Son, in this world there are scrums. And in those scrums you need forwards. As a forward I have more responsibilty than you can ever fathom. You use words like "drunk" and "out of shape"; those words are the very backbone of a life I spent drinking and partying, and you use them as a punchline.
You weep for your wings and centers, and curse the forward. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of knowing that the front row, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, wins these games we play. Truth? You can't handle the truth! Because deep down in places you don't talk about, in your selection meetings, you want me in that scrum; you need me in that scrum.
I have neither the time nor inclination to explain myself to a back who scores on the very blanket of ball retention that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you bought me a beer and went on your way. Otherwise I suggest you crawl into that scrum and get dirty.
Gratefully plagerized from Jack Nickolson outburst at court martial in the movie "A Few Good Men."