TURF WAR
Lennon picked up rugby in college and still plays up to four times a week.
GROWING UP IN Detroit under a rough, gruff, blue-collar, beat-cop, short-fused, heel-clack, ramrod-straight code, Ryan Lennon knew his marching orders. Feeling sad? Swallow it. Angry? Channel it. Johnny took your G. I. Joe? Get it back. Leave the couch-moaning, kumbaya, touchy-feely crap to the civilian suckers willing to pay $200 an hour.
So what does Lennon do? He becomes the “psych boss” for the U. S. Navy—a shrink, a therapist. “I know,” Lennon says, chuckling. Okay, he took on the psych-boss role a few years as a combat engineer; after he made a name for himself playing rugby, turned his carved arms into tattoo sleeves, and, most recently,
