Page 157

Businessman.

Architect of the organization.

I've sat through a couple of meetings. I've looked at numbers. I've watched him discuss player development, marketing, facilities, analytics, sponsorships, and a dozen other things I didn't know went into running a professional rugby team.

But teams aren't corporations.

Not really.

They're people.

And if I want to understand the men behind the egg-shaped rugby ball, maybe I've been talking to the wrong people.

Or at least not all the right ones.

Who knows a man better than the woman who goes home with him? Who sees what happens after the cameras turn off?

After the match ends? After the stadium empties and the jersey comes off?

The wives.

Which is how I found myself calling Carolina Barret.

Coach Dane's wife.

Formerly one of Mitchell Knight's assistants. And current Rovers insider. Judging by the research I've done, she’s a woman who knows where every metaphorical body associated with this team is buried.

I expected caution. Maybe suspicion. Possibly an interrogation before she'd even agree to talk to me.

Instead, I got this.

“Oh my God! You have to come to book club.”

I blinked at my phone.

“I'm sorry?”

“Book club. We're meeting Thursday.”

“Carolina, I'm calling because I'm working on a story about Mitchell and the Rovers.”

“I know.”

“And you're inviting a journalist to your book club?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then, “Should I be worried about that?”

She laughed. Actually laughed.

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“Oh Layla, I like you! This is gonna be so much fun,” she replied.

Terrific.