It has been almost a decade since the last time I was a spectator at a rugby match where I was not related to any of the players. As it happens, that last time also happened the be the first professional rugby game I’d ever attended.
Nine years ago on a chilly June night, I piled into a car with my brother, dad, uncles and cousin for a mini road trip to Waikato Stadium in Hamilton, New Zealand. We were on our way to watch the All Blacks and Ireland. My brother had acquired rugby fever during our vacation, however I was considerably less impressed with the sport that everyone described to me as a cross between my favorite and least favorite sports: soccer and American football.