Why, Rugby ?

Why, Rugby ?

It’s a genuine concern from a caring mother to a son, who has received a less genuine concern, “So, what is it that you do these days?” for the last 3 years of family gatherings. Now, that question, gets to me. When I hear it, it sounds like an insidious curiosity which sinks below the surface of pleasant interest and has more to do with how they evaluate their present understanding of the value I offer. Equally, quite as possible, it could just be my insecurities screaming over the answers I don’t have. I can’t trip over it though, because at the heart of the question is a human desire I’m all too familiar with: to understand that which we don’t.

But, again, to my mother’s question, why rugby ?

A soft blank stare followed by a shoulder shrug and a smile, is all I’ve ever been able to really come up with. It’s not an answer I’m proud of. It just happens to be the most coherent one I can offer. I don’t know why, rugby. I often imagine how frustrating it must be as a mother, to watch her son become a man and yet to overcome his juvenile fixation on playing a meaningless game. And no, not life, but rugby. A game for that matter which involves hurling one’s body at an uncommon speed towards an oncoming behemoth with an intention to place down an oversized football in the opponents goal area. So yea, I see it, it’s frustrating. Yet, who am I to lose sleep over it? Considering, even after moving halfway across the country in a whimsical pursuit to become a professional rugby player, I’m the one who can’t answer ‘why, rugby?’.

*Behemoths colliding at uncommon speed.*

It just doesn’t make sense. But what in this world worth doing, does ?

Someone please explain to me as to why after a parent has changed their newborn baby’s diaper for the third time at three in the morning, they don’t quickly stop by the hospital and say, “you can take him back”. Or, why my mind still will return back to my first love when I’m in bed alone, considering she cheated on me for 6 months all those years ago ? Not to mention, how effortlessly we move past the daily miracle of reawakening from such an unexplainable unconscious state of sleep.

There isn’t the time here to attempt to answer the mysteries of this world. Whether it be on matters of love or life, lets leave the argument for seemingly qualified intellectuals to battle it out on a conceptual plane plain of their own making. As for my question, I simply follow what I feel. My intuition. While it never has provided much of concrete answers, it has always given me a lighthouse in the dark to follow. I can backtrack almost every happening of true bliss or happiness in life to a momentary leap of faith to following some intuitive direction.

So, currently, I find myself in a dinky wholesome dinner, thousands of miles from home and comfort with my last $27 (lost my credit cards last weekend on a bender and I’m trying to bide time until they magically reappear) in my pocket, scribbling down in a moleskin notebook of thoughts wondering: Am I happy ? Am I doing all I can, to be who I am ? Am I acting out my faith ? Do I, truly, show up for those I love ?

These are the tough questions for a broke beatnik to grapple with. So, I turn my head towards the window where the billowing Colorado clouds are lofted right atop the mountain range, the perfect sky pillows for the daydreamer to rest his thoughts. A small smile protrudes my aging face. I dare to stare only a moment longer, for it isn’t good to get too fixated on such beauty, and I shrug my shoulders. Reaching into my pocket I leave my folded 20 for the bill and tip. As I walk back out, returning into the unknown, the cyclical thought returns to my mind…

Why, rugby ?

And, until anyone can come to me with an acceptable alternative definition to happiness, life, and love. I will continue to stand by the silent answer in my heart:

Because, I love to play the game.