Saturdays at Marine Corps base, Quantico, are nice. The entire base is Virginia wood land. As I go through the front gate I see a friend working. He is dressed in his camouflage uniform, with a shotgun over his shoulder and an M9 pistol on his side. His partner has the same kind of pistol, only he has an M16 in hand. As my friend waves me through the gate he says, "Good luck! We'll be there to watch on our break." To me that is the gate to work everyday; but to everyone outside of the military that tends to be an intimidating entrance. Well, too bad for the team we have to play today at home. This is the gate they have to go through and this is the first thing that will add to our intimidation. Today they are a college team, mere children to us, and about to be given a lesson in all out hard nose rugby.
             Twenty five Marines dressed in green Rugby shirts, a fabric that is almost as thick as a sweat shirt and stronger then one; black shorts that if they were any tighter and two inches shorter they would be Daisy Dukes. We wear a dark green soccer style sock that goes to our knees with metal spiked cleats that are lighter then football cleats. I lace them as tight as I can; these are my tools in battle. I will agree, we look odd to someone who has never seen ruggers before, but it doesn't matter to me. Now its game time. Now the rest of the world stops. Now I take control, this is my world that I like to live in.
             My stomach starts to churn and curdle, breakfast has just made a u-turn and I start to taste it again. This time there's a new flavor with it, not one I remember eating. A little bit of a rotten odor is added. Thankfully it has stopped at the esophagus. It's the best sign for me that I'm ready, now I know that my body is aware of what is about to happen... war. War is what we call it. It is an eighty minute battle with a fifteen man squad of Marines on our end and a group of fifteen coll...