Initially, I decided to write this article during the first COVID-19 lockdown to express how important rugby, at a grassroots level, is to those who play it.

At the time, the prospect of playing rugby again, once the world reopened, was something that dragged me through the lows of lockdown - experienced by so many across the world.

The camaraderie within a team, adrenaline highs of running onto the pitch on a Saturday afternoon and sipping a pint after winning a game.

These were the reasons I had played for 15 years.

It was why training twice a week in the freezing cold p****** rain with my mates was worth it and nothing and no one could convince me otherwise. Or so I thought.

The early days

My first experience of playing rugby was as a scrawny 13-year-old, running around barefoot on dry hard school playing fields during the Autumn holidays in Johannesburg.

I had previously only ever played soccer, which I was s*** at, and being presented with rugby was an opportunity to show I wasn’t as weak as I believed people thought I was. 

Ironically, I broke a toe on my first session which didn’t do much for my desired hardman persona.

A few weeks later I started high school. Never mind being a small fish in a big pond, I felt like a minnow in an ocean.

Very early on I realised how important rugby was to school status. If I remember correctly, I think three of the previous consecutive head boys were also 1st XV rugby captains.

In South Africa, the majority of the school and their parents descended on to the sports fields to watch the boys play on a Saturday. The atmosphere was always electric with parents and students often baying for blood.

As youngsters, we were simply trying to make the biggest tackles or score heroic individual tries by running around entire teams, which usually resulted in bloody noses, broken collar bones, dislocated shoulders and tears.

Nonetheless, we’d always heal up and get back to it at the earliest opportunity and on the rare occasion we made that massive hit or scored that amazing try, our teammates would laud us as heroes for the rest of the week and you’d feel like Superman.

I was never popular in junior school but always played sports with the popular kids. During those early rugby matches, I noticed social divides seemed to disappear as we earned mutual respect for each other when putting our bodies on the line for the team’s benefit.

During one match, I came out second best in several defensive tackles. I had been hit in the nose several times in quick succession and it was like a tap had been turned on.

There was blood all over my face and it was the duty of two matric students (pupils in their final year of school in South Africa) to get the bleeding to stop.

All I cared about was getting back onto the field as I was not in any pain and it was a very close game. One of them reminded me I can’t play if I’m bleeding and to “just shut up and let them deal with it”.

They said I was like an “angry little terrier” and as a first-year, I took that comment as pure fuel and revelled in what I classed as praise by my superiors for my rugby passion.

The next week the same matrics were shouting “here comes the terrier” and high-fiving me in the corridors as I passed by, making me feel 10-feet-tall.

Those early experiences were an awesome thing to be part of and they solidified my love affair with the game. 

Hemisphere’s apart

I moved to the UK in 2007, not the best year to move from to England with the Springboks beating England in the World Cup Final.

I was 15 and had played just two seasons of rugby in SA and accumulated two concussions in that time. Both were severe and required hospitalisation, but both great stories for off the pitch - or so I thought at the time.

Quickly joining a local comprehensive school in Warwick under the understanding that, promised to me by my mother, it had a rugby team - which turned out not to be the case.

In SA, it was compulsory to undertake at least one after school activity every term - be it a sport or an art.

However, in England, some teachers struggle to get kids to turn up to classes let alone to after school activities.

P.E. was enforced twice a week and in the first term, I opted to do rugby.

I had befriended a fellow rugby enthusiast, Tom, and we decided we wanted to try and get a team together. We discussed it with the P.E. staff.

Their response: “We’d like to see you try”.

During one of the enforced PE lessons, the teacher decided to put me up against the biggest bloke in our year.

This fella was 90kg and I was 55kg, but I hit him hard behind his hamstrings with my right shoulder, wrapped my arms tight around his tree-trunk legs, put my head on his arse and slid down his legs.

No one bar Tom and I and maybe three other lads in the year knew how to play rugby, surprising considering England had won the World Cup four years prior.

Seeing a small skinny kid bring down a fella nearly twice his size was enough to get a team together and we played about three fixtures that year, of which we lost all of them. 

In South Africa, you played for your school then if you were good enough you played for your University or Province but most rugby playing stopped after school.

In the UK, the local club scene means you can play well into your forties if you avoid injury long enough. 

The head boy of my new school was captain of the under-17 team and asked if I’d like to try club rugby.

Once I was certain it wasn’t just an elaborate plan for him to fill me in, I sheepishly replied with a broken voice “yes, that sounds awesome”.

Here, I began playing alongside kids from different schools, of different ages and from different backgrounds to what I’d been exposed to before.  

Although I absolutely love playing matches, in my early rugby playing career I always trained far better than I performed on game day. I often missed tackles or made stupid errors.

However, regardless of how well or badly you play, at club level you are always patted on the back and an arm slung around you after the match.

You can’t out drink a Welshman

At the end of my school years, I managed to scrape my way into Swansea University in Wales, a place where if you cut people they bleed rugby.

I joined a local rugby club in Mumbles where the standard was arguably the same as what I was playing in Warwickshire but the difference in what local rugby meant to the community was huge. 

I was never part of the 1st XV but was a proud member of what we called, the Div Squad. 

They were the finest bunch of bog average rugby players with a burning desire to never break into the 1st XV but rather to butcher songs at karaoke at The Cricketers pub in Brynmill most Saturdays and generally get drunk together well into the early hours. 

That said, I don’t know a single 2nd team player who doesn’t play as hard as they can in the hope of being selected promoted the following week. 

For three seasons I was met with hospitality and friendship in another country because I played rugby. 

Having that rugby team to lean on made my university experience the positive one it was and enabled me to enjoy the real Swansea.

This period was also when I met a lad who I know will remain a friend for life. Jonny and I were in the same 1st-year accommodation but the only thing we really had in common was we played rugby. 

We had different opinions and tastes in just about anything you can imagine, from politics, sports and music, but playing together formed a friendship where none of our differences mattered at all. 

He helped me through several tough times at Uni which I’ll always be grateful for. Once again rugby facilitated the best of my experiences, and I do include regularly getting drunk in local pubs with Welshmen as a positive. 

Lost like a prop in the backline

Like many finishing University, I felt lost at this point and was applying for random things and getting rejected. 

But old reliable was always there to welcome me back with open, large, angry arms. I returned to my original club in Leamington Spa and was back to myself in no time.

I moved to Norwich to continue my studies and had now met my girlfriend who was living in Cambridge, so I decided to take a season out of playing the game to allow me to focus on them both. 

This was the first season in 10 years that’d I’d not played a rugby match. Although I certainly missed it, my body was grateful for the breather. 

I had suffered several injuries over the years ranging from pulled hamstrings and strained shoulder ligaments to whiplash and multiple concussions. 

However, once the year ended and I moved to Cambridge, I was chomping at the bit to get back to the game. 

I turned up to the local club and within seconds was made to feel welcome even before they knew if I could actually play rugby at all. 

At the end of the session, I was driving home and noticed one of the lads, who had been at training, walking down the road. He had been fairly quiet during the session but was pretty handy on the pitch. 

I pulled over and offered him a ride home which he quickly accepted. We chatted and I found out he had also recently moved to Cambridge for a new job. 

As had always been the case, Rob and I became close mates and still are to this day. The point here is nothing is better than taking to the field with lads you genuinely give a s*** about and get on with. 

It makes the injuries, hangovers, arguments with loved ones and frustrations with performances all worth it. 

The beginning of the end

After a year in Cambridge, I was offered an opportunity to further my studies back in Norwich and once there, began looking for a new team.

There are several things to consider when choosing a club. Firstly, try to pick one that plays to a standard most similar to your ability. 

If you are new to the game and rock up at a side trying to get promoted into Division 1, the intensity will terrify you. 

Secondly, find a team that isn’t a million miles from your home because it makes going to training in the winter months a lot more likely and, more importantly, getting home from boozy club socials easier too!

Finally, avoid cliquey environments. As social as they are, rugby clubs often have small cliques, usually in the first teams,  which comprise a hand full of lads who feel like the godfathers of the club. 

These guys are often the best and/or largest players and are most in the coaches’ favour, termed “sappuchinos” by James Haskell.

After visiting the first two clubs I decided one was playing at too high a standard, and smelled a bit cliquey, and one at too low a level.

All my hopes rested on a final club and I was not disappointed. If I boil it down, I enjoy three things about playing rugby. 

One, when you turn up to play, all of life’s stresses are forgotten for a short period. Two, it’s one of the best ways to keep fit without hating every second of a workout and three, you are guaranteed that every Saturday, without fail, you will have friends to go out and blow off steam with. 

After the hour and a half training session at this final club, I knew I could tick all of these boxes. Every player had greeted me and made me feel welcome, a rarity at many rugby clubs. 

A few of the boys went for a beer after training and invited me to join, a small gesture to some but for someone in a new job city and away from home, one which was greatly appreciated.

I was now also playing at 1st team level, where you are judged on every game and your performances need to be as good as they can be to avoid the heartache of being dropped from the team.

At this new club, I was moved to flyhalf, having performed in the centres for most of my senior playing days. The intensity of games was definitely increased, and I felt the pressure to perform, but also revelled in it.

COVID-19 struck the UK in March 2020 and put an end to the season. Fortunately, based on our performances, the RFU decided we had done enough to win promotion for the next season.

Sadly, we weren’t able to have a celebration so it was a bit of a weird climactic end to the season and the following year was cancelled with no amateur rugby played that year.

When we finally returned to the pitches in May this year, it was very evident that rugby was something that a lot of us had used to keep fit and missed during lockdown.

We were gearing up to play the first amateur rugby games in 18 months and it was great to be training in the sunshine, flinging outrageous passes you’d never manage in the winter rain. 

The anticipation for the season was massive and I was buzzing to play a few more games with the club before finishing my studies in Norwich and moving back to Cambridge.

Unfortunately, this is when it all went pear-shaped. 

I went away for a long weekend with friends from school and made a silly decision to “superman dive” into a field of flowers.

I assumed the foliage would cushion my fall, but I was very wrong. My head bounced hard off my outstretched arm and that’s pretty much all I remember from the rest of that day. 

I suffered another concussion, my first non-rugby related head knock but a bad one nonetheless. My symptoms were as severe as they had ever been: vomiting, memory loss, disorientation and a hell of a headache.

I suffered many concussions since I first started to play rugby, but even after multiple head CT scans, neck X-Rays and countless times “stressing out” loved ones, the desire to play is so strong you sweep these horrible occasions under the carpet.

The reality is, specifically with concussions, each time you take a knock it develops a cumulative effect on your brain.

The next one occurs more easily and often the symptoms can be worse and hang around for longer periods of time. 

The real problem though is the longer-term effects of this injury type. Recent research has started to link concussions to downstream health issues both physical and mental. 

Early-onset dementia, depression and neurodegenerative diseases are just a few potential problems that may result from multiple head injuries. 

After this latest concussion, where jumping into a field of f****** flowers resulted in a head injury, my nearest and dearest had had enough and to be honest, it scared the hell out of me too. 

It resulted in me having to make the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. I was going to give up playing rugby. 

Even just typing that statement into the keyboard makes me feel emotional. I’ve played for 15 years, trained twice a week in freezing cold, wet and windy weather in addition to gym sessions each week.

I’ve played in three countries and made most of my friends through the sport. Rugby is something that defines me and it’s unthinkable to me that I will not play the game again. But here I am, with the decision taken out of my hands. 

You can’t have 10 concussions, requiring several hospital visits and CT scans, and expect to keep going as though nothing has happened. 

As much as I’d love to keep playing until I’m 40, I’d hate myself if I ended up being a burden to my family simply because I wanted to run into giant lumps every Saturday. 

What now?

When you see professional sportspeople announce their retirement it’s always preceded with a statement about how hard it was to make the decision. 

What you rarely hear about is how tough things are after you’ve made the decision. 

I’m by no means a professional athlete but for me that has been the most difficult part. I can’t stress enough how rugby has helped manage my mental health over the years. 

When I was down, it forced me to focus on something other than my own issues. When I was low on motivation, it made me get off my butt and work for something far more than just myself. 

When I was angry, it gave me an outlet. Even when I felt on top of the world, it brought me back down to earth. 

Obviously, it has major benefits to physical fitness but it has also been the greatest regulator of my mental wellbeing I could have asked for. 

The reality was I absolutely needed to find something to replace rugby but my attitude has changed from one of reluctance to optimism. 

In truth, I have no idea what I’ll throw myself into next, perhaps CrossFit or maybe Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Whatever it is, doing something competitive is important to me and I hope to fall in love with “it” as much as I did rugby.

I am forever grateful to the sport for all that it has given me. It taught me to be disciplined, resilient and committed.

It developed skills like teamwork and communication; it promoted an active lifestyle and instilled in me a sense of self-worth.

Most importantly it gave me many friendships which I will hold dear until the end of my days. I am a no-one in rugby terms. I barely reached 1st team status at a small local club.

Yet even then, this is how strongly I feel about the sport. 

This is what I feel it has given me. These are the reasons I would recommend to every young kid, boy or girl, to give rugby a go.

While there are physical risks to the great game, the potential personal benefits to your children are, in my opinion, incalculable.

Rugby has shaped me into who I am today and for that, I’m so thankful.