Hey sports fans! Mr. Ronald here, and today we’re stepping off the podiums and into the shadows—where the bright lights of Lions selection day cast long, painful reflections. Because for every dream that comes true under that iconic red jersey, there’s a story left untold, a heart quietly cracking beneath layers of stitched ambition and muscle-bound silence.
Welcome to the other side of glory, folks. Let’s talk about the bruised but unbroken.
Judgement Day. That’s what they call it. And oh, doesn’t that name carry an echo? This isn’t just a shortlist being read—it’s the sporting gospel being inscribed in real time. For the chosen few, it’s champagne and camera flashes, fists pumping on social feeds and proud family texts blowing up like the fourth of July.
But for the ones who didn’t hear their names? It’s a hollow echo in the gym. A soul punch in the changing room. An offseason that suddenly tastes a whole lot more bitter.
“Man, it brings up horrible memories,” one former international told me—his voice calm, but that quiet storm was unmistakable. These aren’t just players, they’re warriors. Their bodies sculpted on grit and years of blood-sweat work. Their dreams shaped not on paper, but on muddy fields under unforgiving weather.
But come Judgement Day, the Lions’ selection cuts through like a scythe—clinical and indifferent. There’s no fanfare in being the almost. The runner-up in potential. The guy who missed by “just one call.”
And here’s the kicker, team: there’s no ‘try again next week’ in Lions rugby. This isn’t club ball. This is a once-every-four-years titanic clash of North versus South, of sweat versus heritage. Miss out this time, and that train might never roll back through your station.
So how do these players cope? Some rage. Some are silent. Some flick off the telly and bury themselves in a barbell session that could lift a minibus. Others post cryptic, composed tweets—“Just keep working. Bigger things ahead.” But behind that keyboard swag? You bet there’s heartbreak.
Yet let me tell you, this is where the beauty of sport hits you like a 6’5” blindside flanker.
Because it’s in that echo, in those lonely showers or solo treadmill runs, that true champions are cast in fire. Not every Lion roars from the jungle. Some are forged in the silences. Driven not by applause, but by the refusal to be forgotten.
I spoke to one player—prominent, powerful, nearly made it—who said, “Yeah, it hurt. Maybe it always will. But it made me better. It made me dangerous.” Oooh! Now that’s fuel, baby! That’s the fire that doesn’t flicker. That’s late nights, extra reps, playbooks scrawled with vengeance.
So if you’re reading this and you’re one of the silent few still grinding in the gym while others pose in their Lions crest—hear me: the scoreboard isn’t final. The jerseys don’t lock your worth. Legacy is written not in selections, but in how you respond when the room goes quiet.
Because the Lions tour is a pinnacle—but it’s not the whole mountain. Some players will miss it and carve out Hall of Fame careers. Some will become legends in other colours. Some will redefine positions, shift tactics, teach the game itself a new language.
And here’s one truth Mr. Ronald will die on a hill for—sometimes missing out gives you the teeth to bite back harder, sharper, unapologetically.
So Judgement Day? Sure, it’s glorious. But it’s also a battleground. Not everyone leaves with a medal—but those who rise from its heartache might just run rugby’s next revolution.
Stay strong. Stay fit. Stay driven.
And to all the doubted, overlooked and underestimated? Make the world regret counting you out.
Mic dropped.
– Mr. Ronald
