Page 80 of Hometown Halftime

So, for the first forty-five minutes, we push them hard.

Shuttle runs first, then passing drills at pace until balls start slipping through tired hands. Tackle progression after that, followed by ruck support work that leaves half the team bent over at the hips fighting for oxygen—including me.

Kinsey keeps the pressure on anyway.

“Reset!” she yells, clapping once. “Let’s do it again!”

Groans echo across the field, but the girls line back up.

That’s the part that impresses me most. They’re exhausted, sweaty, and frustrated, but nobody quits. When we finally stop for water, the girls collapse near the benches in sweaty, exhausted heaps while Kinsey walks over beside me.

“They’re improving,” she says quietly.

I nod toward Brooke and Megan arguing over a pass near the sideline.

“Especially defensively.”

“Brooke still drifts too early.”

“She’s trying to anticipate instead of react.”

Kinsey sighs before taking a long drink of water.

“I know. But if she leaves space outside on Saturday, Jefferson’s wing is going to burn her.”

Most people in town still think this rugby team is some quirky little side project the school started to keep girls busy after class. But Kinsey treats it seriously. She brings intensity and skill, and genuine care into every practice, and the girls respond to it because they know she believes in them.

I think that’s why they trusted her so quickly. Hell, I trust her too.

“Let’s go, ladies!” she calls loud enough to pull everyone’s attention back. “Phase play!”

The girls pop up, excited, because this is everyone’s favorite part.

We split the girls into two groups near midfield, Kinsey taking one side while I organize the other. Trash talk starts instantly.

“Our team is gonna destroy you,” Brooke informs me confidently while adjusting her scrum cap.

“That confidence feels dangerous for somebody who still side-steps contact.”

Brooke gasps. “That happened one time.”

“It happened four times.”

Kinsey walks backward across the grass, her whistle clamped between her teeth while pointing toward me. “Don’t let him bully you. He peaked in high school.”

I press a hand against my chest. “That was cruel.”

The girls laugh while I shake my head.

God, she’s fun.

We get organized enough to start. Kinsey’s side takes first possession off a practice lineout while my group spreads across midfield on defense.

“Spread early!” I shout. “Talk to each other!”

The ball moves quickly through hands. Tara pulls it cleanly from the breakdown before Brooke cuts back inside on a support line instead of drifting wide this time.

“There you go!” Kinsey yells.