Bangkok Tens, Familiarity, and the Things We Hope Never Change

Graham Knoop
Jun 23
4 min read

Updated: Jul 7

📍 Where I've Been Exploring

Bangkok International Rugby Tens | Bangkok, Thailand

There are certain moments in life that catch you by surprise. Not because they're extraordinary, but because they remind you of something you didn't realise you had missed.

A few weeks ago, I found myself back in Bangkok for the first time in five years. That sentence alone feels strange to write. Five years. It doesn't sound like much until you start accounting for everything that can happen in half a decade.

The last time I attended the Bangkok International Rugby Tens, I was still playing Opens rugby. I wasn't living in America. I wasn't married with three children. RugbyHUB didn't exist. Virtual Rugby Academy didn't exist. The road I'm walking today was still somewhere out on the horizon.

Since then, life has been full. There has been immigration, family, responsibility, opportunity, challenges, entrepreneurship, and all the things that tend to fill the years before we realise quite how quickly they have passed.

As the plane descended into Bangkok, I found myself wondering how much would have changed.

The answer, it turns out, was remarkably little.

And I mean that as the highest compliment possible.

Within hours of arriving, I found myself back in places that felt immediately familiar. The same restaurants. The same bars. The same tournament grounds. The same shortcuts through the city. Even the rhythm of the weekend felt unchanged. There was something deeply reassuring about knowing exactly where we'd end up after the rugby, exactly who we'd bump into along the way, and exactly which stories would inevitably be retold before the night was over.

For a world that seems to reinvent itself every five minutes, Bangkok felt refreshingly comfortable with remaining itself.

What struck me most over the course of the weekend was how much I appreciated that familiarity.

When we're young, we're obsessed with what's next. The next opportunity. The next adventure. The next chapter. The next achievement. We are encouraged to chase change, and often for good reason. Growth requires movement.

But somewhere along the way, I think many of us discover that there is also enormous value in the things that don't change.

The friendships that endure.

The traditions that survive.

The places that continue to welcome us back.

The communities that somehow make the years disappear.

One of the highlights of the weekend was once again pulling on a jersey for the Jamboys. For those who haven't come across them before, the Jamboys are a collection of rugby players from all over the world who gather each year for the love of the game and, more importantly, for the people.

Rugby has always had a remarkable ability to create friendships that defy geography. Players move countries. Careers change. Families grow. Life pulls people in different directions. Yet somehow the bonds formed through a shared game have a habit of surviving all of it.

What fascinated me was how little time it took to reconnect.

Five years is a long time.

Or at least it should be.

Yet within minutes of seeing old teammates and friends, it felt as though someone had simply pressed play on conversations that had been paused rather than ended. There was no awkwardness, no catching up from scratch, and no sense that we needed to bridge a gap. It was as though the years had quietly stepped aside and allowed us to continue exactly where we had left off.

The older I get, the more I realise how rare and valuable that is.

This year also marked the 20th anniversary of the Bangkok International Rugby Tens, an extraordinary milestone for any sporting event. Tournaments don't survive for two decades by accident. They survive because people care enough to keep showing up.

In Bangkok's case, enormous credit belongs to Eddie Evans and Jo Evans, who have built something far greater than a rugby tournament. They have created a gathering place. A tradition. A community.

Looking around the grounds, it became obvious that people weren't returning year after year simply because of the rugby. They were returning because of the relationships. The stories. The memories. The feeling of belonging to something that has become part of their lives.

As I sat at the airport preparing to fly home, I found myself reflecting on just how much of life is spent pursuing new things. New experiences. New goals. New opportunities.