Finding Daylight, Again

The defenders in Montclair green split in different directions as my eyes focused on the green patch in the back corner of the tryzone. It was the gap I needed to break the run - a quick step, a little cut, push the pedal down and go. 

Vince Lombardi coined this in the 1960s as running for daylight. When you’re in that moment - as anyone who has scored on a breakaway knows - it quite literally feels like a light from heaven guiding your run. 

I had a few of these runs playing rugby for ten years, and, ten years since my last game, the rush came right back. It was Moses returning to the Red Sea and parting it once again. 

A few meters later, the sea walls collapsed. I tried to pass the ball, but couldn’t get it properly to my teammate. Turnover. 

It’s amazing how many thoughts can run in your head in five seconds. 

“Hey, I’ve got a break.” 

“Maybe I should pass it now.” 

“He bit on the pass, let’s go for the run.” 

“Oh God, I am so out of shape.”

“I’m not breaking this, time to pass.” 

“Shit.” 

But, those five seconds gave me the validation for more thoughts. I love competing. I love pushing myself physically. I’m not in my 20s anymore. Even if I wasn’t anymore, I was a good player. I love that my kids got to see me play a sport I love so much. 

Ten years ago, I wrote a column for the York Daily Record titled “What to Do When Sports Aren’t Life Anymore.” I explored life as a retired athlete, how I shifted my competitive streak to 5Ks and more. 

I resigned myself to only playing in alumni games, which, I didn’t realize at the time, would end that year until I played in Montclair Rugby’s Valhalla Classic last March. 

I’ve found the competitive aspects in life that I did miss. I ended up running a few ten milers and a pair of half marathons. I’ve been in a few Crossfit competitions in the area. I play beer-league softball in the Spring. 

As I reread the column, one section kept coming back to me. 

“How do I get over not playing? I keep reminding myself that the risk isn’t as great as the reward. Is that one long run worth the potential of a torn ACL? Is the one tough hit worth a possible concussion?” 

On its own, I agree with that. It wasn’t worth trying to figure out how I’d work around different injuries. But the next section hits differently now. 

“I’d like to have a family one day – do I want to be the father who can’t chase his son because his knee gives out or the father who can’t remember birthdays because of the short-term memory loss concussions can cause?” 

Kids change you. Family changes you. My wife and I are blessed to have two children - Lucy and Jack - and a third on the way. Lucy, 5, is old enough to be in basketball and old enough to ask questions. 

I took Lucy two years ago to a Philadelphia Rugby game, to show support but also to expose her to sports. Every so often, she’d ask if I played basketball, or baseball, or hockey. Then I told her I played rugby. That’s when I realized that not only had she not seen me play, but neither had my wife (we met a few months after that column). 

I wanted them to see me play. Was I going to be as good as my 24-year-old self? Absolutely not. But I wanted them to see me in my element.

And so I did. It was cool to hear guys I played with talk up runs I had – a kickoff return in Savannah will forever live on. But the best feeling was coming off the field - exhausted, sore and wondering why I did this to myself - and being able to hug my family.