I was walking through an ocean of debris in Soho. It was the aftermath of Pride, kids drunk and laughing in the gutter, guys running past to watch a troupe slut-drop in unison amongst the broken bottles, thumping bass blaring from the windows of the nearby bars.

It was six months ago, and I was in a terrible mood.

I’d done a weird, awkward acoustic gig at a pub in Great Portland Street, and some dude kept yelling “Play the Goo Goo Dolls! Just play the Goo Goo Dolls!” over and over again. Who even remembers the Goo Goo Dolls? More importantly, who feels that passionately about them? Don’t get me wrong, Iris is one of the greatest songs ever written, but I don’t feel so enthusiastic about it that I’d cry out in the middle of a crowded bar.

Deflated, I was carrying my guitar down Dean St, deeply questioning my decision to move to London from Australia, when a guy pushed a flyer into my face. I grunted, politely furious, pushed past and walked on. Probably a dance party, or a shitty club.

Ten feet on I slowed down, then stopped.

I wasn’t super enthusiastic about sport when I was young.

I was a heavy, slow, awkward kid. I wore thick wire-rimmed glasses that would slide off my nose if I moved faster than walking pace, and I resented the lithe athletic guys who seemed to only ever eat Cheezels and were rewarded with the bodies of Greek gods. My friends and I would sit in the library, hiding behind books and cynicism, half empty coffee cups and pop culture references. We called them meatheads and laughed to ourselves, secretly a little desperate to be invited into their inner circle but terrified to admit it to each other.

It took me years to grow out of that, and to shed the defensive skin of puberty. I started running, got contact lenses, and finally accepted that high school is a bizarre bubble in time that has an uncanny ability to warp everything around it.

Mostly I discovered that not being the most cynical person in the room actually feels pretty great. Trust me, you should try it.

I turned around, guitar still in hand, and the trudged the ten feet back to him while Pride raged on around us.

“Hey, I’m sorry, that was rude. What’s the flyer for?”

He looked bemused and handed me an A5 card with the words “Try Rugby” emblazoned across the top. It turned out a local team was looking for new players for a gay inclusive club, and I wouldn’t you know it, I was looking for a career that didn’t involve the Goo Goo Dolls.

It is six months later, and I am in the best mood.

I could not imagine a time in my life before rugby, before the training and the matches and the tours and the hangovers and the agony of muscles I didn’t know I had. Before I felt like I belonged.

The Steelers are an incredible group of humans, as hilarious as they are passionate, as friendly as they are fierce. Off the pitch they are friends for life, on the pitch they are a whirlwind of unbridled fire and aggression. They have shown me that a gay man can be anything, can be anyone, regardless of whatever we are taught to believe that means.

They’ve challenged my own internalised homophobia, my ideas of masculinity and brotherhood, and they’ve welcomed me as one of their own. They’ve made me a better man.

I never thought I’d say this, but in a way, I thank the Goo Goo Dolls.