Brotherhood of the Dented Heads

By Jay Atkinson (Men's Health, September, 2002)

Brutal action. World travel. Lifelong friendships War? No, rugby

AS THE SKY DARKENS, WE'RE SPREAD OUT across our goal line, waiting for their forwards to attack. The referee marks the spot, and they run a fake to the right, freezing our defense. Then their biggest player -- roughly half my age and twice my size -- charges straight at me, as the scrum-half flips him the ball. I'd yell "Help" but it's considered bad form in rugby. Instead, as the behemoth hurtles forward, I bite down on my mouthpiece, lower my center of gravity, and step into the gap.

I am 44 years old. Family and friends think I should quit playing rugby, that it's too dangerous for a man of my vintage. They're not exactly wrong. I've known two guys who ended up in wheelchairs. Before every game, I kneel down, make the sign of the cross, and whisper, "Dear Lord, please keep me, my teammates, and our opponents free from injury."