ChasingKaz - June 25, 2008

On Friday, June 20 2008, the world lost my friend and teammate, Mike Lundberg. While I'm fully aware that most people reading this never knew Mike, he's one of those men whose words and actions will inspire his friends far beyond the athletic arena and into the depths of real life. To not share his story would be selfish.

When the members of the St Paul Pigs rugby club first met Mike, he was a scrappy, 190 lb ball of fire fresh out of college. He didn't know shit about rugby, but he was a gamer, and we knew that by the time he finished his first practice. As long as I've been playing rugby, there have very few rookies I,ve felt comfortable playing aside. Mikey was one of the guys I never worried about. In his first match, we told him to go out there and bust some heads. Despite being behind by a sizeable margin, he'd busted more heads than the rest of us and he was the one who gave the halftime pep talk, and he was a rookie!

From that day on, we knew we had a Piggie for life. Through the good times and bad, and believe me, there were a lot more bad than good, Mikey was the one who kept it all together. As much as most athletes will deny it, it's really easy to play half-assed when you're down by 30 points in the second half, but Mike was the one who never let us give up. No matter how many points we trailed by, Mikey was the one always going balls-out, forcing us to keep up. No matter how much the coach yelled at us, Mikey led by example (and obnoxious words at half-time). We had no choice but to follow his example or look bad.

At the end of the 2003 fall season, we said our goodbyes and made our plans to come back as a better Pigs team in 2004, only there was one major hurdle: On Christmas Eve, 2003, Mike was diagnosed with Leukemia. While we all knew it was some sort of cancer, most of us didn't realize it's severity until the first time we went to visit him in the hospital.

The first night we all went to see him, we all knew he was going to recover and be back with us by the fall. He was too much of a badass not to. We all met at Hubert's Bar a few blocks from the hospital because we'd never had any friends with cancer before. When we worked up the courage to walk up to the hospital room to see him, he was just like he always was, except he was wearing a mask over his mouth and lying on a bed. He said he might miss the spring season because chemo is a bitch, but he promised us he'd be back out for the league season in the fall of 2004.

In February of 2004, we had our first indoor practices to get ready for the upcoming spring season. About 10 minutes after practice started, Mikey showed up. Though we were still warming up, he apologized profusely for being late and did everything he could to catch up to the rest of us. For the remainder of the practice, it was clear that he wasn't his usual self. Afterward, I talked to him only to find out that he'd undergone a chemotherapy session a day earlier.

In the fall of 2004, Mike was there as promised and just as badass as ever. The status quo had been resumed and the Pigs had improved with new recruits and experience. If that's not a kick in the balls to cancer, I don't know what is. If I'm not mistaken, I think we also won the division.

However, 2005 was different. Mike was back battling leukemia again. While his absence hurt us, we learned to cope though we never retained the same vigor as when he was on the pitch. Despite his impending bone marrow transplant, Mikey was on the sidelines of every match yelling at the top of his lungs. Even if he couldn't play, he was going to kick our asses into shape!

About a year later, I remember Mike coming out to practice after his bone marrow transplant. He was more ambitious than ever and we all thought we'd not only snatched our friend from the grips of death, but also snatched out star player out of the pile of ash, just like the Phoenix.

For the first few matches, we'd revived our Lazarus. Mikey was a monster against arch rivals, St Cloud, destroying every man who came near him. He had a new lease on life and he took full advantage of it.

It was in 2006 that we found out that the bone marrow transplant was only a band-aid. As much as Mike tried to be strong and be a player, it was only temporary. He played a few matches since then and they were a true testament to the human spirit. I remember a match two years ago in Des Moines against their top notch side and Mike assured us that he was ok to play. Toward the end of the first half, he was on his knees trying to catch his breath while the cancer robbed his red blood cells of oxygen. He'd have taken his place on the sidelines if we'd had a 16th player, but he insisted on staying out there. Despite his condition, Mikey insisted on being with us on the pitch until the final whistle blew.

Last fall, we were in the first round of the Midwest D3 playoffs against the Green Bay Celtics. At the end of the first half, we were down 26-6 on the wet Wisconsin soil and it looked grim. Instead of bitching at us about what we were doing wrong, Coach Z came out and just looked at us. He made a few comments about our play, but in the end, he just said we were playing uninspired. Before walking back to the sidelines for the second half, he told us that Mike ("Buca" as he was affectionately known to us) was back in the hospital for chemotherapy and that if we had any pride, we'd win this one for him. "FOR BUCA!" was our cheer before we left the huddle to begin the second half.

Green Bay took the opening kickoff back for a try, but from that point until the final whistle 39 minutes later, we'd mounted one of the greatest comebacks in the history of amateur rugby. The last 10 minutes of the match consisted of us trying to bash our noses into the try zone against an impenetrable defense. Though we lost 31-26, it was one of our crowning achievements. We came back because we played the way Mike would have wanted us to play. In life, as on the field, Mike battled relentlessly until the final whistle.

One of my brother's favorite sayings is "How would you play today if you knew you couldn't play tomorrow?" For most people, it's just motivational mumbo jumbo: For Mike, it was reality. He never knew which match would be his last, and in Green Bay that October day, we all played as if we'd never play again.

When I learned of Mike's death Friday, I was destroyed. At first, I didn't quite believe it. We all believed that Mike was going to overcome leukemia. He had to. If anyone would ever do it, it would undoubtedly be him. Despite all of his suffering, he never complained. He just went to his treatments and went on with his life, making the most of every day and every person he met. When he could, he'd even make it out to practice to get a run-around with us.

Shortly after word of Mike's passing spread through the team grapevine, plans were made to get together at the bar to celebrate his life. I left the office early because my simply couldn't concentrate and I certainly wasn't of the proper mindset to have a productive training session. After taking care of a few errands, I got dressed and prepared to meet my teammates at the bar to drown my sorrows. While heading to the garage, I thought back to the times that Mikey would come to practice after chemo treatments. He never complained and he certainly wasn't in any condition to be at rugby practice. Had Mike been around, he would have wanted me to train. I immediately turned around and changed back into my gym clothes and proceeded to kick my ass running hills.

After running hills, I headed to the liquor store, bought a case of beer, and began writing this piece.

Professional athletes are often described as "tough" guys who give "inspirational" performances, yet the toughest professional athlete in most inspirational moment doesn't hold a candle how tough and inspirational Mike Lundberg was to those who knew him. Mike didn't play for glory and he certainly didn't play for money. He played for the love of the game, and more importantly for the love of his teammates. Mike lived because he loved life.

Rest In Peace, beloved friend and teammate.

Posted by Ben Hanson at 2:24 PM