One hell of a night dealing with the Devils

By Erik Nilsson ( China Daily ) Updated: 2007-05-17 14:20:13

One of them grabbed my arms, and another seized my legs. Then, these musclemen effortlessly picked me up and lobbed me into the back of a nearby cab.

"You," they said, "are coming with us!"

One hell of a night dealing with the Devils My protests fell on deaf ears.

I had been out all night researching a story about the capital's night-lifers. Beijing, it seems, is a massive metropolis with an early bedtime, so we wanted to know about its night owls who don't give two hoots about getting the early bird's worm.

So, naturally, I approached the brawny bunch I saw swigging celebratory beer from a trophy on Gongtibeilu just before sunrise.

I wondered what this rowdy rugby team was doing. Little did I know I was dealing with the Beijing Devils, and when I found out, all hell broke loose.

Before I could even introduce myself, these hellions howled: "He's a reporter! Let's get him!"

And then they did.

I still have no idea what the devil possessed them to go through with their hellish abduction scheme.

But I did find out that the night began with 32 teammates making good use of their half-price discount at The Den. By this point, only eight Devils were still raising hell. The last men standing boasted of having guzzled about 15 pints topped off with four to five shots each.

That could explain why one of my abductors, who I later learned was a Welshman named Samuel John Lockyer, pulled a stunt jump and roll from the window of our taxi. This seriously confounded our cabbie, whose confusion compounded when Lockyer reentered through the other passenger door a few seconds later.

Once the remaining team members had coordinated a taxi caravan, they were off to the Goose and Duck sports pub, equipment and kidnapped reporter in tow.

Apparently, the job of a reporter abducted by a rugby team isn't getting usable quotes. At least, that seemed to be reflected by the uncooperative attitude of my captors.

Nor is it to pull in a handsome ransom.

Instead, his job is being force-fed copious amounts of beer from the team's most recently won trophy - in this case, hailing from a 10-0 trouncing of the Beijing Aardvarks.

"The sweet taste of victory," roared Lockyer, as he pressed the bottom lip of the trophy firmly against the bottom lip of my face.

As the sweet taste of victory spilled down my throat - and shirtfront - I began planning my escape.

But as the sun poked over the horizon, the Devils seemed to pull in their horns and became preoccupied with dancing and mock sword fighting with the pool sticks.

I grabbed my notebook, which my captors had scribbled with various profanities and obscene doodles during a game of keep-away, and headed for the door.

Once safely outside, I turned to wave goodbye to my captors, who bellowed out several farewells to "Spiderman", which was the name which they used to refer to me for most of the night for reasons only they know - if even they know.

I hailed a homebound cab.

Needless to say, I didn't know there would be hell to pay for my inquisitiveness. But apparently, in Beijing, that's what happens when you deal with the Devils.

(China Daily 05/17/2007 page20)