There’s a moment. A moment when you step onto the pitch, everything else fades away, the air stretches your lungs. Your senses are heightened, there is no place you’d rather be. No place you feel more alive. The pitch is your home, and the team, your family. When the whistle goes it’s a symphony of beauty, magical and violent. You live to win, you yearn for it. If you don’t play rugby, it’s impossible to understand the acceptance of the sweat, blood and pain. But this acceptance is what connects us. Through suffering, broken bones and surgeries, you somehow grow stronger. You don’t get paid, fans don’t scream your name, but the magic of this sport that you love so much, is that you don’t do it for that. You do it for pride, respect and for your brother playing alongside you. Rugby is brutal, a war, but during this fight you realize something that defines you. No matter what, the team always comes first. Then when you realize that, only one thought fills your mind. You were born to play this game.