2
3
3
The Winning Try: Rugby, Romance, and the Weight of Dreams
The Winning Try is one of those rare kdramas that makes you fall in love with the journey even if you already know the ending. Sports and romcom dramas share a certain comforting DNA, and this series embodies that perfectly. Both genres have predictable beats—you know the underdog will rise, that love will bloom, that triumphs and heartbreaks will land exactly where they’re supposed to—but what makes them truly magical is how those beats are orchestrated. There’s a rhythm to it, an emotional pulse that carries you along whether you’re cheering on a winning try or swooning over a quiet, tender moment between two people who have been through the storms of life together. I find these dramas to be my ultimate comfort watch because they provide that perfect mix of tension, heart, and payoff without needing an artificial twist to hijack my emotions. And The Winning Try manages this with masterful ease.
At the heart of the series is Yoon Kye-sang as Ju Ga-ram, a former rugby star turned coach whose life has been marked by both tragedy and scandal. Kye-sang balances comedy and pathos with such seamless grace that one moment has you laughing at his quirks, and the next has you quietly weeping for the burdens he carries. He is the tragic clown in the truest sense—someone whose light makes everyone else shine a little brighter, even while the weight of his own world threatens to crush him. Beside him, Im Se-mi plays Bae I-ji, Ga-ram’s ex-girlfriend and the assistant coach who is both fiercely competent and heartbreakingly tender. Their reunion is never forced; the romance grows naturally out of shared stakes and history, a gentle blooming amidst the chaos of training, tournaments, and the high pressures of youth. One of the quietest yet most powerful moments is when I-ji comforts Ga-ram with a simple, “I got you,” stroking his back with care that is at once intimate and steadfast. Beyond romance, I-ji’s story of sacrifice—from star athlete to mentor—adds depth to her character and grounds her care in lived experience, making her more than just a love interest.
Supporting characters elevate this drama from excellent to extraordinary. Kim Yo-han as Yoon Seong-jun, the rugby team captain, carries a narrative weight that rivals Ga-ram’s. Seong-jun is perpetually under the shadow of his twin brother, a celebrated football player in Spain, and struggles with the constant need to prove himself, not just to his parents but to the world. The drama carefully unpacks his pressures, showing how his leadership, his insecurities, and his vulnerabilities all collide as he navigates the final season with his team. Kim Yo-han embodies this duality with subtlety and intensity, making Seong-jun’s victories—and small personal triumphs—feel hard-won and deeply resonant.
On the other end of the spectrum is Mun Ung, portrayed by Kim Dan, a rugby prodigy whose brilliance is as fragile as it is dazzling. This being only Kim Dan’s second drama, his performance is startling in its raw emotionality. Ung contends with a father who forbade him from playing rugby, fearing the cycle of disappointment that once shaped his own life. He also carries a deep trauma that prevents him from tackling other players. The drama’s depiction of his internal struggle, particularly in the tense scenes confronting Ga-ram, is both heart-wrenching and electrifying. Watching him slowly reclaim his courage is a masterclass in storytelling through character, and you forget for a moment that this is a fresh actor finding his footing in the industry.
The drama’s layered storytelling extends to Seo U-jin, the shooting team’s prodigy, played by Park Jung-yeong. U-jin seems cold and unapproachable at first, but as the episodes unfold, we see the crushing expectations imposed by her mother, her relentless drive, and the personal cost of being at the top. Her friendship and eventual romance with Seong-jun feels both inevitable and incredibly earned, offering a counterpoint to Ga-ram and I-ji’s mature, patient love. Both couples navigate pressures in their respective arenas—one team and one sport—but their struggles intersect in universal ways: the weight of expectations, the loneliness of high achievement, and the quiet, tender moments of connection that remind them—and us—that no one should endure these trials alone. I noticed, quietly, how lonely it can be for both of these people while standing at the top, at the end of their respective games.
The narrative unfolds beautifully across twelve episodes, and while the story is predictably satisfying in its beats, it’s in the journey where the drama truly excels. Ga-ram’s secret illness, the underdog rugby team, the pressures on U-jin and the shooting team—all these threads are interwoven with grounded logic, never straying into contrived plot twists. Every setback, every triumph, feels earned, and the drama’s focus on resilience is unwavering. By the final match, when the rugby team executes their winning try, or when U-jin finds her footing both in sport and life, the payoff hits with an emotional resonance that feels both immediate and lasting. And yes, the villains get their comeuppance, which is satisfying in a way that many kdramas neglect, rounding out the story with a sense of karmic justice.
Visually, the drama serves its story well without being showy. Rugby matches are captured clearly and effectively, close-ups during moments of personal struggle hit the right notes, and while it’s not a feast of cinematography, the visuals always support the emotion and action at hand. It’s in the audio that the series truly flexes its muscles—the OST selection is a triumph. Slow ballads like Hold Me Tight, If, and When I See You underscore moments of intimacy and desperation, while upbeat tracks like Touchdown, SURF, and Rise Up electrify the tournament scenes. One particular rap track moved me to tears—a first for me—and the team’s rendition of the main theme, Try, adds a layer of charm and authenticity that completes the immersive experience.
If there is a flaw, it is only that the rugby matches could have been shown a bit more, and that I long for a season two to explore the universe that this drama so meticulously built. But these are minor notes; they exist only because the world of The Winning Try is so inviting, so emotionally complete, that you ache for just a little more.
In the end, The Winning Try is a healing watch. It reminds me why sports and romcom dramas are my ultimate comfort zones: both thrive on heartbeats, on laughter and tears, on victories both large and small. Watching it, I felt joy, relief, and the quiet thrill of witnessing characters earn their moments in ways that feel simultaneously inevitable and breathtakingly real.
If you need a drama that balances emotional depth, grounded storytelling, and the intoxicating pull of both competition and human connection, The Winning Try will welcome you in like a warm cup of tea on a chilly autumn day—and leave you wishing you never have to leave its world.
At the heart of the series is Yoon Kye-sang as Ju Ga-ram, a former rugby star turned coach whose life has been marked by both tragedy and scandal. Kye-sang balances comedy and pathos with such seamless grace that one moment has you laughing at his quirks, and the next has you quietly weeping for the burdens he carries. He is the tragic clown in the truest sense—someone whose light makes everyone else shine a little brighter, even while the weight of his own world threatens to crush him. Beside him, Im Se-mi plays Bae I-ji, Ga-ram’s ex-girlfriend and the assistant coach who is both fiercely competent and heartbreakingly tender. Their reunion is never forced; the romance grows naturally out of shared stakes and history, a gentle blooming amidst the chaos of training, tournaments, and the high pressures of youth. One of the quietest yet most powerful moments is when I-ji comforts Ga-ram with a simple, “I got you,” stroking his back with care that is at once intimate and steadfast. Beyond romance, I-ji’s story of sacrifice—from star athlete to mentor—adds depth to her character and grounds her care in lived experience, making her more than just a love interest.
Supporting characters elevate this drama from excellent to extraordinary. Kim Yo-han as Yoon Seong-jun, the rugby team captain, carries a narrative weight that rivals Ga-ram’s. Seong-jun is perpetually under the shadow of his twin brother, a celebrated football player in Spain, and struggles with the constant need to prove himself, not just to his parents but to the world. The drama carefully unpacks his pressures, showing how his leadership, his insecurities, and his vulnerabilities all collide as he navigates the final season with his team. Kim Yo-han embodies this duality with subtlety and intensity, making Seong-jun’s victories—and small personal triumphs—feel hard-won and deeply resonant.
On the other end of the spectrum is Mun Ung, portrayed by Kim Dan, a rugby prodigy whose brilliance is as fragile as it is dazzling. This being only Kim Dan’s second drama, his performance is startling in its raw emotionality. Ung contends with a father who forbade him from playing rugby, fearing the cycle of disappointment that once shaped his own life. He also carries a deep trauma that prevents him from tackling other players. The drama’s depiction of his internal struggle, particularly in the tense scenes confronting Ga-ram, is both heart-wrenching and electrifying. Watching him slowly reclaim his courage is a masterclass in storytelling through character, and you forget for a moment that this is a fresh actor finding his footing in the industry.
The drama’s layered storytelling extends to Seo U-jin, the shooting team’s prodigy, played by Park Jung-yeong. U-jin seems cold and unapproachable at first, but as the episodes unfold, we see the crushing expectations imposed by her mother, her relentless drive, and the personal cost of being at the top. Her friendship and eventual romance with Seong-jun feels both inevitable and incredibly earned, offering a counterpoint to Ga-ram and I-ji’s mature, patient love. Both couples navigate pressures in their respective arenas—one team and one sport—but their struggles intersect in universal ways: the weight of expectations, the loneliness of high achievement, and the quiet, tender moments of connection that remind them—and us—that no one should endure these trials alone. I noticed, quietly, how lonely it can be for both of these people while standing at the top, at the end of their respective games.
The narrative unfolds beautifully across twelve episodes, and while the story is predictably satisfying in its beats, it’s in the journey where the drama truly excels. Ga-ram’s secret illness, the underdog rugby team, the pressures on U-jin and the shooting team—all these threads are interwoven with grounded logic, never straying into contrived plot twists. Every setback, every triumph, feels earned, and the drama’s focus on resilience is unwavering. By the final match, when the rugby team executes their winning try, or when U-jin finds her footing both in sport and life, the payoff hits with an emotional resonance that feels both immediate and lasting. And yes, the villains get their comeuppance, which is satisfying in a way that many kdramas neglect, rounding out the story with a sense of karmic justice.
Visually, the drama serves its story well without being showy. Rugby matches are captured clearly and effectively, close-ups during moments of personal struggle hit the right notes, and while it’s not a feast of cinematography, the visuals always support the emotion and action at hand. It’s in the audio that the series truly flexes its muscles—the OST selection is a triumph. Slow ballads like Hold Me Tight, If, and When I See You underscore moments of intimacy and desperation, while upbeat tracks like Touchdown, SURF, and Rise Up electrify the tournament scenes. One particular rap track moved me to tears—a first for me—and the team’s rendition of the main theme, Try, adds a layer of charm and authenticity that completes the immersive experience.
If there is a flaw, it is only that the rugby matches could have been shown a bit more, and that I long for a season two to explore the universe that this drama so meticulously built. But these are minor notes; they exist only because the world of The Winning Try is so inviting, so emotionally complete, that you ache for just a little more.
In the end, The Winning Try is a healing watch. It reminds me why sports and romcom dramas are my ultimate comfort zones: both thrive on heartbeats, on laughter and tears, on victories both large and small. Watching it, I felt joy, relief, and the quiet thrill of witnessing characters earn their moments in ways that feel simultaneously inevitable and breathtakingly real.
If you need a drama that balances emotional depth, grounded storytelling, and the intoxicating pull of both competition and human connection, The Winning Try will welcome you in like a warm cup of tea on a chilly autumn day—and leave you wishing you never have to leave its world.
Was this review helpful to you?
