Our similarities are stronger than our differences

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I thought I’d take a break from all of the grievances, divisions, and outrage of our culture wars, and write about how, despite all the opportunistic goading by our politicians and media, we actually all get along with each other pretty well. This allows me to recount a few of my favorite stories from my long and undistinguished career in rugby that illustrate my belief that the social contract is stronger than we give it credit for.

The parade

Rugby players are an ethnically and culturally diverse bunch united by our love of the game, and by beer. At the Old Boys (seniors) level where I mainly played, we geriatrics claimed to still be fit enough to play, but mostly just wanted a chance to drink beer and regale each other with tales of “how good we used to be.” Our exploits grew ever more glorious with each retelling and with each beer.

In San Francisco, most rugby is played at the Polo Grounds, a vast oval containing six playing fields, enclosed by a track, and then by bleachers. On a fine spring day in 1985, we gathered for a tournament at a couple of the fields at the end of the oval, with the idle players gathering in the bleachers between their games to drink from the kegs provided and watch the other games. Sipping a beer, I noticed a group gathering at the distant end of the oval and heard drumbeats and brass instruments. They soon began to march around the track in our direction.

As the band approached, I noticed that most of the marchers wore brightly colored tutus, tights, or other flamboyant gear, and were led by a prancing bearded baton twirler. I correctly surmised that they were the Gay Freedom Day Marching Band of local fame.

My amusement quickly turned to concern as I contemplated the likelihood of homophobic jeering from some of the hundreds of drunken ruggers in the stands as the band passed. While players tend to be a pretty decent bunch, this was the mid-1980s and the band was pretty “over the top.” And did I mention we were drunk? Even sober, ruggers are not a group particularly known for filtering. Others probably shared my concern. 

The tension grew as the band approached, stopped, turned to face the stands, and played a tune. The crowd applauded, and then in the most fraught moment, one of the teams in the stands stood up to sing a reply. The singing of profoundly bawdy songs that would surely traumatize today’s woke is a long tradition at rugby parties, and we braced ourselves for something appalling.

To our utter relief, they then sang an a capella rendition of Tony Bennett’s “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.” The band then applauded, pivoted, struck up a tune, and continued their march around the track, and we returned to our beer drinking.

The showers

At another tournament at the Polo Grounds, my team was eliminated early on, and we slouched back to the locker room to clean up. As we showered, we were surprised when a women’s rugby team entered, stripped, and joined us in the showers. What followed was the most impressive display of nonchalance I have ever seen. No rugger wanted to be thought priggish or be seen fleeing from the room shrieking about an affront to their modesty. We all reckoned that since there was only one locker room, the women’s team was every bit as entitled to use it as we were. It was one of the few instances in which having a stranger ask, “Can I borrow your shampoo, dear?” wouldn’t be terrifying.

The memorial

Shortly after the 9/11 attacks, my club played the San Francisco Fog, a new team with a gay identity. One of their members, Mark Bingham, had been one of the heroes on Flight 93 who fought back and prevented the plane from reaching Washington, D.C. The party afterwards was a relatively somber affair, with toasts and reveries of Mark as we shared our common admiration for his heroics at a time when we were all Americans together.

My point? 

We have a lot more in common than we have differences, and we can usually work through our differences respectfully and without supervision or intervention. We largely agree on what is reasonable and fair. Despite vast differences in culture and background, we generally get on well together. Perhaps the concept of “micro-aggressions” was created by those needing to be outraged by something but who were disappointed by the lack of objectively offensive interactions in their day-to-day lives.

Let’s keep it up and not let the voices in politics and the media turn us against each other to serve their own purposes.

John Donegan is a retired attorney in Pismo Beach who spent more time at the keg than on the field. Send a response for publication to letters@santamariasun.com.

This article appears in Jul 31 – Aug 10, 2025.