So International.

           

          Twelve hours ago I was passing through security in the LAX International Terminal. Entering the building, I felt a strange sense of nostalgia rush over me. Differing dialectical tones and jubilant clamoring captivated my hearing as I attempted to navigate the wide corridor, avoiding collisions with fast paced travelers and my two swollen backpacks. The novel harmony of foreign language soon turned my nostalgia into a familiar sense of elation. My excitement kept building. I felt like I was going to burst with joy(Also, I couldn't get that B-Legit/Too Short song, "So International", out of my head.). Amidst the mild chaos of an international airport terminal, it hit me. With the abrupt span between leaving my two jobs and getting everything in order for the trip, I had little time to reflect upon the mission which I was about to embark. Once again, I was leaving the U.S. for, literally, greener pastures. My excitement felt as big as the enormous room I stood in. International travel was again inevitable. I'd soon be returning to a remote country that was dear to my heart.

           Fast forward 12 hours and 6,000 miles over the cobalt expanse of the Pacific Ocean. If you're wondering why I don't go into much detail surrounding the flight here's why: I find international flights remarkably mundane. Parsimonious allocation of leg space, coupled with seemingly infinite flight time and tiny water cups contribute to my utter disdain for this type of transport. On top of that, there's nothing good to look at on a Trans-Pacific flight. There's no need to delve further into the disenchanting nature of international flight(Although, they usually have a good movie/music collection).

 



         Ok, back to business. After leaving Auckland International and enjoying an imperative long black(authentic NZ coffee), I spent most of my day in one of Auckland's larger suburbs, Manukau City surrounded by genuine kiwis. While not the most exciting part of town, I felt immediately immersed back into authentic kiwi life. I used my time industriously and explored the scenery in Manukau's city centre. I purchased my staple travel foods of raw broccoli, red capsicum(bell pepper), NZ braeburns and Wattie's tin chicken preparing for the 6 hour wait for the bus to New Plymouth. After intermittent city exploration, I decided to set up shop at a McDonald's McCafe. I spent the next few hours composing emails to friends, family and, of course, wasting time perusing Facebook. You might ask, "Tyler, why did you spend the better part of your day couped up inside McDonalds?" Well, you're right, it wasn't the ambience, or the food. But, New Zealand's McDonalds are slightly better than our's back home... and I did manage to have a nice conversation with an affable Maori man about the upcoming election. The key to McDonald's is that it is one of the few places in NZ with free WiFi. Although, it doubles as a great location to do some authentic kiwi people watching, if you're up for it.



         It is now 2:36pm. The majority of the day has flown by through well intentioned gmail and Facebook filled hours. My bus finally pulls up on Leyton Way in front of the Manukau Westfield Mall. Soon, I am on board and bisecting the immaculate green of the New Zealand countryside. The mighty Waikato lays to my right. It is the majestic river that spans much of the North Island and provides much of the country's fresh water supply. My first adventure here invades my thoughts. Shops I've visited and beautiful landmarks whirl by, momentarily seizing my gold fish sized attention span. Great memories provoke subtle laughs as I recall my last adventure here just a year ago. As the coach rumbles down the scenic two-lane Waikato motorway, New Zealand still seems surreal.







         A few hours later, I'm still calmly riding the gentle sway of the Intercity Coach. In a sleep deprived, over-caffeinated haze, I aggressively jot down this soon to be blog post, still in utter disbelief that I am in this remote land. As the 6 hour bus ride ceaselessly drags on, another salient emotion arises. As we approach New Zealand's West Coast a simple, yet powerful emotion engulfs me. I am grateful to God for the magnificent aesthetic beauty that surrounds me. I am grateful for a healthy body, able to undertake the obdurate physical challenge ahead. I am grateful for my family and friends who have supported me and helped me get here. I am grateful that, in just a few days, I'll be introduced to world class rugby coaches and players, who will undoubtedly help me achieve my potential as a rugby player and coach. Taranaki is my destination.
       
        While my Bank of America checking account balance is less than ideal, and I have no idea what I will be doing for work during my stay, I do know two things. I am stoked to be back in the land of the long, white cloud and everything is going to work out perfectly, just as they always do. 







       Rounding the curvy bends of the simple New Zealand motorway, I can't help but feel that there is a deeper purpose behind this secondary trip to New Zealand. As the bus traces the impressive coastline that uncontrollable elation bubbles up again. I am where I am supposed to be. I'm in the right place. I am grateful to be here and ready for the adventures that await.

The World of Rugby Journalism #1

Rugby Dream Live in Iowa

Amidst the golden farmlands of Iowa, a vision of rugby grandeur has emerged that is making quite an impact. This vision is Chris Draper’s, and it has taken Iowa from an insignificant dustbowl of rugby, to a flourishing oasis of promise. Des Moines rivals East v. Lincoln. Urbandale v Dowling was a rematch of last year's State Championship game, won in both cases by Urbandale by a single score The future's so bright ... Chris Draper on the sidelines but not out of the action. In just 26 months, Iowa Youth Rugby has exploded from 26 players to just over 500. If you know anything about the geography of rugby participation rates in the US, this growth could be considered miraculous. Draper just wanted “to give kids more opportunities than I had.” With his innovative approach to teaching 7s, or Olympic Rugby, he is doing just that. It's been an interesting road for Draper. The former Cal player, former rocket scientist, former RUGBYMag.com columnist, and former  international referee, he is now hip deep in Iowa youth rugby, and loving it. He has taken a multi-pronged approach to building Iowa’s rugby infrastructure. Starting from scratch, Draper sought to build a professional framework that lasted. His hard work has developed a progressive 7s high school state championship designed to speed up the game and give kids more opportunities with ball in hand. The Iowa rule modifications address the American Rugby player’s biggest pitfall, lack of enough match experience. These rule modifications are pragmatic. They tailor to the region’s available resources and allow players to learn by running with the ball. Iowa 7s Law Modifications: All tries are worth 7 points with no conversions or kicks at goal. Most teams don’t have posts anyways. All lineouts are quick- This speeds up the game and avoids lineout lifting which can be potentially dangerous if taught by an inexperienced coach. No 22m dropouts. A free kick is awarded in its place. Drop kicks are not seen as a vital skill in Iowa HS 7s. Kickoffs at each half are place kicks which allow for a more controlled restart. If a team is scored upon, that team receives a free kick at halfway to restart the game. Rugby is a game of pressurized decision making which is most effectively honed through match experience. Draper’s goal, he says, “is to provide as many minutes as possible with ball in hand.” Actual ball-in-play time lasts between 11-13 minutes in a 14-minute game, a very high percentage and an exhausting one. Draper’s format has maximized continuous game play and vastly increased the learning curve for his players, yielding higher scoring games and better fundamental based rugby.  The only requirements are that you have proper jerseys(look the part), a medical staff, and upload videos of every game to Iowa HS Rugby website. Some do resist the rules changes, but Draper says those people still call to get their kids playing, which is what matters. Draper also wants to institutionalize rugby through single high school teams and community involvement. In countries where rugby is a prominent sport, the rugby club is a base for the community. Most American communities are not based around their local rugby club, but they are often based around their schools. With an average Iowa high school population of 214 students, high schools are the proverbial backbone of agrarian Iowan communities. With many towns in Iowa struck hard by the current economic downturn, Draper has managed to erect the posture of these communities through rugby. By tapping into community rivalries and rallying support behind their local 7s teams, Draper has brought rugby close to the hearts of many Iowans.  A mainstay of Iowa HS rugby is that it welcomes students with behavioral issues who might not otherwise be allowed to participate in other high school sports. Draper was more than happy to boast about his long list of success stories of players who had picked up rugby and turned their lives around.  Most of these kids had previously been written off by teachers and coaches. Iowa HS Rugby currently has 22 teams statewide and plays Friday night tournaments in high school football stadiums. Drawing crowds of over 700, and charging $5 admission (after their first night of action they netted $1,500 after expenses from gate alone), Draper has not only accrued the communal support vital for success, he has made rugby a self-sustaining venture in a region few would think this possible. “This type of income will allow us to set up Coaching Grants next year that will let us hire PE teachers in schools to coach and run teams,” said Draper. “These grants will really be the point where we turn the corner towards fully sustainable expansion and mainstream adoption.” Draper’s last and most genius approach to Iowa’s rugby infrastructure is tactfully repackaging rugby’s image and selling it the Iowa public. When asked how he does it, Draper says, “I don’t recruit players, only administrators.” Through professional organization, Draper has filled Iowa HS Rugby with capable administrators that have streamlined the program, revamping the sport’s counter culture and often spurned image.  When approaching a new school about starting a team, his pitch is “anything but rugby.” Draper sells Olympic Rugby as offseason training for Iowa’s more prominent sports such as track, wrestling, baseball, and football.  By requiring participation in these more prominent sports as a requisite of playing rugby, Draper has created an edifying system of give and take where athletes receive more opportunities to develop their skill set while learning an Olympic sport.  Draper affectionately refers to 7s as “Tackle Basketball” and fittingly so.  With the explosion of participation rates in the last two years and his pioneering methods of growing rugby, it is no wonder this “tackle basketball” league is such a huge success. Draper’s vision has refined the sport of Rugby from multiple viewpoints. More impressively, he has done this in a region with virtually no rugby infrastructure before he began. Whether it’s Draper’s organizational, communal, or professional approach to selling the sport of rugby, he has a slew of strong, corn-fed Iowans and their communities hungry for more. Draper says his dream is to “Give Iowans at more than a fair shake at the Olympic podium in 2016.” With the Iowa HS Rugby on track to become a varsity sport by 2016, the golden farmlands of Iowa may soon become a terrain littered with pristine emerald rugby pitches, future Olympians, and better people. And, if more states follow Iowa’s lead, Chris Draper will undoubtedly be giving kids more opportunities than he had …  opportunities at the Olympic podium. Scores and videos of Iowa HS Rugby can be found here: http://2012.iahsra.org/stats

http://www.rugbymag.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=4141:rugby-dream-live-in-iowa&catid=65:boys&Itemid=240

A Failure

 

“Every failure presents an equal seed of opportunity.” –Napoleon Hill

What does this quote mean? That failing a calculus test is some kind of fortuitous blessing?Or, being late for work is an omen from the heavens? Not really, but it could be. Life is all about how you deal with failure. I failed this weekend and let someone down. It hurt me to fail. It hurt far worse to fail and the lose the trust of a person that is dear to me. I wish I could undo what I did but I can't. However unwanted, this failure has presented me with the following opportunities: 1.)Examine why the failure occurred and plan accordingly to never fail again  2.) Seriously contemplate my direction in life  3.)Strive towards creating a better, more improved Tyler Harrison. What opportunity failure brings! The important thing is that this failure does not reflect my character or my personality. You cannot let a failure become part of you because it is not. You and I are far better than that. Although I greatly wish I avoided this failure, there is simply no other way to rationalize the situation. I know in my heart it will work out. 

 Your quality of life depends on how you respond to failure. The truth is that if you want to be successful in life you can never accept failure as a plausible outcome.  If you’re blazing your path towards a unique goal, ideal, competition, or person you will undoubtedly encounter many road blocks on your journey. This is especially true if your goal figuratively lies at the end of an unbeaten path none have yet traveled. When you are blazing a trail for others it makes achievement more difficult but so much more marvelous. Every great individual who achieved anything noteworthy in history was dealt many, seemingly insurmountable, defeats. The key is that they pressed on when failure seemed inevitable. This rings true for the trailblazers of every generation. Thomas Edison failed thousands of times, but he also got it right a few times too.  People only remember his successes and that's what counts. What characterizes the worth of a person is how they respond to these momentary failures and extract the hidden opportunities awaiting their discovery. Maury Ballstein once begged the question, “What do we do when we fall off the horse...?"

Go to 0:59

 "We get back on."

          Your response to adversity truly dictates who you are and how far you will go in life. When you know you will succeed in the face of defeat then you are successful. Don't run from adversity or problems, embrace them head on. This will make you a better person. The only failure that exists is the one you allow to become reality. Success is what lies an inch beyond failure.

Keep on pushin’.-th

HELP THIS KID HELP PEOPLE!

http://networkedblogs.com/vb34E

Tongan Rugby Eagle Project

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Hi everyone! My name is Tucker Wallace, I’m 16 years old, and from Joplin, Missouri. This Summer I have the opportunity to go to Tonga on a mission trip. While on this trip I am completing my Eagle Project. In Tonga, rugby isn’t just a game, but a way of life! Tonga is a high poverty area, so many kids play rugby in old tennis shoes, often too small for them, rather than cleats. For my Eagle Project, I am provisioning a local Tongan rugby team with equipment. This will give more children the opportunity to play rugby, and with better equipment. The items I am looking to collect are rugby cleats, socks, shorts, balls, cash donations, basically anything! If you would be willing to help me, along with the kids of Nuku Alofa, Tonga, please contact me (information below). Thank you so much for taking to time to read this!
Tucker Wallace
1030 Arcadia Joplin, MO 64801
mowallaces@yahoo.com

The Many Faces of 7s

Rugby is pursuing the Olympic Dream. This dream begins now. Building our youth 7s base from an early age in the U.S. is the key to success.



All in a Day's Work

                                                                        
       I glance at my prepaid nokia phone. The time reads 5:02pm. The sun's long rays begin to reach over the ubiquitous green landscape. This place is novel. The lush hills that seem to roll on endlessly have fixed my gaze for the better part of the day. I wonder what lies beyond them. I put my shovel back in the corner of the garage and gather some rubbish from the cold cement floor. I make my way from the half constructed house back to the street. A green Ford Telstar stationwagon awaits my arrival. I remove my boots, muddied by the pure New Zealand earth, and place them in the back of the wagon. I am exhausted but content.  I am making my way 6,000 miles from my home. The work day is finally over. My mind, consumed with hunger, entertains the odd combinations of food I could conjure up with the sparse selection I have at home. Still, after a ten hour day of labor, the most important task, and my reason for being in this strange land, awaits completion. The thought of more physical exertion rests heavy on my mind. I ignite the trusty Ford wagon and begin the 20 minute journey from Mosgiel back to Ravensbourne. I leisurely slide the clutch into 4th, then 5th and zoom onto the motorway, leaving the sleepy town of Mosgiel and a hard day's labor behind me. Driving on New Zealand roads gives me an odd sense of purpose, like driving here is part of some grander scheme. Maybe it is New Zealand's aesthetic beauty that feigns this consummate feeling? Or, maybe this where I belong? My eyes wander between the striking colors in my peripherals and the grey motorway ahead. Before I know it, I've made my way back into the bustling city of Dunedin. The modest nokia indicates it is 5:28pm.

        Finally, I've reached the humble dwelling I call home. I exit the vehicle and notice the slight, yet palpable change in the cool air. The gentle sway of the ocean echoes just behind our old brick home. I make my way through the decorated glass door and I find my travel companion resting comfortably on the couch adorned in dog hair. "What's up? You know we've got to leave soon? How was your day?" I rapidly fire questions he seems to have no answer to. His face is a pale blank slate. The mental and physical drain of working all day on the docks has evidently taken its toll. The final task of our day ominously looms in the very near future. Our jobs are not glamorous. Our home is unimpressive to say the least(some might say worse things than that). At times, these factors make our situation thankless. While we dread the task ahead it is the one reason our situation is bearable.

     I grab an apple from the pantry and generously apply heaps of peanut butter over its encasing. My dining habits probably resemble a Neanderthal or a more devolved version of the beings we are now. Given our time constraints and my voracious appetite I fully embrace this grotesque behavior. I toss my enervated friend an apple. "Eat this. It'll get your blood sugar up." He ungraciously takes a bite. "We should get our stuff on. We gotta be there in 5 minutes." After our meager feast we unenthusiastically canter to our quarters teeming with the fresh bite of kiwi winter air. I think to myself, "What a concept it would be if more of New Zealand utilized the wonders of insulation and central heating? That would be sweet." I put on the warmest athletic attire I can muster from a maelstrom of apparel. Most of my clothing lies negligently strewn about the freezing hard wood floor. With each sock slipped over my foot I begin to anticipate the task ahead.

     Dean and I exit the frosted glass door and enter the Ford wagon. He takes the wheel. We make our way down the windy road resting atop the dark blue waters of the Otago Harbor. We signal left and wait for an opening in traffic to make the tricky U-turn-esque maneuver into our destination. We successfully make the maneuver, lightly brushing some hedges to our right, and head down the poorly paved road. Bright lights illuminate darkly clad figures trotting around the ground to my right. Oval shaped balls are torpedoed and kicked around. I feel a new type of energy building. The physical toll of a ten hour work day begins to seem insignificant. Once again I am surrounded by green. This is a motif I rather enjoy. The words "Harbour RFC" rests in the shadows on top of the building we prepare to enter.

     We walk in the entry way littered with cleat formed shards of New Zealand earth. I breathe in the genuine aromas of mud and sweat that circulate the building. This is the smell of my sport. These familiar stimuli continuously build my excitement. We receive warm greetings from friendly faces. We all have different backgrounds, jobs, and stories but we are all here for the same the reason. While a few are professionals and most are amateurs, we all share a childlike passion and enthusiasm for sport. Dean and I trod past the walking wounded of the medical room and enter the changing room. I place my bag underneath the bench and remove my cleats. I tightly pull the laces of my worn Adidas predators as I have done so many times before. I tie a double knot and firmly press the cleat pattern against the hard cement wiggling my toes. I am excited. While I've been dreading this moment for the past few hours this is truly what I have been waiting for all day. I slap Dean on the shoulder and launch out of the clubhouse into the wintery Dunedin night. I brush shoulders with a body on the way out and reply, "Sorry mate!" My pace quickens as I leap from the cement onto the soggy pitch.  I feel my studs sink into the soft New Zealand mud. My energy levels are now soaring. The toils of hard labor no longer burden my thoughts or body. I burst into a quick sprint cutting left, then right. I pick up an old ball and gallop with it in my grasp. I am grateful to be in this place despite all else. It is my sanctuary 6,000 miles from home. I reside in a vigilant state of peace, only paying attention to the sensation of the ball in my hand.  I block out of the trivialities of my day. I forget my less than idyllic living situation. Nothing else matters but rugby. "Yep!, ball!", I call to my left. I zip a tight spiral pass to a teammate. Feeling the rugby ball roll off my fingers is like unwrapping a long awaited gift. He passes it right back and I feel the ball's tiny grip dots swirl into my hands. This is what I want. This is why I am in New Zealand. There's no place I'd rather be.

    

The Clubhouse

    

             A rugby clubhouse is an unexalted sanctuary. It is a place that unifies vastly different cultures and sects in competitive accord. It stands alone on concrete or grass paddocks. The structure's inviting doors beckon the rugby faithful each saturday. The walls, composed of mortar and timber, are devoid of malice. Its humble roof shelters a colorful assortment of individuals, from 9 month olds to 90 year olds, from broad shouldered behemoths to slender bodied warriors, all allied by the stalwart bonds of rugby, and tightly bound by the proverbial glue of community. Rugby is, at its core, a game deeply rooted in communal ties. A rugby club's vitality rests on those who endlessly toil off the pitch so their team may succeed on it. Success is dependent upon the selfless actions of family and community members that support their team through victory and defeat. The clubhouse assembles the community in diverse chronological order and socioeconomic status. All are accepted. The church of rugby preaches character first. The collective always holds precedence over the self-absorbed individual. Children are taught to respect elders and wait patiently. Young men learn the value of camaraderie and their club's legacy. Clubhouse culture pursues a better world, one rugby player at a time.  If it was your first time inside a rugby club you would receive a warm welcome, a beer, or perhaps both.  You would pleasantly find that these assumptions hold true no matter your location in the world. The rugby community is a worldwide family that opens new doors and rekindles old friendships. Rugby conceives expectation in a world characterized by a lack of defined purpose. Rugby is about developing the community and a higher caliber of citizen within that community.