Blues are by their very nature a rare breed, with a definite hierarchy in their ranks – rugby and rowing nearer the top, yachting and golf somewhat nearer the bottom. But all blues have one thing in common – a dedication to their sport that leaves little room for any other commitment, however casual it may be.
They’re an exotic oddity on the Oxford social scene – for one thing, they’re actually vaguely attractive – but almost inevitably they spend almost all of their time in a team and rarely leave the nest, as their training schedules demand absolute adherence to a non-alcoholic lifestyle.
That being said, when one encounters a Blue – as a rare, celebrated member of their old college team on an out-of-season crewdate, or just a random run-in at Wahoo, you’re in for a treat. Recently, one pounded shots with me like a champ before ripping his shirt open to the waist, slinging me over his shoulder and carrying me home like a sexy Neanderthal. Expect little-to-no sleep, a room decorated with trophies, protein powder and stash, and a solid high-five afterwards.
In the morning, however, things were different – his body was incredible (goes without saying), but his face…? Unfortunately, I was not guaranteed the same luck. And there have been times when I’ve woken up alone as practice starts at 5AM, on a godforsaken river somewhere or down at Iffley gym – and oddly
enough, seeing them blindly fumble their way into crumpled floor-stash which smells four weeks old isn’t that entertaining when they were inside you 20 minutes ago.
Additionally, they’re always just too busy to be a place to ‘just crash’ when you can’t be bothered for the trek home after a fruitless night on the parkend cheese floor, or when you fancy a library break on a slow Sunday.
All being said, Blues are a rare opportunity to shag someone who is actually fit, an extremely rare occurrence in Oxford – unless you’re a Blue yourself. In which case, please go back to the daily orgies that I assume happen behind the closed doors of Vinnie’s.
