Rugby - a star is born?

HMS Osprey, Portland, 1980.

Now an LMA (Leading Medical Assistant), serving at the Royal Navy airbase that is Portland (another since closed, sadly).
I have always been a keen sportsman and have played many sports over the years - some more enthusiastically than others.  I used to be a winger in the school rugby team, being a bit nippy back then.  It was never really a game that excited me too much, seemingly a little pointless.  I, of course, also lacked any desire for communal bathing a bawdy songs with boozed up giants!
So it was, that I found myself drafted into the HMS Osprey rugby team.  Don't ask!  I have no idea how this came to pass.  Nevertheless, I found myself cast in the role of nippy winger again. Hopefully I could manage to keep broken bones to a minimum.
Sitting on top of Portland was the borstal, full of various hard cases, I think.  Now the powers that be thought it was a great idea to play rugby against the borstal guests.  So, sometime during a cold December, the Osprey rugby team of men set off to conquer a few kids residing at Her Majesty's pleasure.  Should be easy the team thought.  Yes - right!
The team of 'kids' looked like they be more comfortable in the scrubs.  No matter, us men would prevail.
I found myself, hurtling down the wing, ball in hand, heading towards the byline.  Ah, glory!  A certain try for the team and me.   20 yards to go, I'd make it - no problem.  Why, oh why, did I choose this moment to glance to my left.  A particularly bad move.  Hurtling towards me was what I can only describe as a human shaped block of granite with, murderous intent in his eyes. Always a quick thinker, I assessed the situation rapidly and took immediate action.  To my undying shame, I threw the rather ridiculous shaped ball to the granite block, thus avoiding, surely, serious injury!
Surprisingly, that was my final rugby game of a short lived career. And, yes, I can live with it!

Where the hell are we?

So here I am - at HMS Raleigh leadership school, some time during 1975, I think.

Leadership school, does what it says in the title. Creates leaders of men - right then - here we go!
14 days of manly fun, marching, running, climbing, classroom leadership lectures, assault courses - fun, fun, fun!
Oh, I forgot to mention - the outward bound bit. You've probably all seen this on the TV by now. Take a bunch of service type people, drop em in the middle of nowhere.  Their mission, if they choose to accept it (no choice here, of course!), is to yomp (in our case - meander) around Dartmoor looking for a few way points, and then to our final destination - hot meal, pat on the back, etc!
Pretty straight forward it would seem.  Well, on this particular leadership course, we were blessed with a particularly mouthy and cocksure stoker (marine engineering mechanic of MEM in navy terms). This guy new it all and wasn't given to taking much advise from his team mates.
As these things often go - this fool was designated leader for my little group.  Oh joy!  This was going to be fun.  Being the leader, he wasn't one for delegation, he would covet the compass - he was an expert in all things remember.  Pity map reading and orienteering weren't really part of his extensive skill set.
To cut a long story short, we spent many cold, wet hours going around in circles, totally lost because of the outstanding leadership of this fool.  Following a minor mutiny (swabs!) we managed to get back to camp tired, wet, hungry and very pissed off!  another glowing example of leadership in action.  This fool probably went on to be a senior officer!