The Backpack...The Story of Black Mike

This is my backpack. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

My teammate, Black Mike, gave it to me for my Ireland walkabout. No reason, just gave it to me. It speaks to his soul, and his story.

Black Mike busts his ass in corporate America, in the hospitality industry. He does this to keep his partner in health insurance, provided by the hotel owners. Black Mike's partner is HIV positive, and they've been together for years. One look at their eyes when they look at each other, and you see a level of intimacy...no...connection, oneness, satiation, consciousness.

Mike just started playing Rugby last year. Big and strong, the poor unfit bugger couldn't go longer than a few scrums and rucks on the pitch. He's had a few nagging injuries, mostly joint problems. For those playing the game they play in heaven, you know what it's like.

He's become a student of the game while sidelined. He's throwing dummies, trucking bitches, and you can feel his power in the rucks.

He wears really tight shorts. And on a 230 lbs, 5' 8" fire-hydrant frame, moving at ludicrous speed, the shorts become the least of your problems. Mike is no fun to tackle.

Thanks for the backpack, Mike.