For 14 years, I identified myself as a soccer player. I played year-round on multiple teams, dedicated endless hours to practices and games, and thought I loved the sport. But then I realized something: I just wasn't that good.
If you are in the middle of an awkward silence with someone you just met, bring rugby into the conversation. It is bound to keep, or at least start, a conversation since it is still not overly common in the U.S.
Sydney, Australia, and New York are superman destinations, wrestling for attention and flying onto the world's front page. Boston and Melbourne? They're more like spectacled Clark Kents. And each is secretly glad.
I apologize for the misinformation. I apologize for misinterpreting the West Point PAO's statement.
You see, last time the Academy said "misconduct," it was a glossing-over and dismissal of the very definition of sexual harassment committed by the Academy's rugby team in emails.
Exactly five years ago I was walking down the street and passing a newsstand I saw a close-up of Nelson Mandela's face staring back at me from the cover of Time Magazine. I love his face, looking at him makes me think of the best parts of us as human beings and what we are capable of.
It doesn't matter if you see a game at the Maracana in Rio de Janeiro, a game at the Olympic Stadium in Kiev or a game at the Bell Centre in Montreal. All are fun, different and each one will take you to another great city in a great country.
I have just spent a weekend talking to six adorable straight athletes about homophobia, homoerotica, homosexuality, and rugby. What did we conclude after 48 hours of male bonding and philosophizing about the state of the world?