My Sport is Rugby. No Pads. No Helmets. Just Balls.
And really hot guys
Growing up in New Jersey, I learned to love football and root for the NY Giants.
I also learned to pray for them as they’re so damn uneven.
After my first husband passed away, I prayed to him begging that he help our team. To use his Heavenly powers to make Manning accurate. To turn Manningham’s hands into super glue. To give Brady pneumonia the day before the 2012 Super Bowl!
He let me down with the Brady thing, but my angel in the sky pulled out all the stops otherwise. When the G-men won late that night, my phone rang until the morning with people calling to say, “Stu did it!”
I still love my Giants. And football.
But rugby, professional rugby, has my heart.
And my fantasies.
Have you seen those guys?
Whoa mama!
It began when my son started playing in high school.
The coaches, all former rugby players, were tres adorbs. And the players were so cute, such young studs. Bright-eyed. Broad-shouldered. Brave.
Which increased their hotness tenfold.
