WRITTEN BY RICHARD SEVEN PHOTOGRAPHED BY ALAN BERNER

	The top of a scrum is a weaving of arms and dirty jerseys. Ruggers soon learn that if you don't like contact, you don't play this sport.

They exude that universal glow that comes with winning, but also the usual post-match wear and tear. Sweaty, bruised and exhausted, some are so tired they forget it's safe to remove their mouth guards. Appropriately, every Mudhen is muddy. Several nurse welts, one or two have jammed fingers, and one complains of a tweaked knee. Another sports a trail of dried blood down the back of one leg.

Anyone who has ever seriously played a team sport, especially the rough, chaotic yet strangely elegant sport of rugby, feels what the Hens do. They are spent but lifted; sore but pleasantly so. Coach and team founder Shelly Baker barely finishes telling them how proud she is when one player chirps, "We better do a whole lot better if we're going to meet our goal!"
 

Judy Mahtaban, left, and Cindy Burnett try to do one-hand push-ups linked together as the team gets in condition at Marymoor Park. "This is NOT a country-club workout," trainer Scott Beckett reminds them.

Then an odd thing happens.

The women sigh a collective "ahhh," as if somebody is showing off a newborn. Actually, it's Mudhen Jen Balkus displaying her addition to a creepy, bug-eyed doll that looks like a deranged Phyllis Diller or perhaps Courtney Love.

At about 1½ feet tall, the doll is almost a junior mannequin. One knee is bandaged with electrician's tape, and splotches of red fingernail polish signifying wounds are all over her body.

She has her own Mudhen style, too, with a black skirt, summer sandals, a floral blouse, necklaces and a big "Z" around her neck in honor of a rugby tradition that calls for players scoring their first goals to perform a Zulu dance. Naked.

Part party girl, part warrior, part psycho, the doll is the Hens' version of the Player of the Match trophy. Each Mudhen who wins temporary custody of the doll must add a spot of personality before awarding it to the top player in the next match.
 

	Jen Cinquemani still has plenty of fight and spirit after an evening of conditioning drills.

Balkus, nicknamed "Mitten" because she wore a mitten-sized splint one season for a fractured hand, adds a mitten-shaped scar to the doll before awarding it to Erina Queen, a Seattle firefighter, longtime Mudhen and one of the top female rugby players in the nation. Queen is preparing to travel to Hong Kong to play in an international all-star match, yet the club award thrills her. If she didn't have the Mudhens and the camaraderie, she might not still be playing at 33.

A Barbie used to serve as a reward, but Queen says the wild girl doll is clearly more appropriate. Rugby has its own distinct world of decorum, lingo, rhythm, sacrifice and social life, and each club has its own idiosyncratic flavor. Women are drawn to the club circuit of the sport for many of the reasons men are: the workout and the competition, the testing of mettle and the mastery of a sport that transitions from ramming into one another to rooting on the ground to leaping for a pass and blazing down the field.

It runs counter to American sport. The terminology is its own, as are the rules (officially known as laws), and the particular flavor of esprit de corps. Perhaps the most curious tradition, especially by American standards, is the post-match drink-up, in which you go hoist beers and sing bawdy songs alongside opponents you just finished knocking heads with. Because Seattle was the home team, it was responsible for hosting the event, and they chose their home turf — a dark back room of a Georgetown Elks Club bar.
 

Coach Shelly Baker fires up the players leading a modified Smith College cheer, "Eat The Babies," before taking on the undefeated national champions, Berkeley. (The Hens lost 74-10.)

With the doll ceremony concluded and the drink-up nearing, the Mudhens take to one more tradition. They huddle for a few counts while Baker says, "Can I get a little love?" To which the rest shout, "Mudhen Love!"

TWENTY-FIVE MUDHENS began the season on a frigid February night at one end of Marymoor Park's Velodrome Field. Scott Beckett, a Marine and personal trainer, massed the women into two facing lines and grabbed their attention with ominous hints that he was going to make them suffer.

"We're getting your bodies ready for the fight, ladies," he barked behind a smirk. "Your sport is a controlled fight. You must be ready for that fight! Because you're dog-dang killers."
 

	Hilary Roy, far right, feels the pain of being pinned under a ruck during a game against arch-rival Seattle. While the action is fierce, the teams share a rugby tradition at the end of play, clapping each other off the field.

He ordered them to perform perfect push-ups, promising that if someone cheated, they would all start over. When someone began to cheat on a core exercise, he yelled, "I don't care if you had a hard day! Keep your legs up! This is NOT a country-club workout!"

As the women struggled and grunted, he walked up and down the line. "Repeat after me," he shouted, " 'We love you, Sergeant Beckett.' " They echoed him, straining to shout between pants.

He handed out nicknames as they strained, calling Queen "Recruit Superstar," and rugged, salty Judy Mahtaban "Recruit Diesel." When he learned a veteran was missing practice to prepare for an exam, he said, "Well, you all are going to dog-dang pay for that!"

The Mudhens range in age from 20 to 34. Some are students; many are professionals. The ranks include a veterinarian, a doctor, a sales representative and a professor, real-estate agents and office workers. Mitten is working on her master's in public health. Another player travels from Pullman, where she attends Washington State University, to play weekend games. Some are studiers; some are partiers. Some are straight, some gay. Some are out to win, while some favor the belonging.
 

Erina Queen, the Mudhens' star player, gives the game her all — and demands the same of her teammates.

Only five players remain from five years ago when the Mudhens finished fourth in the nation, their best season since Baker founded the team in 1993. Players, as in any rec league or club sport, come and go. They have careers, families and adventures to take their attention, especially when none of those options includes Sergeant Beckett's workouts.

Women's rugby is growing on college campuses, and about five local high schools field rugby teams for girls. Kent High School is one of the best in the nation, says Alex Goff, who coaches at a Tacoma high school and maintains a Web site at www.goffonrugby.com.

"The players who play women's rugby love it, but the clubs also struggle with their numbers," he says. "It's rough, the rules aren't that well known to most people, and people with responsibilities like work and family find it a big commitment. That whittles things down."
 

	Mahtaban gives a spirited performance on "air guitar" at the post-game drink-up and celebration, another rugby tradition.

Portland and British Columbia each have a team, but the Seattle Rugby Club women's team is the Mudhens' top rival. When the two clubs met in that first cross-town-rival match, subs and fans of both filled just one sideline. There are a few elite teams and pockets of really good rugby. Most serious teams have to travel to New York, Minneapolis or the Bay Area to get top-notch competition. That costs money. Tournaments do, too. So the infusion of young talent is essential. Take the once-feared Eugene Housewives, says Baker. They got old all at once and are now considered soft touches. In fact, the Mudhens had to cancel their trip to Eugene this season because the Housewives could only field eight players.

"The thing about rugby," says Baker, who just retired from playing at 38, "is there are no one-person teams. There are finishers, but it takes an entire team. There are no Michael Jordans. And everyone, whether big, small, fast, aggressive, contributes. There is a place for them all."
 

Emilie Moreshead breaks away for a try against Seattle.

IT'S A MINUTE before play begins, and Baker has the team in a huddle, giving instructions and offering reminders. Then, in the cadence of an oncoming freight train, she chants: "We're gonna ruck, maul, pillage and burn. We're gonna ruck, maul, pillage and burn. ... Eat the babies!"

Baker admits this sounds a bit disturbing, but it gets everyone energized. It's also in keeping with the rough-and-tumble mentality of the sport that goes back to the beginning.

Rugby began in England during the early 1800s, and the first recorded match on American soil occurred in 1874, when Harvard University hosted Montreal's McGill University at Cambridge, Mass.

The number of rugby clubs in the U.S. grew from 80 in 1964 to more than 1,000 in 1980. Today, more than 50,000 players belong to high school, collegiate and senior-level rugby clubs in all 50 states, says Rugby USA, the sport's governing body.
 

	Queen, a firefighter who is one of the best players in the nation, passes back to a teammate as her legs are grabbed by an opposing player in the game against Seattle. The Mudhens beat their arch-rival for the second time this season.

Still, it is a relative secret in the U.S. It's got a little American football and a little soccer in it, but is nothing if not distinctive. You can score by carrying and grounding a ball that looks like an overweight football across the goal line. Grounding the ball in the goal area completes the "try" and is worth five points.

After a try, what football fans think of as an extra-point kick is attempted. If the kick is good, the team gets two more points. Players can also score at any time by drop-kicking the ball over the goal post for three points. A penalty kick is worth the same.

A standard match calls for 15 players to a side. Players may not pass the ball forward or receive the ball if they are ahead of it. The 40-minute halves run with play stopping only for injuries. Substitutions are allowed only in case of injury.
 

Knees scraped and skinned, Moreshead leans back in the arms of her mother, Susan Schwartz, after the win over Seattle at Marymoor Park.

The scrum is the oddest and most recognizable of rugby maneuvers. The forwards, generally the big people, lock arms, lean in and push against the opposing team in the same configuration. The ball is rolled into the center of the huddle and the kicking to gain control of it begins.

As the hooker — the player front and center in the scrum — Mitten is in charge of directing the ball backward with her foot toward her players and outside the scrum. The other team is pushing against hers, trying to steal the ball.

When the ball is out and the offense is clicking, you see a chain of well-timed laterals, just as each ball carrier is about to be tackled. Football fans can relate the motion to the option pitch, in which a quarterback has the option to dive ahead to pitch it to the back running wide. With each tackle, the ball-carrier tries to make sure the ball at least comes out behind her body, sometimes squirting it between her legs, so the offense, not the defense, can pick it up and run some more.

To the untrained eye, the Mudhen-Seattle match was mostly chaos. One moment, players would be rolling around on the ground, scrambling for the ball, and suddenly someone would be breaking away with it, setting off dashes, a series of laterals to speedy outside players streaking down the field. Sometimes the passes led to fumbles and another ground-level fight for possession.

Noise is a big part of rugby. The shouting of teammates, the exhortations, the groans and the smacking of flesh-on-flesh, the rustle of bodies scrapping for the ball, the pounding of cleats. Some players wear padded skullcaps, but it's not a stretch to say, as Mudhen Kammi Lopez puts it, "you're protected by nothing but a mouth guard."

After a 10-10 halftime tie, the Mudhens ran away with the match in the second half. A month later, the Hens also won the rematch, solidifying their seeding as the top Northwest team in the Western region tournament.

WHILE AMBITIOUS AS a team, the Mudhens are an amalgam of different perspectives, commitment levels and abilities.

Queen is a remarkable athlete, and, because she plays in international matches, approaches it in a serious, demanding way. When she's not at practice, she's pulling a 24-hour shift at the fire station, or involved in national or international competitions.

"I would like to see us as a team completely cut back on socializing during practice," she wrote in an e-mail — one among a flurry that flows between teammates during the season. "As I think back, we have always been a social team, and I definitely don't want that to change! However, I know how competitive all of you are, and the only way we are going to get to the top four in this nation is by being truly dedicated and motivated during practice."

Early one Saturday morning, while Baker was on vacation, Queen led practice. She spent considerable time working on tackling form — see what you're about to hit, momentum forward, lead with the shoulder, wrap the ball carrier and plant her into the ground. Soon, she had teammates smacking each other with hard tackles and blocks.

There were signs of hesitancy, even a trace of fear, in some of their eyes. A few seemed dazed after getting hit. But nobody sat out. They all know that if they don't like contact, they don't like rugby.

Baker began as a student at Western Washington University. She saw a flier looking for rugby players, tried out and got hooked. Hilary Roy, a sales rep for a specialty construction-supply company, dated a guy who played rugby in college and was initially confused by what he saw in it. Until she tried it. Now, she's a Mudhen veteran — addicted just like the rest.

Mahtaban, an All-American at Stanford University, fell into the sport by process of elimination. "I kept getting red cards in soccer and fouling out in basketball," she says. "Rugby was perfect." Lopez, a longtime soccer player, tried rugby at the suggestion of a college roommate. "What is so great about rugby," says Lopez, "is that I've been doing it going on six years, and I'm just now getting a grasp of it. It's an intelligent, thinking game." Jen Cinquemani was preparing for a season of crew, but was drawn to rugby because the players were more fun and "they didn't have to get up at the crack of dawn like the rowers."

What makes people stick as they get older and life gets more complicated is, well, more complicated.

"It's a beautiful game, and challenges you not just physically but mentally," Baker says. "It's more than just running up and down a field. It's the camaraderie, the people, the road trips. I've seen the world because of rugby. Women probably aren't hard-wired naturally for team sports, but they're adaptable to that common goal."

Not to be underestimated is the sense of belonging that's part of the Mudhens and most other rugby teams. They stick it out together through Sergeant Beckett's pre-season boot camp and Queen's tackling drills. They practice twice a week, they chatter through group e-mails where they ask for help, exhort and make excuses.

"A lot of people think rugby is this out-of-control sport, but it's a tradition," Queen says. "We have a wide range of people on the team, but we take care of each other, like a family."

If it is sport and tradition that attracts them, it is also a social club of sorts. The Mudhens tend to be more imaginative with their drink-ups than their Seattle rivals. One was themed "championship dance aerobics." Another urged letter-jacket attire.

Road trips bond. Only 15 Mudhens could afford the time and money to compete in a San Diego tournament. They played four abbreviated games in a day and a half, and had to play the last game short two players because of injuries. Only 12 players hobbled back to practice two days later, and only 10 were healed enough to participate in drills. Nobody was bashful about showing off her injuries. Other than winning or effort, nothing binds a team quite like badges of courage.

Roy felt good enough to participate in drills and walked into work the next morning with a fresh black eye.

"My boss asked, 'Why don't you learn badminton?' "

IF INJURIES BIND, so does taking on the New York Yankees of women's rugby. Berkeley, which almost never loses, and rarely even gets scored upon, took on the Mudhens recently to determine seeding for the national "Sweet 16" this weekend in Minnesota.

By halftime, Berkeley led 55-0.

Berkeley's core players have been together for a decade, and it showed. Their teamwork was at times flawless. Their passes were crisp; their tackles were hard; their threat, relentless. Yet, the outmatched Hens didn't turn feather and run. They lost the second half by a respectable 19-10. Perhaps most impressive, they had Berkeley players bickering for a moment.

At the Hens' post-match debriefing, Baker lavished praise for standing up to the champs, and predicted momentum for the national competition. The Hens claimed to be in better shape (thanks to Sergeant Beckett) than the champs, and pledged to get in even better shape (after the drink-up, of course) for this weekend.

Putting such a positive spin on a 74-10 loss might strike some as curious, but that's what a team does. It hangs in there, together.