How Rugby Becomes Blood

A letter from Allison Diehl

Growing up, my life revolved around family. More specifically, chosen family. I was taught family first, reminded that humanity allows for us to connect through nurture over nature. And soon enough, that nurture becomes our nature. I had dreams of building a family that asks how you are without questioning who you are. That says I am here to help before hearing the call. A family that puts a hand on your back screaming, I'm with you! I'm with you! as you fall to the ground and with sudden relief, you know the warm hands that protect your body before it’s time to get back up. So for me, finding rugby was nearly destiny.

I started rugby my first semester at American University and after one week forgot what life was like beforehand. At first, I thought it was the sport itself that had me hooked (no pun intended). The spit, blood, dirt, and soreness create a universe of self that we often don’t know to exist until we stumble inside. I was strong enough to tackle someone to the ground but gentle enough to protect them. Soon tackling “someone” became tackling my best friends. Holding the people I love the most and knowing in those brief seconds before we hit the ground together, I’m trusted.

It was my second-semester playing rugby when my grandfather died. He loved that I found a team so willing to get beat up. It’s not how you're beaten, but how you get back up he liked to remind me. He was one of the first people who taught me to open myself up to the world and trust that the world would give back. Somehow, he was always right. If I didn’t have my team with me during that loss, I think the months after his death would have been dramatically different. How kind of the universe to give me AUWRFC. To give him back to me through my team.

I have never met so many people who love and grieve the way I do. I have never been able to find versions of myself in so many once-strangers. I have found people on this team who know what I am thinking before I’ve had time to find thought. I’m reminded of Mia Mingus, a queer Disability Justice advocate who coined the terms “Liberatory access” and “Access intimacy” in her speech “‘Disability Justice’ is Simply Another Term for Love”. Much of the Disability Justice movement is based on chosen family, cross-community building, and care work. Every member of AUWRFC thrives on a certain path in life. Sometimes I forget we all exist outside of rugby when at the end of the day, we find ourselves arms wrapped around one another knowing well the hand that holds each back.When two hands are held together in a certain way, a triangle is made. I find myself thanking the earth for letting so many paths hold hands.

In her speech, Mingus so eloquently explains, “Access for the sake of access or inclusion is not necessarily liberatory, but access done in the service of love, justice, connection, and community is liberatory and has the power to transform”. In a Nation State that so actively works to divide like minds and like souls, AUWRFC is just a small glimpse into a community founded in acceptance. Founded in knowing when your team needs rest. Founded in knowing if I ever need, I have a team of my loved ones already waiting for my call.

Access intimacy is a profound experience, a moment where before someone even communicates their own needs, there is a community of folks who understand. A moment in time where words don’t fall short because they aren’t needed. Sometimes, we find one another in ourselves. Sometimes we find time “to be able to be human together” as Mingus so kindly says. There is nothing more human than wiping each other's tears, bandaging each other’s wounds, and holding someone while they catch their breath. If rugby lost its humanity, lost these moments that remind us how deeply we rely on our community, what would we be fighting for?

Rugby is a physically grueling sport. I have found myself in more than one doctor's office, either for my own injuries or holding the hand or head of a teammate. In times when our bodies are found jaded, we have to carry one another to safety. We drive each other to physical therapy, orthopedics, emergency rooms. We offer things we own and no longer use, and we share an untimely love for sharing shirts, sweatshirts, shorts. We feed one another and always try to make sure we each got home okay.

Colleges and Universities breed an extremely toxic atmosphere for anxiety, depression, isolation, and substance abuse. Some mornings I wake up in a place I don’t remember or stay in a place I should have long left. There are some people on the team I have known for nearly four years now and some I just met last semester, but rugby care work doesn’t know time. On the days I can’t take care of myself, I look for shelter in my team. I have so graciously found a community of people who allow me to communicate how I am and what I need, and guide me through the next steps. On days when people on my team need an extra set of hands, I am always ready with my arms open. We aren’t made to grow on our own. To play rugby on this team is to understand that you are no longer one self, but an integral part of something larger than yourself.

I am 22 now and learning from the younger players every single day. Reaching out to the past seniors players look for advice and guidance. When you join a family of rugby, the bond is inescapable. It’s not just a bond between an athlete and their sport, but between an entire cohort of people who are all there for the same reasons. Knowing that every Tuesday and Thursday, sometimes Monday’s, an occasional Wednesday, and always a rugby Saturday, that I can leave every hurt or tired part of me under the shade of the tree and there is always a place for on the triangle, where all of our paths hold tight; that’s when the love sets in.

We don’t get to choose how we are raised, what blood flows through our veins or the way our bodies and minds react to new atmospheres. But we do get to find love in getting tackled in the mud. We can give thanks to the teammates who share meals, stay awake with us through the night as we finish that one last assignment, who let the tears fall. If we are really lucky, we always have that hand on our backs. We never have to fear going down. There has never been a shortage of teammates reaching to bring each other back. It’s strange how we become our own destiny. As I have met people I’ll hold dear for the rest of my life, I can’t begin to think of a community who deserves a bigger thank you. It’s hard to find a thank you worthy enough for the people who continually teach me how to value life. So instead, I’ll say I’m with you.