Shifts, Scrum Caps and Saturday Nerves: Seven Days With a Semi-Pro Bull

People hear semi-pro rugby and picture something glamorous. Maybe a sponsor's lunch, a nice bus, a stadium announcer who knows your name. The reality in 2026 is a bit different. It is a 5.40 alarm, a flask of coffee, a shift on site in Kilmarnock, and a race to make training in Ayr before the gaffer starts shouting. This is a typical week for me — as told to Ayrshire Bulls.

Monday: Recovery, Site and the Laundry

Monday is the worst day. The body knows what happened on Saturday, even if the scoreboard was kind. I am up at 5.40, out the door by six, and on site for seven. I work in construction, so there is no hiding behind a desk. If my shoulder is sore from a scrum, I still have to lift. If my back is stiff from a lineout, I still have to climb.

After work I do a recovery session — bike, stretch, maybe the foam roller if I can find it. Then it is home for tea, bath time for the wee one, and the laundry. Semi-pro rugby is a part-time job with a full-time washing machine. The kit gets washed on Monday, dried on Tuesday, and somehow still smells on Thursday.

Tuesday: Training After the Shift

Tuesday is the first proper session of the week. I finish at half four, get home for half five, see the kids for about twenty minutes, then drive to Ayr. Training starts at seven. The gaffer does not care that you have been on your feet all day. He wants you sharp, and he wants you listening.

We do unit work, lineout, a bit of contact, and a review of the weekend. The review is usually the hardest part. You watch yourself make a mistake and the whole room sees it. But that is how it works. You learn to take it, and you learn to give it back when it is someone else's turn.

Wednesday: Gym, Physio and a Missed Tea

Wednesday is gym and physio. I try to get there straight after work because if I go home first I will not leave again. The physio is a saint. She has seen my shoulder more times than my GP. I am not the only one in the queue either — there is always a lad with a strapped ankle or a dead leg trying to pretend he is fine.

By the time I get home, the kids are in bed and my tea is in the microwave. That is the trade-off. You miss things. You miss bedtime stories, you miss the odd school thing, and you miss tea with your family. Everyone at the club knows that. It is why nobody moans when someone is late because of work or a wee one.

Thursday: Team Run and the Nerves Start

Thursday is the main session. We walk through the plays, do the team run, and start thinking about the opposition. The forecast for Saturday is usually mentioned at least ten times, as if saying it out loud will change it. It never does.

This is when the nerves start. Not the bad kind — the good kind. You start picturing the first scrum, the first lineout, the first hit. You check your boots. You check your gumshield. You check the kit bag three times even though you know it is all there.

Friday: Quiet Day, Early Night

Friday is quiet. I finish early if I can, pick the kids up, and try to be present. My missus knows not to talk to me about scrums at breakfast. She has her own week to deal with. We have a rule: Friday night is family night, even if I am half asleep on the sofa by nine.

I do not sleep great. I never do before a game. You lie there thinking about the first contact, the first lineout, the first shout from the touchline. It is not fear. It is just the switch flicking on.

Saturday: Matchday

Saturday is why you do it. Up at seven, porridge, coffee, and a drive to Millbrae. The crowd is already there when I arrive — the same faces, the tea bar, the dog that always seems to be at the gate. It is not a massive crowd, but it is ours.

Warm-up, strapping, final words from the gaffer. Then the first hit. That is when the week disappears. The site, the traffic, the missed tea, the laundry — it all goes quiet. You are just a player in a Bulls shirt, and the people on the touchline are watching.

You hear them as well. The shouts, the groans, the odd bit of advice that is either brilliant or useless. After the game, if we have won, there is a pint and a debrief. If we have lost, there is a shorter debrief and a longer ice bath. Either way, I am stiff on Sunday and back on site on Monday.

The Honest Bit

Semi-pro rugby costs you. It costs petrol, time, and the odd family event. You pay to play in more ways than one. But then you run out at Millbrae, and a wee lad asks for your autograph, and a grandmother tells you she has been coming for forty years, and you remember why you keep saying yes.

If you are coming down on Saturday, say hello. We notice. We always notice.