The Glory Days

My lovely sister has recently reminded me of them - the glory days that is.
She misses them.
I miss them.

Oh the glory days.

Days when a good day was a good practice, a good tackle, a good try, a good game.
When I ran until I thought I was going to pass out, throw up, collapse.
When I yelled until my voice was hoarse.
When I limped because I left it all on the field.
When I smiled because I knew she knew,
she just got owned.
When I cheered and jumped and hugged because we earned it.

Oh the glory days.

But my glory days might be a little bit different than other people's glory days.
Because mine didn't end when I was done playing.
I was a lucky one.
My glory days continued as I got to coach and watch and cheer on my little sister.
I got to enjoy her glory days too.
And though I may have yelled, "that's my little sister!" or, "I taught her everything she knows!"
She has always been a champ on her own.

Oh the glory days.

Days when a good day was a good practice, a good tackle, a good try, a good game.
When I ran until I thought I was going to pass out, throw up, collapse.
When I yelled until my voice was hoarse.
When I limped because I left it all on the field.
When I smiled because I knew she knew,
she just got owned.
When I cheered and jumped and hugged because we earned it.
When I ran along the sidelines to watch my sister get the try.


Our glory days were good days.

Friendships made in rugby last forever.
All my best friends were a part of them.
And though I miss the glory days.
I miss the friends I shared the glory with more.








But let's be serious - I'll always miss rugby.
Hit hard, hit low, hit fast, and hit often.