TOUGH ENOUGH: WHY RUGBY LEAGUE NEEDS LONDON MORE THAN IT REALISES
I GREW up just ten minutes from Twickenham Stadium, in a rough-as-nails council estate where football was king and rugby union was for the posh lads in purple chinos.
For most of my youth, Rugby League wasn’t even on the radar. It felt distant — not in miles, but in meaning.
League didn’t get the airtime, didn’t get the headlines, and certainly didn’t have anyone singing about it down south. And when it was on TV, it lacked the context — polite applause, a try here or there, a bizarre scrum that didn’t really scrum. It didn’t look tribal. It didn’t feel alive.
Then five years ago, everything changed. I got a free ticket to watch Hull KR with my lad. That was it. The atmosphere, the honesty, the intensity — it hit me like a shoulder charge. League wasn’t just a sport. It was a feeling. And that feeling hasn’t left since.
Now, I’m 51 and still lacing up my boots (to the dismay of my wife, knees and GP), but the pride runs deeper than the bruises. My wife and daughter are staunch Hull FC fans. We’re a divided household on derby day, but united by the game. It’s not just a pastime — it’s a passion. It’s a ritual. It’s family.