The Shawnigan Lake Stags and Vancouver’s St George’s Saints are set to meet for the third straight season in the B.C.
Surrey's Lord Tweedsmuir Panthers found their way into the BC Triple A boys rugby quarterfinals with the program's biggest win ever on Saturday.
VANCOUVER — What a day Saturday turned out to be for the boys rugby team from Surrey’s Lord Tweedsmuir Secondary. Sutherland Sabres' head rugby coach Brad Thornhill and three of his players react to action downfield in upset win Wednesday at St.
Brad Thornhill had one of those moments of clarity a few weeks ago as he walked past the rows of the lockers at North Vancouver’s Sutherland Secondary School. VANCOUVER — There is such vast canon of history to draw from when the topic turns to the greatest moments in the history of rugby at Vancouver’s St.
ABBOTSFORD — Phil Berna’s second try of the match, coming in injury time, carried the day for the St.
Collingwood's Owen Stout (left) us tackled by McRoberts' Nolan Howell during BC Double A semifinal action Thursday at Rotary Stadium in Abbotsford. Keep checking back here today as we update the results of the four semifinal games at the AAA and AA BC bus high school rugby championships in Abbotsford (full championship-side schedule and scoreboard below). At a small K-8 school in a Southern California city of sprawling ocean views and houses on the hills, the odds were against the homely, poor, or kids otherwise deemed uncool.
For a while, I operated in the social orbit just outside of the Magnificents’ closed circle, spending most of my time with one or two other girls, not in a group per se, but just, you know, as friends.
Unfortunately, I ditched her and my other friends like her when I drifted into the cool clique, by way of my popular boyfriend, who everyone liked and would steal from me shortly. The seven of us Magnificents who had forged an alliance in shared cruelty made fun of anyone and everyone. But, like all of the Magnificents, I directed most of my cruelty to the other members of the group. One particular night at a friend’s unsupervised home, a Circled girl became hysterical and had to be retrieved by her mother. My overwhelming emotions about the shallowness and brazen superficiality of my junior high years are regret and puzzlement. Michaels University School Blue Jags, 2015 BC AA champs, are one of the top sides which will play in the upcoming 2016 Stadium Series.

George's head coach Mike Stiles, during Tuesdy practice in Vancouver, has his Saints pointed towards a potential repeat title. George’s Saints’ left wing Cathal Long (right) is tackled by outside centre Callahan McMaster of the Shawnigan Lake Stags during Saturday’s B.C.
George’s Saints, lifting the Vancouver school to a 15-12 win over the Shawnigan Lake Stags and its first B.C.
The Revenge of the Nerds theory is that they peak in high school, or even middle school, and then surrender power to the more socially awkward but smarter kids whose lives they made miserable.
The hierarchy of popularity was largely defined by family name (how cool your older sister was and who your mother chatted on the phone with in the afternoon).
The older, popular girls bullied me, likely because I required an underwire bra and most of them didn’t.
Even when my gut told me what I was doing was wrong, I participated and encouraged the others. It was the perfect shaming device, and I inserted it in place of this kid’s name in conversation with classmates and, of course, right to his face.
Fighting among teenage friends is normal, of course, but our fights were a bit more ritualistic than they needed to be. Another is that popular kids maintain their edge—they even make more money when they grow up.
I walked a strange line, living just on the outside of town, more beach shack than country club.
By the end of eighth grade, I was participating in the snickering behind Raven’s back about her then very black hair and very pale skin. We shared dresses and details of our bowel movements and unknowingly imitated romantic comedy plots by writing out elaborate documents promising to marry each other at age 40 if we hadn’t found the perfect man.
Our former friend knew she could no longer sit with us at our designated spot (smack in the middle of a common walkway, which forced peers and even teachers to alter their paths). Tabitha—I hated her stupid name almost as much as I wanted to bestow it on my firstborn daughter. Saints scored late to win 15-12 and snap the Stags’ string of five straight provincial titles.
In Emily Bazelon’s new book about bullying, Sticks and Stones, she spent time with a variety of kids who bully and tried to sort out, in the moment, what motivated them.

At least that’s what our one-page ad in the yearbook claimed, with ridiculous photos of us and our overplucked eyebrows, braces, and absurd bangs as proof of our supposed magnificence. Although the attention I got from them wasn’t necessarily positive, it was certainly noticed by their girlfriends, who, by being mean to me, trained me in the art of teen cruelty.
One of my strongest memories is how I reacted when a boy I liked refused to reciprocate my weak, albeit meaningful, advances. She was effortless; her father worked on a very popular sitcom that continues in reruns today, her house was sprawling, her life seemed perfect.
In that sprit, we at Slate want to ask adult women to look back at their past mean girl selves, so we can all understand this phenomenon better with the benefit of grown-up hindsight. My parents were divorced, badly, which meant that when my mother traveled for business, I got to stay at one of my wealthy friend’s homes and pretend I belonged there. Instead of bowing out and saving some face, I chose to create a moniker for him, simple yet effective, and spread it around the school.
When we were 11, she announced that I would never go anywhere in life and predicted that I would be pregnant by 13.
Until a few years ago, I maintained a pseudo-friendship with just one of the Magnificent Seven. It was a simple game in which we clarified our roles in the group and practiced our meanness. But we also lived in a constant state of anxiety, trampling over each other, clawing at acceptance, desperate not to be edged out by a rising star threatening the power status quo.
Our meetings were drenched in wine and fueled by her incessant need to click through album after album on Facebook, pointing and laughing at people’s miserable jobs and bootcut jeans. When I defended one wearer of said jeans as a smart, well-traveled guy who was my true friend and someone I admired, I felt uneasy, vaguely anxious. At 25, I thought I had finally moved on but obviously, less completely than I’d hoped. Her words lingered enough that when I heard she was having an oops baby in college, I couldn’t help but feel vindicated.

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