coaches game plan and got the entire team to play they way that he wanted to. When this is happening, your tactics clearly aren’t working, and you’re clearly not a good coach. The final point I would like to make here is that Gregor Townsend hasn’t actually improved anyone in the team and has in fact made the team worse. Stuart Hogg under vern cotter was the best player in the world, 2 player of the six nations in a row and was unstoppable, under Townsend he’s been a shadow of his old self and has not been at the same level. Jonny gray under vern cotter was an exciting young prospect in the rugby world and was tipped to be the next Scotland captain, now I don’t even know what he does in games, townsends game plan clearly doesn’t suit him. Hew Jones under vern was arguably the best young talent in the world, under Townsend he’s been completely excluded from the Scotland team which shouldn’t be the case. Finn Russell in 2018 was awful, as was the entire Scotland team. So instead of trying to fix this and improve these players who aren’t performing well, he just replaces them and excludes the players who were previously performing well. For example, hew Jones being replaced by Chris Harris and Duncan Taylor somehow getting in the World Cup squad. It’s just awful, and Gregor Townsend is not a good coach. He wasn’t even that good at Glasgow, he won one pro 12 title and people start bending over for him, if you actually look at his other seasons with Glasgow he was shit. So that’s it that’s the end of my rant, I had so much to get off my chest after a very uninspiring six nations and autumn nations cup. Despite all the negatives about Townsend I’m happy he’s introduced duhan van de merwe into the Scotland set up, he’s amazing and is our best player right now. So if you read all this you’re clearly Townsend out, don’t be afraid to speak out against this fraud. Townsend out.
From the ages of thirteen to seventeen, my one drive in life was the acquisition of a girlfriend. As a chubby, self-hating student at an all-boy school, opportunities to improve my self-esteem were few and far between. Becoming academically exalted was too much work, and I was never going to debase myself by attempting to join the rugby team, so there was only one option. I needed to find a girlfriend. Before I continue, I want to point out that the person I was then is not who I am now. I’m studying business at Cardiff University and in my second year of a stable, loving relationship with a course-mate. Of course, it’s impossible to judge myself accurately and it may be that my housemates and lecturers see me as an obnoxious twat, but I like to think that I’m relatively mature and well-adjusted. I like to think that I’ve learned from the mistakes of my youth. During those four years at school I was a vacuum, shallowly feigning every interest necessary to pique the interest of the few girls I ever got the chance to speak to. When I started messaging Fiona Pollock, with her tall quietness and ever-changing hair colour, I learned that she loved horror. So it was that I spent weekend after weekend streaming Dario Argento and Wes Craven films, trying to find the chance to invite myself over and introduce her to La Chiesa or Shocker or some other horseshit. When I met Georgia Weaver at auditions for a youth orchestra, I listened to every Haydn symphony over the course of a month, boring myself to tears just because I’d heard her play a few dozen bars of his second cello concerto while warming up. Most debasing of all, though, when I met Sally Bender, I watched four seasons of Supernatural in three weeks. When I asked her out and she laughed in my face, it was such a blow to my confidence that I considered pivoting towards academic success. A month later, though, I came up with a plan that I was convinced would work. It was at the school’s carol service, surrounded by Christmas cheer in the high, stony vault of the local parish church that I had my epiphany. In a flash of divine inspiration, I decided to date a Christian girl. It would hardly make me a player, and there’d be limits to how much social currency it would afford me. I wouldn’t be able to brag over canteen French bread pizza about the absurd positions me and my Jesus-freak studied after Sunday School, and the mockery from friends would at least equal the ego-boost I’d get from every date. Still, looking at the gangly, sombre youths who timidly poured out mulled wine after the service, at the very least I knew I’d be among social equals. Besides, there was always a chance that it would all turn out to be true and I would avoid the Lake of Fire when I croaked. When, after Christmas, I announced to my family my intention to take confirmation at the Anglican church in town, my parents responded with quiet, slightly baffled happiness. They’d raised me in the Methodist faith and, while I don’t think either of them held strong religious views, they respected God enough to scowl when, just six months earlier, I’d declared myself an atheist as all edgy teenagers must. That Sunday, just shy of my sixteenth birthday, I attended my first church service in the better part of ten years and, the Wednesday evening after that, my first Youth Group session. A year later and I hadn’t yet made my move. I’m not the victim here but looking back I wasn’t doing well. I was a spotty brat who ran a mile in 16 minutes and was always described as “underperforming” by every teacher who ever met my parents. I could see two ways out of my anxiety at the time, and the most appealing was sealing the deal with my target; Prudence Stearne. Prue was a plain girl. A little taller than most, but with a body that had otherwise stopped developing by thirteen, I’d selected her the first time I attended Youth Group – though it took another two weeks before she met my gaze. Over the following months I got to know her and learned that behind the wide staring eyes there was a sweet, kindly heart and, below hair so mousy it bordered on grey there was brain filled with a gentle wit, a love of baking and, of course, an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Good Book. It was a surprise when, a year after I’d decided to prey on the godly, Prue invited me to her house for dinner. I knew there was no real romantic intention behind it, but I was so starved of female attention that I decided to treat it as a practice run for when she inevitably fell for my charms. On the last day of school, I wandered down into town, changed into a new Primark shirt in the public toilets behind the market building, got a cheap haircut, and picked up a bottle of Shloer from Aldi. All prepared to make her fall in love with me, I marched across town and knocked on Prudence Stearne’s door. I was blown away the moment the door opened. The Stearne family did not do Christmas by halves. Her parents, dressed in matching but opposite-coloured Christmas jumpers welcomed me into their home and lead me to the dining room – a route that passed by no fewer than six Christmas trees, each with coordinated decoration, at least two of which were real. The entire ceiling above the dining table was covered by a silver-coloured plastic net, from which hung more than a hundred novelty baubles of all shapes and sizes, and if there was a surface in that house that wasn’t covered in snow-globes and nutcrackers, I didn’t see it. Even the dining room table, set for five people, was littered with twice as many neatly arranged candles in kitschy elf-head holders, surrounding a gargantuan motorised snow-globe that contained a plastic Frosty pinching Rudolph on the shiny red nose- illuminated, of course. Mrs Stearne made some fussing apology about the mess and I replied with some joke too weak to remember, which was met with gales of good-natured fake laughter from the parents. Prudence, sitting at the table in a modest green skirt with her hair in braids, wore a small smile and a faint blush. In the light of the candle, she actually looked quite pretty. I went to sit down next to her, but with a well-placed glare she indicated that I should sit opposite. I faltered a little as I pulled the chair out but reasoned to myself that maybe her parents were a little puritanical in this regard. I felt good as Mr Stearne made a big show of pouring out a glass of my Shloer for everyone, right up until the moment he poured out the fifth glass. There was a shout of “Theo, dinner’s ready!” from the stairwell, and as I heard the thud of quick footsteps above, I felt the colour drain from my face. I disliked Prue’s little brother from the start. He was at an even more awkward age than I was, and the brattishness inherent to most thirteen-year-olds combined with his aggressive eczema, milk-bottle glasses, and unwashed black hair to make him a perpetual outsider. His appearance was matched by an equally disagreeable personality. Theodore had frail health, but when he did manage to drag himself out of bed to Youth Group, he made sure everyone knew how much of an effort it was, all the while complaining in that irritating drone of his while absolutely refusing to be cooperative. His worst attribute, though, was how sneaky he was – or rather, how sneaky he thought he was, and the hissy fit he would throw when whatever bullshit scheme he was running was exposed. He didn’t believe in doing anything kind without getting something back in return, so his presence at dinner made me certain that something was up. The pitch came after dessert. I was still half-heartedly putting on a face for Prudence, so I offered to help wash up, but Mrs Stearne whisked away my bowl and suggested that I hang out in the den with Theo and Prudence. Even now, I remember that that was the order she put it in, making it clear that I was there for Theo’s entertainment. As I wandered into the dimly lit room and collapsed on a beanbag covered in a festive Disney blanket, I could feel the trap snapping shut on my leg. Theodore’s pitch was Soul Benefactor. The name was familiar – fliers smattered with photos of cheery-faced white teenagers hugging African children littered the church hall, and a few of the leaders at Youth Group had gone on trips to Kenya and Tanzania themselves. The company organised missionary work, with trips part-funded by whatever shadowy evangelical group and part-funded by the honest determination and fundraising of the kids themselves. I’d never really given them much thought, since the school had its own programmes for sending kids off to do charity work and I wasn’t exactly the sort to go adventuring. If I’m honest, the idea of sending people off to evangelise in poor African nations was a bit 19th century to me. The second part of the pitch intrigued me, though: Papua New Guinea. It was, undeniably, a great deal. Even as a shitty sixteen-year-old, I understood that opportunities to fly to the other side of the world for less than a grand didn’t present themselves often. Prudence leaned in close, cutting off Theo as he harped on about the mountains and wildlife, and got to the point – the Papua trip was new, and Soul Benefactor needed a group for a trial run. Prudence and Theo had already found three willing volunteers through Christian message-boards, but they needed the sixth to be signed on before the New Year. Under the pleading pressure of those wide, soft eyes I agreed. I wasn’t thinking of the tortures of hiking in the jungle with Theo, I wasn’t thinking of the hard work needed to raise the money, and I certainly wasn’t thinking of the quasi-colonialist nature of 21st Century missionary work; I was thinking of that little smile Prudence wore just before dinner. The next six months were hard work, and climbing through the cloud forests with an asthmatic, blister-footed thirteen-year-old was just as torturous as it sounds. Honestly, Theo should’ve never been allowed to come. Soul Benefactor usually required participants to be at least sixteen and undergo a physical before flying out with them, but some of the higher-ups in the UK chapter were friends with Mr and Mrs Stearne, and I understood that a sizeable donation had bypassed these concerns. After three day’s climb from the town of Mount Hagen, the eight of us – six children, a SB Rep, and a local interpreter – arrived at the site of our project. The town was too small to have a name on the map, but as we gazed down from the treeline towards the two-dozen palm-thatched huts, a name came unbidden to Prue’s mind: New Hebron. The hard work of those two weeks made the fundraising look leisurely. We were labourers, helping to construct a block of brick-walled chemical toilets, a small schoolhouse, and, of course, a chapel, all half-completed by a previous group of missionaries. That fortnight was one of the best times of my life. The villagers were fantastically warm and generous, and the work was fulfilling. It’s just a shame that Theo was there. I think at the time I underestimated him. In the weeks leading up to the Papua trip I spent a lot of time at the Stearnes’ house with Prue. We would meet for coffee to discuss the details of who was carpooling with who to the airport, we’d share lunch and decide seating arrangements on the flight, prepare a bake sale together to raise a final bit of spending money. The little brat made sure I wasn’t allowed any alone time with Prue in New Hebron. Those two weeks, every time we had a moment to speak Theo would burst out of the undergrowth complaining of some new tropical ailment in a whine more irritating than any mosquito, malarial or not. When Prudence and I were assigned jobs together, Theo would insist on helping, wanting to set a ‘good hard-working Protestant example’ for the villagers. Worst of all, though, was the sleeping arrangements. While everyone else had their privacy, Theo insisted that his asthma made it too risky for him to spend even a minute unsupervised. I’ll let you guess who drew the short straw and had to share a tent with the untidiest asthmatic in Papua New Guinea. On multiple occasions, I had to escort out insects that had nestled in Theo’s clothes after he had been too lazy to check his belongings before going to sleep, and the exhaustion from the work wasn’t helped by his high, nasal snore. The time in New Hebron passed quickly. I was genuinely proud of our work; the toilets were functional, the schoolhouse had solar power, and the chapel was fit for worship. On the last night in New Hebron, the villagers threw us a party. We danced around a fire with the locals, ate chickens slaughtered especially for us, stuffed with pandanus nut and barbecued black with sweet potato and taro, and us older kids even snuck a couple of beers, chilled in a fridge hooked up to the school’s power supply. Even as we celebrated, though, a part of me was heartsick. I didn’t want to leave the forest as alone as I had arrived. Things started to die down as we crept into the early hours of the morning. The clouds were thick in the hills, and aside from the dying bonfire in the centre of the village, the jungle was dark. I was meandering back to my tent when I heard retching near the treeline. I turned away from the tent, wandered past the log pile marking the limits of the village and nearly tripped over Prue. In the half-light I could see that she’d been crying and I gently easing myself past the puddle of sick and sat down next to her. I leaned back against the woodpile as she lay her head on my chest. Over the next half hour or so she unloaded. She was worried about her parent’s relationship, stressed about A Levels, petrified that something would happen to Theo, afraid of university. She must have drunk more than I’d realised that evening – either that, or she an even lower tolerance than mine. I gently wrapped my arms around her as she began to weep again, pulling her close against the slight chill of the night. She looked up at me, eyes somewhat dull in the darkness and, trembling, I bent down and touched my lips to hers. In that moment, I was blinded by torchlight. I just had time to threaten him before Theo screamed out, his voice reverberating around the clearing. Prue started wailing, and as I scrambled to put some distance between her and myself, I stamped my foot down on her fresh vomit and slipped, falling hard against a log. I winded myself, and the shock was enough that, by the time I was back on my feet, the rest of the Soul Survivor team had dragged themselves out of their tents. The Rep demanded to know what was going on, and as Prue continued to weep, Theo blubbered that I was holding Prue down, had my hand up her shirt, that I was forcing myself on her. I opened my mouth to protest, but a glare from the Rep made it clear that I wasn’t helping myself. I could hear footsteps from the village and hoping for help I peered around the woodpile and made out a squat figure hobbling towards us. The Rep turned his torch on, illuminating Ezra, one of the older members of the village. His leathery skin was taut from years of farming taro and picking pandanus, and there was steel in his nut-coloured eyes that even now makes me shudder. The interpreter, slightly drunk himself, stumbled over towards the man and the two shared a hurried conversation in Angal, nearly escalating to shouts. The interpreter came back over to the group, his voice suddenly sober as he explained the situation. The villagers had a rite, he said, for disciplining young men caught behaving inappropriately with unmarried girls. Gaigai Dala dated back further than anyone cared to remember and was the law before the first missionaries arrived at the village during Ezra’s childhood. To complete Gaigai Dala, the guilty youth would have to wander the forest for an entire night in darkness, circling the village and keeping the glow from the bonfire on his left. After each circumnavigation, he would prostrate himself on the ground at the limits of the village, facing away from the fire and screaming into the dirt. By doing this, the youth would leave his soul to the mercy of the Earth and his body to the mercy of the forest; if innocent, he would return in the morning unscathed. If guilty, then the forest would kill him, and the Earth would swallow his bones. The punishment for refusing Gaigai Dala was live burial beneath the firepit. I sat back down and swore to myself as the Rep started to argue with Ezra through the interpreter. Those minutes were agonizing, only hearing half the conversation, but I could make out what was going on clear enough. The Rep refused to let a kid he was legally responsible for wander around the jungle alone in the dark, but Ezra wasn’t in the mood to compromise with outsiders. If we disrespected the traditions of the village we would have to leave immediately. I glanced up at Prudence, desperate for her to speak up, but she averted her eyes. My heart pounded in my chest as Ezra and the Rep approached and handed me my sentence. The Rep told me firmly that my actions could not go unpunished, and that the traditions of the village had to be respected. The words were like a punch to the gut and I quietly begged Prue to tell the truth, but she still stared at the forest floor. Ezra had, however, relented somewhat. I would not be taking the Gaigai Dala alone. Instead, I would be accompanied by a villager of Ezra’s choosing, to ensure that I respected the custom. Ezra ordered the rest of the Soul Benefactor group back to their tents, and as one of the girls helped Prudence to her feet and lead her away, I saw Theo’s face twist into the self-satisfied grin of a well-fed snake. My supposed friends were replaced minutes later by a group of villagers and one, a tall, thin teenager wordlessly commanded me to undress to my underwear and marched me barefoot away from New Hebron. That silent youth forced me through the woods for four hours. The hike from Mount Hagen up into the hills had been hard work, of course, but the dehydration, exhaustion, and humiliation made every circuit of that village a new torture. Each time we arrived at the wood pile, my warder smacked me in the shins with a hard wooden cane and forced me to the ground, face down, kneeling on my back until I screamed into the earth, only allowing me to stop when my voice was hoarse. I lost count of how many times I was made to bite down on the bitter wetness of that fertile soil, but I know that with each scream I cursed the name of Theodore Stearne. I faltered once in my march of penance. Stumbling from tiredness and feeling the first stabbing pangs of what would be my first ever hangover, it occurred to me that tomorrow we would begin the three-day trek back to Mount Hagen. I cried out then and, weeping with fatigue, collapsed to my knees. A sharp cane blow to the kidney made me sure not to stop again. By the time dawn came, I was resolved to hold my tongue. Ezra could have whatever opinion he believed, but the forest had judged me. Short of making the trip home uncomfortable and forcing me out of the church, there wasn’t a lot that the rest of the group could do either. My chances with Prue were shattered, sure, but I was off to university soon enough, and the freshers at Cardiff wouldn’t care about my dalliance with religion. As for Theo, I already knew that I would never say another word to him. The youth forced me to the ground, just yards away from where Prudence and I had been discovered and, after screaming once more, I looked up to see Ezra standing by the woodpile. He nodded once, formally, and gestured towards the line of tents dimly visible in the grey morning mist. I got to my feet and scooped up my cold, damp clothes, shaking them out carefully to make sure no undesirable creatures had taken up residence during my trial. My limbs began to tremble with exhaustion and cold, but the promise of a couple of hours in the sleeping bag made me determined not to show the physical toll of the Gaigai Dala in front of my judge. I turned once more to Ezra, trying to communicate as much of my contempt as possible with a glare, but the old man’s face only looked tired and sombre. I slouched back across the forest clearing, stopping outside of my shared tent. With a sneer I realised that the bastard was awake inside, the whistling snore absent in that moment. I recalled my resolve, though, and remembered that everything I wanted to say to him I had screamed into the ground. My anger surged when I unzipped the tent, though. He’d ransacked the place. My clothes, which I had left carefully piled for easy packing were all across the floor of the tent. A gallon bottle of water lay on its side, soaking my sleeping bag and the little shit, lying diagonally across the floor, was clutching tightly to my dark red leather belt, a prized possession of mine that my grandfather had gifted to me before he died. I went to grab his shoulders wanting to shake some sense into him and froze. I hadn’t brought my belt with me; it was far too precious an item to risk out here in the jungle. Something else was wrong, too. The tent wasn’t just quiet, it was silent; the reedy asthmatic breath stopped. In the ever-increasing dawn light, I could make out the deep, bruised mottling of Theo’s skin, spreading up from his arm. A few dark maroon lines crept serpentine up his neck towards his face, which was fixed in a blind rictus masked by broken glasses. His lips were full and purple like overripe grapes. It was only when the belt unhooked its fangs and slithered down his arm in a steady anticlockwise corkscrew that I realised what was going on. As Theo’s cold purple fingertips brushed its red scales, the taipan looked at me, eyes the colour of rich, fertile forest soil. With a single flick of its forked tongue the snake left the tent. It was only then that I had the presence of mind to scream. Prudence didn’t cry when she saw her brother’s body. A sick part of me wonders if she felt some relief at a worry being crossed off her list. It’s impossible for me to know. I didn’t hear her say anything more than single word answers in the days we waited at New Hebron for evacuation, nor in the week we spent shuffling in and out of the British High Commission at Port Moresby. I don’t have contact with her or her parents anymore, and last I heard she was studying veterinary science at a school in Australia. I didn’t attend Theodore Stearne’s funeral. Whatever lingering faith I had I lost on that night in Papua New Guinea. If there are gods out there, they shouldn’t be prayed to.
From the ages of thirteen to seventeen, my one drive in life was the acquisition of a girlfriend. As a chubby, self-hating student at an all-boy school, opportunities to improve my self-esteem were few and far between. Becoming academically exalted was too much work, and I was never going to debase myself by attempting to join the rugby team, so there was only one option. I needed to find a girlfriend. Before I continue, I want to point out that the person I was then is not who I am now. I’m studying business at Cardiff University and in my second year of a stable, loving relationship with a course-mate. Of course, it’s impossible to judge myself accurately and it may be that my housemates and lecturers see me as an obnoxious twat, but I like to think that I’m relatively mature and well-adjusted. I like to think that I’ve learned from the mistakes of my youth. During those four years at school I was a vacuum, shallowly feigning every interest necessary to pique the interest of the few girls I ever got the chance to speak to. When I started messaging Fiona Pollock, with her tall quietness and ever-changing hair colour, I learned that she loved horror. So it was that I spent weekend after weekend streaming Dario Argento and Wes Craven films, trying to find the chance to invite myself over and introduce her to La Chiesa or Shocker or some other horseshit. When I met Georgia Weaver at auditions for a youth orchestra, I listened to every Haydn symphony over the course of a month, boring myself to tears just because I’d heard her play a few dozen bars of his second cello concerto while warming up. Most debasing of all, though, when I met Sally Bender, I watched four seasons of Supernatural in three weeks. When I asked her out and she laughed in my face, it was such a blow to my confidence that I considered pivoting towards academic success. A month later, though, I came up with a plan that I was convinced would work. It was at the school’s carol service, surrounded by Christmas cheer in the high, stony vault of the local parish church that I had my epiphany. In a flash of divine inspiration, I decided to date a Christian girl. It would hardly make me a player, and there’d be limits to how much social currency it would afford me. I wouldn’t be able to brag over canteen French bread pizza about the absurd positions me and my Jesus-freak studied after Sunday School, and the mockery from friends would at least equal the ego-boost I’d get from every date. Still, looking at the gangly, sombre youths who timidly poured out mulled wine after the service, at the very least I knew I’d be among social equals. Besides, there was always a chance that it would all turn out to be true and I would avoid the Lake of Fire when I croaked. When, after Christmas, I announced to my family my intention to take confirmation at the Anglican church in town, my parents responded with quiet, slightly baffled happiness. They’d raised me in the Methodist faith and, while I don’t think either of them held strong religious views, they respected God enough to scowl when, just six months earlier, I’d declared myself an atheist as all edgy teenagers must. That Sunday, just shy of my sixteenth birthday, I attended my first church service in the better part of ten years and, the Wednesday evening after that, my first Youth Group session. A year later and I hadn’t yet made my move. I’m not the victim here but looking back I wasn’t doing well. I was a spotty brat who ran a mile in 16 minutes and was always described as “underperforming” by every teacher who ever met my parents. I could see two ways out of my anxiety at the time, and the most appealing was sealing the deal with my target; Prudence Stearne. Prue was a plain girl. A little taller than most, but with a body that had otherwise stopped developing by thirteen, I’d selected her the first time I attended Youth Group – though it took another two weeks before she met my gaze. Over the following months I got to know her and learned that behind the wide staring eyes there was a sweet, kindly heart and, below hair so mousy it bordered on grey there was brain filled with a gentle wit, a love of baking and, of course, an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Good Book. It was a surprise when, a year after I’d decided to prey on the godly, Prue invited me to her house for dinner. I knew there was no real romantic intention behind it, but I was so starved of female attention that I decided to treat it as a practice run for when she inevitably fell for my charms. On the last day of school, I wandered down into town, changed into a new Primark shirt in the public toilets behind the market building, got a cheap haircut, and picked up a bottle of Shloer from Aldi. All prepared to make her fall in love with me, I marched across town and knocked on Prudence Stearne’s door. I was blown away the moment the door opened. The Stearne family did not do Christmas by halves. Her parents, dressed in matching but opposite-coloured Christmas jumpers welcomed me into their home and lead me to the dining room – a route that passed by no fewer than six Christmas trees, each with coordinated decoration, at least two of which were real. The entire ceiling above the dining table was covered by a silver-coloured plastic net, from which hung more than a hundred novelty baubles of all shapes and sizes, and if there was a surface in that house that wasn’t covered in snow-globes and nutcrackers, I didn’t see it. Even the dining room table, set for five people, was littered with twice as many neatly arranged candles in kitschy elf-head holders, surrounding a gargantuan motorised snow-globe that contained a plastic Frosty pinching Rudolph on the shiny red nose- illuminated, of course. Mrs Stearne made some fussing apology about the mess and I replied with some joke too weak to remember, which was met with gales of good-natured fake laughter from the parents. Prudence, sitting at the table in a modest green skirt with her hair in braids, wore a small smile and a faint blush. In the light of the candle, she actually looked quite pretty. I went to sit down next to her, but with a well-placed glare she indicated that I should sit opposite. I faltered a little as I pulled the chair out but reasoned to myself that maybe her parents were a little puritanical in this regard. I felt good as Mr Stearne made a big show of pouring out a glass of my Shloer for everyone, right up until the moment he poured out the fifth glass. There was a shout of “Theo, dinner’s ready!” from the stairwell, and as I heard the thud of quick footsteps above, I felt the colour drain from my face. I disliked Prue’s little brother from the start. He was at an even more awkward age than I was, and the brattishness inherent to most thirteen-year-olds combined with his aggressive eczema, milk-bottle glasses, and unwashed black hair to make him a perpetual outsider. His appearance was matched by an equally disagreeable personality. Theodore had frail health, but when he did manage to drag himself out of bed to Youth Group, he made sure everyone knew how much of an effort it was, all the while complaining in that irritating drone of his while absolutely refusing to be cooperative. His worst attribute, though, was how sneaky he was – or rather, how sneaky he thought he was, and the hissy fit he would throw when whatever bullshit scheme he was running was exposed. He didn’t believe in doing anything kind without getting something back in return, so his presence at dinner made me certain that something was up. The pitch came after dessert. I was still half-heartedly putting on a face for Prudence, so I offered to help wash up, but Mrs Stearne whisked away my bowl and suggested that I hang out in the den with Theo and Prudence. Even now, I remember that that was the order she put it in, making it clear that I was there for Theo’s entertainment. As I wandered into the dimly lit room and collapsed on a beanbag covered in a festive Disney blanket, I could feel the trap snapping shut on my leg. Theodore’s pitch was Soul Benefactor. The name was familiar – fliers smattered with photos of cheery-faced white teenagers hugging African children littered the church hall, and a few of the leaders at Youth Group had gone on trips to Kenya and Tanzania themselves. The company organised missionary work, with trips part-funded by whatever shadowy evangelical group and part-funded by the honest determination and fundraising of the kids themselves. I’d never really given them much thought, since the school had its own programmes for sending kids off to do charity work and I wasn’t exactly the sort to go adventuring. If I’m honest, the idea of sending people off to evangelise in poor African nations was a bit 19th century to me. The second part of the pitch intrigued me, though: Papua New Guinea. It was, undeniably, a great deal. Even as a shitty sixteen-year-old, I understood that opportunities to fly to the other side of the world for less than a grand didn’t present themselves often. Prudence leaned in close, cutting off Theo as he harped on about the mountains and wildlife, and got to the point – the Papua trip was new, and Soul Benefactor needed a group for a trial run. Prudence and Theo had already found three willing volunteers through Christian message-boards, but they needed the sixth to be signed on before the New Year. Under the pleading pressure of those wide, soft eyes I agreed. I wasn’t thinking of the tortures of hiking in the jungle with Theo, I wasn’t thinking of the hard work needed to raise the money, and I certainly wasn’t thinking of the quasi-colonialist nature of 21st Century missionary work; I was thinking of that little smile Prudence wore just before dinner. The next six months were hard work, and climbing through the cloud forests with an asthmatic, blister-footed thirteen-year-old was just as torturous as it sounds. Honestly, Theo should’ve never been allowed to come. Soul Benefactor usually required participants to be at least sixteen and undergo a physical before flying out with them, but some of the higher-ups in the UK chapter were friends with Mr and Mrs Stearne, and I understood that a sizeable donation had bypassed these concerns. After three day’s climb from the town of Mount Hagen, the eight of us – six children, a SB Rep, and a local interpreter – arrived at the site of our project. The town was too small to have a name on the map, but as we gazed down from the treeline towards the two-dozen palm-thatched huts, a name came unbidden to Prue’s mind: New Hebron. The hard work of those two weeks made the fundraising look leisurely. We were labourers, helping to construct a block of brick-walled chemical toilets, a small schoolhouse, and, of course, a chapel, all half-completed by a previous group of missionaries. That fortnight was one of the best times of my life. The villagers were fantastically warm and generous, and the work was fulfilling. It’s just a shame that Theo was there. I think at the time I underestimated him. In the weeks leading up to the Papua trip I spent a lot of time at the Stearnes’ house with Prue. We would meet for coffee to discuss the details of who was carpooling with who to the airport, we’d share lunch and decide seating arrangements on the flight, prepare a bake sale together to raise a final bit of spending money. The little brat made sure I wasn’t allowed any alone time with Prue in New Hebron. Those two weeks, every time we had a moment to speak Theo would burst out of the undergrowth complaining of some new tropical ailment in a whine more irritating than any mosquito, malarial or not. When Prudence and I were assigned jobs together, Theo would insist on helping, wanting to set a ‘good hard-working Protestant example’ for the villagers. Worst of all, though, was the sleeping arrangements. While everyone else had their privacy, Theo insisted that his asthma made it too risky for him to spend even a minute unsupervised. I’ll let you guess who drew the short straw and had to share a tent with the untidiest asthmatic in Papua New Guinea. On multiple occasions, I had to escort out insects that had nestled in Theo’s clothes after he had been too lazy to check his belongings before going to sleep, and the exhaustion from the work wasn’t helped by his high, nasal snore. The time in New Hebron passed quickly. I was genuinely proud of our work; the toilets were functional, the schoolhouse had solar power, and the chapel was fit for worship. On the last night in New Hebron, the villagers threw us a party. We danced around a fire with the locals, ate chickens slaughtered especially for us, stuffed with pandanus nut and barbecued black with sweet potato and taro, and us older kids even snuck a couple of beers, chilled in a fridge hooked up to the school’s power supply. Even as we celebrated, though, a part of me was heartsick. I didn’t want to leave the forest as alone as I had arrived. Things started to die down as we crept into the early hours of the morning. The clouds were thick in the hills, and aside from the dying bonfire in the centre of the village, the jungle was dark. I was meandering back to my tent when I heard retching near the treeline. I turned away from the tent, wandered past the log pile marking the limits of the village and nearly tripped over Prue. In the half-light I could see that she’d been crying and I gently easing myself past the puddle of sick and sat down next to her. I leaned back against the woodpile as she lay her head on my chest. Over the next half hour or so she unloaded. She was worried about her parent’s relationship, stressed about A Levels, petrified that something would happen to Theo, afraid of university. She must have drunk more than I’d realised that evening – either that, or she an even lower tolerance than mine. I gently wrapped my arms around her as she began to weep again, pulling her close against the slight chill of the night. She looked up at me, eyes somewhat dull in the darkness and, trembling, I bent down and touched my lips to hers. In that moment, I was blinded by torchlight. I just had time to threaten him before Theo screamed out, his voice reverberating around the clearing. Prue started wailing, and as I scrambled to put some distance between her and myself, I stamped my foot down on her fresh vomit and slipped, falling hard against a log. I winded myself, and the shock was enough that, by the time I was back on my feet, the rest of the Soul Survivor team had dragged themselves out of their tents. The Rep demanded to know what was going on, and as Prue continued to weep, Theo blubbered that I was holding Prue down, had my hand up her shirt, that I was forcing myself on her. I opened my mouth to protest, but a glare from the Rep made it clear that I wasn’t helping myself. I could hear footsteps from the village and hoping for help I peered around the woodpile and made out a squat figure hobbling towards us. The Rep turned his torch on, illuminating Ezra, one of the older members of the village. His leathery skin was taut from years of farming taro and picking pandanus, and there was steel in his nut-coloured eyes that even now makes me shudder. The interpreter, slightly drunk himself, stumbled over towards the man and the two shared a hurried conversation in Angal, nearly escalating to shouts. The interpreter came back over to the group, his voice suddenly sober as he explained the situation. The villagers had a rite, he said, for disciplining young men caught behaving inappropriately with unmarried girls. Gaigai Dala dated back further than anyone cared to remember and was the law before the first missionaries arrived at the village during Ezra’s childhood. To complete Gaigai Dala, the guilty youth would have to wander the forest for an entire night in darkness, circling the village and keeping the glow from the bonfire on his left. After each circumnavigation, he would prostrate himself on the ground at the limits of the village, facing away from the fire and screaming into the dirt. By doing this, the youth would leave his soul to the mercy of the Earth and his body to the mercy of the forest; if innocent, he would return in the morning unscathed. If guilty, then the forest would kill him, and the Earth would swallow his bones. The punishment for refusing Gaigai Dala was live burial beneath the firepit. I sat back down and swore to myself as the Rep started to argue with Ezra through the interpreter. Those minutes were agonizing, only hearing half the conversation, but I could make out what was going on clear enough. The Rep refused to let a kid he was legally responsible for wander around the jungle alone in the dark, but Ezra wasn’t in the mood to compromise with outsiders. If we disrespected the traditions of the village we would have to leave immediately. I glanced up at Prudence, desperate for her to speak up, but she averted her eyes. My heart pounded in my chest as Ezra and the Rep approached and handed me my sentence. The Rep told me firmly that my actions could not go unpunished, and that the traditions of the village had to be respected. The words were like a punch to the gut and I quietly begged Prue to tell the truth, but she still stared at the forest floor. Ezra had, however, relented somewhat. I would not be taking the Gaigai Dala alone. Instead, I would be accompanied by a villager of Ezra’s choosing, to ensure that I respected the custom. Ezra ordered the rest of the Soul Benefactor group back to their tents, and as one of the girls helped Prudence to her feet and lead her away, I saw Theo’s face twist into the self-satisfied grin of a well-fed snake. My supposed friends were replaced minutes later by a group of villagers and one, a tall, thin teenager wordlessly commanded me to undress to my underwear and marched me barefoot away from New Hebron. That silent youth forced me through the woods for four hours. The hike from Mount Hagen up into the hills had been hard work, of course, but the dehydration, exhaustion, and humiliation made every circuit of that village a new torture. Each time we arrived at the wood pile, my warder smacked me in the shins with a hard wooden cane and forced me to the ground, face down, kneeling on my back until I screamed into the earth, only allowing me to stop when my voice was hoarse. I lost count of how many times I was made to bite down on the bitter wetness of that fertile soil, but I know that with each scream I cursed the name of Theodore Stearne. I faltered once in my march of penance. Stumbling from tiredness and feeling the first stabbing pangs of what would be my first ever hangover, it occurred to me that tomorrow we would begin the three-day trek back to Mount Hagen. I cried out then and, weeping with fatigue, collapsed to my knees. A sharp cane blow to the kidney made me sure not to stop again. By the time dawn came, I was resolved to hold my tongue. Ezra could have whatever opinion he believed, but the forest had judged me. Short of making the trip home uncomfortable and forcing me out of the church, there wasn’t a lot that the rest of the group could do either. My chances with Prue were shattered, sure, but I was off to university soon enough, and the freshers at Cardiff wouldn’t care about my dalliance with religion. As for Theo, I already knew that I would never say another word to him. The youth forced me to the ground, just yards away from where Prudence and I had been discovered and, after screaming once more, I looked up to see Ezra standing by the woodpile. He nodded once, formally, and gestured towards the line of tents dimly visible in the grey morning mist. I got to my feet and scooped up my cold, damp clothes, shaking them out carefully to make sure no undesirable creatures had taken up residence during my trial. My limbs began to tremble with exhaustion and cold, but the promise of a couple of hours in the sleeping bag made me determined not to show the physical toll of the Gaigai Dala in front of my judge. I turned once more to Ezra, trying to communicate as much of my contempt as possible with a glare, but the old man’s face only looked tired and sombre. I slouched back across the forest clearing, stopping outside of my shared tent. With a sneer I realised that the bastard was awake inside, the whistling snore absent in that moment. I recalled my resolve, though, and remembered that everything I wanted to say to him I had screamed into the ground. My anger surged when I unzipped the tent, though. He’d ransacked the place. My clothes, which I had left carefully piled for easy packing were all across the floor of the tent. A gallon bottle of water lay on its side, soaking my sleeping bag and the little shit, lying diagonally across the floor, was clutching tightly to my dark red leather belt, a prized possession of mine that my grandfather had gifted to me before he died. I went to grab his shoulders wanting to shake some sense into him and froze. I hadn’t brought my belt with me; it was far too precious an item to risk out here in the jungle. Something else was wrong, too. The tent wasn’t just quiet, it was silent; the reedy asthmatic breath stopped. In the ever-increasing dawn light, I could make out the deep, bruised mottling of Theo’s skin, spreading up from his arm. A few dark maroon lines crept serpentine up his neck towards his face, which was fixed in a blind rictus masked by broken glasses. His lips were full and purple like overripe grapes. It was only when the belt unhooked its fangs and slithered down his arm in a steady anticlockwise corkscrew that I realised what was going on. As Theo’s cold purple fingertips brushed its red scales, the taipan looked at me, eyes the colour of rich, fertile forest soil. With a single flick of its forked tongue the snake left the tent. It was only then that I had the presence of mind to scream. Prudence didn’t cry when she saw her brother’s body. A sick part of me wonders if she felt some relief at a worry being crossed off her list. It’s impossible for me to know. I didn’t hear her say anything more than single word answers in the days we waited at New Hebron for evacuation, nor in the week we spent shuffling in and out of the British High Commission at Port Moresby. I don’t have contact with her or her parents anymore, and last I heard she was studying veterinary science at a school in Australia. I didn’t attend Theodore Stearne’s funeral. Whatever lingering faith I had I lost on that night in Papua New Guinea. If there are gods out there, they shouldn’t be prayed to.
Guinness Six Nations Fantasy Rugby 2021 now open! With 11 tries in 17 career matches, Rees-Zammit has proven he certainly knows where they try-line is, while, at 6’3 and boasting the speed of a cheetah, he has all the attributes to excel. The Six Nations era has been one of unprecedented success for Irish men's rugby. W hile the World Cup glass ceiling has remained stubbornly intact, the past 21 seasons have seen Ireland secure ... France and Toulouse scrum-half Antoine Dupont has been crowned the Six Nations’ Player of the Championship for 2020. First French winner. Dupont becomes the first ever Frenchman to be awarded one of rugby’s greatest individual accolades, a prize that has been won by an illustrious list of the game’s top players, including Brian O’Driscoll, Stuart Hogg, Andrea Masi and Shane Williams. Sport; Rugby Union; Six Nations 2021 fantasy rugby tips: The best players to pick for your team this week and who to captain Taking advantage of France’s probable away win in Rome will be key to ... The Six Nations player power rankings as 20 best performers so far emerge There have been some outstanding performers so far in the 2020 Six Nations, and these are the best of the best walesonline Club rugby sees the likes of Exeter, Toulon, Wasps and Leinster do battle in the Rugby Champions Cup, while the 2021 Six Nations will be a chance to witness the very best talents in European rugby. Ahead of the 2021 Six Nations, Planet Rugby takes a look at the players to look out for when the tournament starts on February 6. Although this could just as easily be Zander Fagerson, who needs a big tournament to clinch a spot on the Lions tour, we’ve gone with Bath’s Redpath. The centre has ... The 2020 Six Nations is almost upon us which means it's nearly time for legions of rugby union fans to begin plotting their route to victory in the tournament's official fantasy rugby league. The 29-year-old has captained England to a Six Nations and Autumn Nations Cup title in 2020. His kicking was poor in the final game against France, however, most fans would admit you would die to have someone of Farrell’s calibre in their team. Almost certain to captain the Lions in 2021. Best players in the world, and Farrell is right up ... The 2021 Six Nations gets underway this weekend, with England looking to mount a successful defence of its title. Here are six of the best set to light up the tournament.
RBS 6 Nations 2015: 6 Best Scottish Tries of the ...
Take a look at our selections for the 6 best Scottish tries of the championship. What was your favourite ?For more action from the 2015 RBS 6 Nations champio... Who are the key players to look out for in the Women's Six Nations 2020? Red Roses Wrap Ugo Monye, Ben Kay, and Brian O'Driscoll talk us through the 2019 Six Nations team of the tournament as voted for by you on Rugby Tonight.Subscribe to our Yo... I do not own any of the clips used in this video. They are for entertainment purposes only. This channel is not monetized. "Copyright Disclaimer Under Sectio... Rugby sevens is a sport like no other. It's the most diverse, exciting and unexpected sport on the planet. It's players, coaches and fans have unique stories... TOP 10 Best Rugby Players 2020 RUGBY HDWatch in HD!• Made by Korol Pavel (KOROL) Rate, comment and subscribe..Thanks for Watching!-----...
