Day2: From Diagnosis to Disruption

By Sam Peters, founder of Concussed Media

Almost nine years ago, as I was driving into London with my wife Debs and our newborn daughter Ella, my mobile rang.

‘Matt – LA’ flashed on the dashboard. I answered immediately. Hands free, before you ask.

‘Hello mate, how are you?’ I asked, delighted to hear from one of my oldest friends. We’d last seen each other just weeks earlier at a favourite pub by the Thames for our 20-year school reunion.

That evening, I’d noticed his hand moved unusually slowly to accept a beer. Odd, but easy to dismiss. He’d also mentioned tripping while jogging. We thought nothing of it.

If only.

At 38, Matt Ross was already a top advertising executive, with a stellar career, amazing wife Fran, and young family.

He’d moved from west London to LA in 2012 to be MD of Ogilvy’s West Coast office, and was quickly poached by BBH, and then offered a dream role at Google. Within months, he became Head of Global Brand and Marketing at YouTube.

He was, by any metric, flying. And I was proud to call him my friend.

In 2001, as 23-year-old graduates, Matt and I flew to Sydney to follow the British & Irish Lions. Rugby had always been at the heart of our friendship. In 1995, we’d run onto the Twickenham pitch after England beat Scotland and ended up on the back pages, hoisting Rob Andrew into the air.

Australia didn’t disappoint. Six glorious weeks of sport, mischief and music (we both love ‘90s hip hop). What wasn’t to like? One exceptionally groggy morning, I pointed out a couple of well-known rugby journalists as they boarded our flight and said, ‘What a job. I’d love to do that.’

Matt, immediately: ‘Do it then.’

Within a year I was studying journalism. Twelve years later, I was rugby correspondent at The Mail on Sunday.

Matt, who in 1995 had founded St Paul’s School’s first ever newspaper ‘Black and White’, was responsible (to blame?) for me becoming a journalist.

Our friends still don’t believe us. But for those six glorious weeks down under, bookmarked in equal measure by laughter, silliness, serious discussions about life – Matt’s mum Alison was suffering from terminal cancer at the time but insisted he still came on the trip even though she had just months to live – sport, music (we are both huge 90s hip hop fans), travel and friendship, we did not exchange a single cross word. We just drunk, partied, made friends and laughed. We laughed a lot, in fact.

Fast forward to that drive into London. Back to Matt’s call.

‘Mate, I’ve got something I need to tell you,’ he said, voice shaking.

‘Go on.’

‘You remember I fell running before the reunion?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’d been having balance issues… I got some tests back in LA.’

Silence.

‘I’ve got Parkinson’s disease.’

Drop the fucking mic.

‘You’re kidding?’ I asked, hoping against hope it was an attempt at one of our dark jokes. But this was real. And devastating. For Matt, Fran, and their children, Max and Esme.

I said the right things about fighting, about being strong but inside, I was wrecked.

It was the last time I pitied him.

Not because Parkinson’s hasn’t been brutal—at times almost unbearable—but because Matt never allowed it to define him. He’s never wallowed, never raged, never slipped from optimism.

After moving back to the UK during COVID, he threw himself into a gruelling fitness regime. He soon started raving about a trainer called Ed who specialised in neurological conditions.

Matt laser-focused on getting seriously fit, building core strength, and reducing his fall risk—the biggest killer for Parkinson’s patients and a huge NHS burden.

Over time, symptoms worsened, tension, spasms, but medication and training kept him in remarkable shape.

Yes, there’ve been setbacks: false dawns, bureaucratic NHS failures, terrifying moments like the time in late 2023 when his medication suddenly failed, leaving him almost paralysed until Southmead Hospital found the right dopamine balance.

But through it all, Matt, supported by Fran, dad Clive, and brother Ed, has met it with courage and clarity.

Almost a year ago, on the ferry to the Isle of Wight to visit our old friend Tom, Matt floated an idea: an app for people with Parkinson’s.

• Using AI, it would generate bespoke fitness, nutrition, and sleep plans—backed by the latest science—while also potentially saving the NHS millions by preventing falls and hospital visits.

I could tell he was serious. Naturally, I wanted to stay close to the story.

So when Matt asked if I’d join him at Day2 to advise on communications, introduce to my network and assist with their pending first round of fundraising, I said yes without hesitation.

His vision is crystal clear. The purpose, undeniable. I’m honoured to help build the narrative and the future of this platform.

With Concussed, I tried to make the complex world of brain injury more accessible. It challenged institutions, disrupted rugby, and sometimes made me unpopular. But I’ve made peace with that. My goal has always been protecting long-term health—of athletes, yes, but more importantly, of people.

That same goal now drives me at Day2. I’ll also draw on my work with Planted Community, Concussed Media, and the brilliant concussion app, Luca Health.

Some say I know how to tell a story. And Day2’s story is one worth telling.

In time, I have no doubt it will completely revolutionise what it means to be a Parkinson’s patient.

Most of all I’m looking forward to working with and learning from Matt. An advertising industry titan, heroic and inspirational entrepreneur with an unquenchable thirst for life. But most of all my friend. A man I trust implicitly and respect unconditionally.

Remember the name. Day2. You’ll be hearing a lot more about it in the years to come. Not least of all, from me.

Ends