My colleagues Matt and Eric have already written really amazing pieces, full of both optimism and healthy doses of realism, and it’s daunting to think that I’m going next. I hope that I will be able to contribute a perspective that is both unique and provocative in its own way.
That said, I want to use this space to ask a deceptively simple question: What will be American about how Americans play rugby?
I’m using the future tense here because I don’t believe that there is anything definitively American about how Americans play just yet, or at least nothing “fully formed.” Historically, I think that what has made American rugby unique was its wide, sometimes counter-cultural, appeal. People joined rugby teams because they didn’t like organized sports, because they couldn’t make it in the increasingly serious world of high school or college sports (I proudly include myself in that category), because they didn’t fit in with other groups, because they stumbled across teams practicing, because we saw rugby once on TV and it looked really cool, because we secretly admired British stuff, and on and on. In America, we have almost always come across rugby as a surprise — many would certainly call it the greatest surprise ever. Even if that surprise is now coming at younger ages than ever, the relatively unique way that most Americans discover rugby says relatively little about how Americans actually play the game. Or, rather, it says less than it should.
If almost all young American rugby players are coming to rugby from somewhere else (from football, from soccer, from wrestling, from lacrosse, etc.), then our country’s rugby identity is necessarily going to reflect this diversity. This was pointed out to me this past year when I was in South Africa. A coach in the Stormers junior system observed this and noted, to my amazement, that it’s no wonder that so many developing American players struggle to pass smoothly and comfortably — there is not a single American sport (except perhaps bowling and, for pitchers, softball, though both sports require a completely different arm action than rugby’s pass) that utilizes an under-the-shoulder throwing technique. Football? Overhand. Baseball? Overhand. Few Americans have experience of any kind with rugby’s sort of repetitive underhand passing motion before they come to rugby itself. This is not just a reality, though, it’s an American reality. It’s an American dilemma, and we are in the unique position (as Americans) of solving it. I think we can.
That’s just one small example of what I’m talking about. In my opinion, such examples indicate that making American rugby isn’t solely about getting more and more players playing at younger and younger ages. While that goal is undeniably important, another necessary piece of the puzzle involves learning how to both teach passing (and all other rugby skills) in a language Americans can quickly comprehend physiologically on the one hand, and — and this is the most exciting part for me — how Americans, coming from diverse backgrounds, can stretch and challenge what is possible in the game of rugby on the other.
I might be overstating the case in my excitement, but it could be as simple as this: No other rugby playing country in the world has deeply considered what a high school wrestler can teach a rugby player about rucking. Or a basketball player can teach a rugby player about producing and utilizing empty space. Or a football player about how to beat an opposing player in the open field. We can consider these things, for the simple reason that we need to do so.
We spend far too much time lamenting the results that our diverse sporting backgrounds produce (or, to be perfectly accurate, lamenting the on-field results while we praise the social ones), and far too little time thinking about the possibilities those backgrounds offer. Americans can play rugby in ways that nobody has ever imagined.
That’s why I’m part of this site, and that’s why I’m committed to this sport and this country’s rugby future.
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