Читать книгу Talk of the Toony: The Autobiography of Gregor Townsend - Gregor Townsend - Страница 8
ОглавлениеInspiration starts with aspiration.
Mary Lyon
Craig, my brother, was inconsolable. He was trying hard to hold back the tears. I asked him what had happened.
‘Someone’s called off – I’m going to have to tell the others we can’t play.’
For the previous month he’d been organizing a team to enter the Ward Sevens – the highlight of the rugby calendar for any Gala youth. He had managed to recruit six of his mates from the ‘ward’ we lived in – a ward being a designated area of the town – but he had just found out on the morning of his big day that one of the team was down with the flu. He couldn’t enter a side with six players and so his hopes of winning the 1980 Under-10 trophy seemed lost.
I saw an opportunity and I wasn’t going to let it pass me by.
‘Dad, if I play then there would still be a team.’
‘No chance – you’ve never played a game of rugby before.’
‘But I’ve run about with Craig’s friends lots of times.’
‘No.’
Since the age of five I had been going to mini-rugby sessions on a Sunday morning and had joined in with the older boys who played touch rugby in the dead-ball area of Netherdale after Gala matches had ended. I knew I would be fine in my brother’s team. For the next ten minutes I pleaded with my parents to allow me to take part. I had just turned seven years old and they were obviously very reluctant to let me play. However, faced with two screaming kids, it wasn’t long before we persuaded them to change their minds. Craig was given instructions that I was to be picked as a winger and only involved in play as a last resort.
As I ran out on the Netherdale pitch on a sun-drenched afternoon, the day’s events flashed by. My mum said it was comical – it looked like everyone else was a foot taller than me. I only received two passes throughout the day, but she said I got a huge cheer both times I touched the ball. We went on to win the tournament and I remember spending the evening taking the trophy round the houses in our ward. And so, in the same weekend that Mount St Helens erupted in North America, my love affair with the game began.
I was brought up in the town of Galashiels (or ‘Gala’ as it is better known locally), which is situated right at the very heart of the Scottish Borders. It is a busy town on the A7 road from Edinburgh to Carlisle and lies in the bottom of the steep-sided valley of the Gala Water, a mile upstream from its confluence with the River Tweed. Other Borderers from rival towns sometimes disparagingly call Gala people ‘pail mercs’. This refers to us being – allegedly – the last town in the Borders to get indoor plumbing, thus leaving ‘pail mercs’ (local dialect for ‘bucket marks’) on the backsides of those using the outside toilets. I have myself been abused as a ‘pail merc’ – (amongst other things) at Mansfield Park in Hawick.
Gala folk much prefer to be known as ‘Braw Lads or Lasses’. The Braw Lads Gathering in late June is one of several summer festivals in the Borders and is the focal point of the local calendar, with hundreds of horse riders marking boundaries around the town. The day also commemorates the town’s history, notably an incident in 1337 when a party of English soldiers, resting nearby after picking and eating wild plums that had made them ill, were surprised and defeated by a band of locals. I’m amazed Mel Gibson hasn’t made the story into a film yet!
Borders history has long been closely tied to the fluctuating fortunes of the textile trade, which used to be far larger than it is today. There has been a steady decline since the Second World War and the many woollen mills that once proliferated in towns like Gala and Hawick have now all but disappeared. The local communities thrived during the nineteenth century, the height of textile boom. In Gala alone there was a population increase from 1,600 in 1825 to 18,000 by 1891 – nearly 4,000 more people than live in the town today.
Efforts at establishing a more balanced economy by introducing electronics factories in the town in the 1960s have also seen a reversal in fortunes over the last ten years, with most employers relocating to Asia. However, the area’s future now seems to be on more of an upward curve. The Waverley Line – the train link from Edinburgh that was lost in 1969 – will be reinstalled in 2011 and the trend for young people to leave the Borders to seek work and opportunities elsewhere in the UK is much less pronounced nowadays. This might be to do with house prices being much lower than in Edinburgh, but it has created a positive vibe about the Borders once again.
I suppose most people would describe their upbringing as ‘normal’. Looking back, there was nothing out of the ordinary with my childhood. Life was constructed around the pillars of family, school, church, work and sport. My personal beliefs come from my family. I believe that I formulated all my values from them. My parents stressed the importance of being humble, modest and never taking things for granted.
My dad has always been my rugby conscience. He will notice a missed tackle or a poor bit of play that others would not have seen and is quick to remind me that I can always make improvements to my game. Only hearing positive things about yourself might seem more pleasant, but avoiding the truth won’t make you a better player. I remember early on in my career that he hadn’t spoken to me about an upcoming international, which I thought was strange. But on match day, when I got my boots out of my bag, I found little notes just saying ‘concentration’.
From my mum I have inherited other qualities: a desire to please and not to let anyone down. She is an eternal optimist and has been incredibly supportive to my brother and me in everything we have done. Whilst I’ve realized that you can’t please everyone, I would still like to aim to reach her standards of being good natured and helpful with everyone she meets. Craig was a talented centre who played a few seasons for Gala and Exeter, although golf has always been his preferred sport. One of my proudest moments came when I caddied for him in the Scottish Amateur Championship, even though he went out in the quarter-finals. He’s also responsible for our family recently having to make the unusual adjustment of supporting the ‘Auld Enemy’ – after spending some time working for the RFU as an Academy Manager, Craig is now the manager of the England Sevens team.
My dad was a print setter for a local paper – The Southern Reporter – before becoming an estimator for a printing firm in Gala. My mum still works today as a library assistant at the Borders campus of Heriot-Watt University, less than 100 yards from Netherdale, home of Gala rugby club and the Border Reivers. Our house was on the west side of the town near the summit of Gala hill, which I’ve recently found out has a tenuous link to the film Braveheart. In 1296 William Wallace pursued the Earl of Dunbar – who had betrayed him to the English – to the top of the hill, where the Earl had taken refuge.
I am descended from rugby stock – my dad played in the centre for Gala and twice for the South. His father, John, was also a centre, but was forced to move from Gala to Melrose in the Thirties due to the presence at the time of Scotland international Doddie Wood in the side. My mum might not have such a direct rugby lineage, but it is impressive all the same. Her second cousin was the late Jock Turner, a classy midfielder for Gala and Scotland in the Sixties, and one of five players from the club to have played for the Lions.
My folks have a strong work ethic – a common trait in Borders people. I suppose I must have inherited some of this, as my paper round was the toughest in Gala, reaching 102 papers a day at one point. On one occasion I was even waiting to pick up my papers before the shop owner had arrived.
As I sat outside the paper shop I saw my dad approach, looking slightly bedraggled.
‘What do you think you’re doing here?’
‘I was going to ask you the same question – I’m waiting for the shop to open.’
‘Have you seen what time it is?’
In my zombie-like state of semi-consciousness, I hadn’t checked my watch that morning. I looked up at the town clock, which loomed large over us. It was 3 a.m. I was four hours early. Fortunately my dad had been awoken by the noise of the door shutting as I’d set out on my very early shift. I made a mental note to check that I set my alarm properly before I went to bed.
I have two images of my young self. The first, prior to enrolling at Galashiels Academy, is of a manic, sports-mad, stubborn, attention-seeking lad prone to a tantrum or three – basically a parent’s nightmare. The second image is of a shy, solitary and curious boy uneasy with handling praise. Later I became more geared to using humour rather than bravado to get people’s attention. I still like to get the last word but this second description is much more in line with my present character.
My parents were a huge influence in helping me get involved in as many sports as I could squeeze into my days. At twelve years old, newly enrolled at Galashiels Academy, I played rugby on Saturday for the school first year team. Then, every Sunday, Mum and Dad ferried me up and down the A7 to play football for Hutchison Vale, a renowned boys club in Edinburgh. John Collins, another Gala lad, also turned out for Hutchie at the same time as me, but for their Under-18 side. He was a much more talented footballer and went on to captain Scotland – in the same month that I captained the Scotland rugby team – during an illustrious playing career. In the summer I shared my time between playing golf and cricket and competing for Melrose Athletics Club. At other times of the year Craig and I would turn to other sports – these ranged from marking out a chalk tennis court on the road outside our house to creating a jumping course (usually when The Horse of the Year Show was on TV) in the woods nearby.
Sometimes I didn’t need anyone else to keep my sporting obsession going. There would be many a night I’d kick a football against a wall beside our garage, or take my misshapen orange Mitre rugby ball and practise drop-kicks and up-and-unders. I must have been happy in my own company as this usually evolved into a match, passing to myself and side-stepping past some imaginary defenders. I became stand-off for Scotland against a world XV, honing my Bill McLaren-from-the-commentary-box impersonation as I scored yet another try. I did the same at golf, often playing the top nine holes at the local Ladhope course with four balls and commentating on each shot as I pitted myself against the likes of Nick Faldo, Seve Ballesteros and Sandy Lyle. Perhaps speaking to yourself on a regular basis isn’t that great an idea, but I’d choose it over today’s ‘PlayStation generation’ who spend an inordinate amount of time indoors watching television or playing video games.
I also have to thank my parents for making me attend the Boys Brigade. This created a foundation that was very worthwhile because of the discipline the BB instilled – like going for badges, keeping the uniform clean for weekly inspection and working as a team. During my teenage years when there were many other distractions, I hardly ever missed a Friday night parade or a Sunday Bible class and I went on to gain the Queen’s badge, the Brigade’s highest honour. I came under the influence of some excellent role models like Al Christie and Riddell Graham – people who had given up their time to help others. It wasn’t all hard work and for me, it was an excellent outlet for my competitive nature. We competed against other battalions in the Borders at things like drill, table tennis and cross-country. But my personal highlight was a game called ‘Murder Ball’, which we played each week. It was really just a raw form of rugby played indoors, but because of the confined space and hard floors it was sometimes more physical than the real thing.
I was, as you may have guessed, a fairly competitive youngster, although winning itself wasn’t the sole motivation for me. I just wanted a chance to be out there doing some sort of sport and I was forever organizing games of football during break time at school. Looking back I must have taken this just a little too seriously. As there was only one rugby tournament – the Ward Sevens – for primary school children at the time, I concentrated my efforts on getting teams together for the handful of football five-a-side competitions that were held during the year. I remember arranging trials and selection meetings and even doing a poll with everyone in the school – St Peter’s Primary – to decide what would be the best name for the side. I had obviously come up with the two or three names that were on the ballot sheet. For the record, ‘Liverpool Lads’, ‘Rangers Reserves’ and ‘Tottenham Toddlers’ were the options. Not the most inspiring of choices I must admit.
Probably because I played more football at primary school and then went on to play on a weekly basis in Edinburgh, I was much more committeed to football than to any other sport. I loved playing for Hutchison Vale and went with them on a tour to Holland, although I never really felt part of the football scene as all my team-mates were from Edinburgh and I couldn’t make the midweek training sessions. Moving to Gala Academy meant that there were now weekly games of rugby to get stuck into and although I still harboured dreams of being a dual international for Scotland, I knew something would have to give. The following season saw the end of my football career as the games changed from Sundays to Saturdays and I had to decide which sport I would have to sacrifice. It wasn’t a difficult decision to make and probably the correct one – I had started at Hutchie Vale as a striker but ended up as a defensive midfielder, running all day but not possessing enough skilful touches to make it as a professional.
By that stage I was also a huge fan of the Scotland rugby team. I had first been to a Murrayfield international in 1982 – there had been a record crowd that day and my dad had to hold me above his head to avoid the crush outside the stadium. Being a Rangers supporter as well, I’d been to Tynecastle to watch them play Hearts and also to Hampden to see them play Aberdeen in the Scottish Cup Final. Whilst it was great to see my heroes like Ally McCoist and Davie Cooper close up, there was an unpleasant edge to watching football games at the time. The atmosphere was very threatening and was probably one reason why my dad had bought us tickets for the Aberdeen end at Hampden. However, the Aberdeen supporters were just as abusive as the raucous Rangers fans packed into the other end of the ground, and what made matters worse was that I was too scared to celebrate any of Rangers’ goals when they went on to win the match on penalties.
Having spent my youth watching Scotland win two Grand Slams in the space of six years, it is something of a disappointment to have been a member of the Scotland team for eleven years and not to add to this total. I suppose playing in the side that were crowned the last-ever Five Nations champions in 1999 is a pretty good recompense, but that year’s narrow defeat at Twickenham grates a little more with each passing year. However, I remain convinced that I helped Scotland topple the French in 1984.
With France leading 6–3 at half-time and their key players like captain Jean-Pierre Rives, stand-off Jean-Patrick Lescarboura and full-back Serge Blanco growing in influence, a Scottish Grand Slam was looking less and less likely. Sitting in the schoolboys enclosure, I repeated a prayer throughout the second half. I urged God to grant my wish of a Scotland victory, and I wrote ‘Scotland win’ and ‘Scotland Grand Slam’ over and over again with my finger on the wooden bench upon which I was perched. My prayers were answered as Jim Calder scored the decisive try, diving over at a lineout after the French failed to control the ball. The media later described the score as a brilliant piece of instinctive play by Calder. I still think there was an element of divine intervention involved.
The year 1984 was an inspirational one for Scottish rugby supporters and I had been hooked all that season as the team worked its way to the Grand Slam. The 32–9 hammering of the Irish was their best game of the championship, with my favourite player, Roy Laidlaw, scoring two tries. As two Gala players were at the heart of that season’s successes, it resonated even more. Captain Jim Aitken scored the match-winning try in Cardiff and full-back Peter Dods kicked seventeen points in the win over the French. A couple of days after the decider against France, just after I had started that morning’s paper round, I remember seeing Peter Dods in the dark, an electrician by trade, also beginning his working day. This was a fairly normal occurrence – such was the nature of the amateur game and also the number of internationalists living and working in the Borders.
The abundance of rugby knowledge in the area was plain to see and I was lucky that I had been able to come under the influence of some very astute teachers. After being invited to attend a summer sports school, I had sessions from Jim Telfer and Jim Renwick, one of the best ever Scottish players. He showed us how to use a hand-off and how to accelerate into the tackle – advice that I still draw on to this day. I also tried to watch and imitate those who played in my position, which is the best and fastest way to learn a sport. Although I had started as a scrum-half, I was now certain that stand-off was the best position to play. Watching the 1984 Grand Slam video, I noticed that when he was kicking to touch, John Rutherford placed his right hand underneath the ball, not on top as I had been previously taught. This adjustment, and later copying how Craig Chalmers struck his drop kicks, helped my kicking game immeasurably. I remember getting up in the middle of the night with my dad and my brother to watch Scotland play France in the opening game of the 1987 World Cup. As well as desperately hoping for a Scottish win, I was also starting to imagine myself running out in the future as a Scotland player.
I played sufficiently well to be selected for Scotland Under-15 against Wales Under-15 in 1988. I know it might sound clichéd, but the first time I wore the Scottish jersey was a hugely uplifting experience: something about the blue jersey made me swell up with pride. My performance in the game itself wasn’t anything special, and we lost 23–6 in front of a large Borders crowd. I hadn’t exactly frozen on this elevated stage, but I hadn’t done anything that suggested I’d attain any higher honours in the game.
It wasn’t until a year later that I convinced myself I could make it to the highest level. And on top of that, this epiphany came during a match in which I was on the wrong end of a fifty-point hammering. I managed to get picked for the South Schools team at the end of that season and even though Midlands Schools beat us heavily, I knew then that playing against better players only improved my own game. My build may have been more akin to the gable end of a crisp, but I played really well and scored two tries, one of them a longrange effort.
That season had seen a major improvement to my game, mainly because I was playing two, sometimes three, matches every weekend. Most people will probably agree with the maxim that being grown up isn’t half as much fun as growing up. This is certainly true in terms of my rugby career. The pressures, frustrations and emotional swings involved in professional rugby were not evident back when I was fifteen years old. Although my limbs were usually aching by the time I clambered into a bath on a Sunday night, I couldn’t wait to play the following weekend. On a Saturday morning I was now turning out for the senior side at the Academy and the following day I played for the Gala Red Triangle, which ran an Under-16 team. After a couple of months of the season, Craig asked me if I would be interested in also playing for the Under-18 side, the Gala Wanderers, who played on Saturday afternoons. The last time I had played with my brother was eight years previously and my parents had feared for my well-being. This time around they let me decide if I was ready. I soon became a regular and playing alongside my brother was a thrill, especially when we won most of the sevens tournaments at the end of the season.
These early games for Gala Wanderers were an essential part of my rugby education. Physically inferior to the other players, I had to use pace and evasion to get past opponents. There was also a much rougher edge to youth rugby than I’d been experiencing at school – my first game against Selkirk Youth Club ended up in a mass brawl that even involved some of our replacements on the touchline. It showed me that you could never afford to take a backward step in rugby. I also received some excellent guidance from our coaches, Johnny Gray and Arthur ‘Hovis’ Brown.
Enthusiasm is a crucial characteristic for any successful coach. This is even more the case when coaching youngsters. Johnny and Hovis had this in spades, and it was such a joy to train and play for them. They are real characters, full of banter and proud Gala men. Being coached by them made you feel you were part of something much bigger. I used to love hearing their stories. They also knew the game inside out – Johnny having coached the South to victory over Australia in 1984, and Hovis being full-back for Scotland in the Seventies before Andy Irvine came on the scene.
We were never dictated to or told to play in a certain way and I’m sure this freedom was a major help in enabling us to win the Scottish youth title at Murrayfield the following season. We had some really promising players like Mark Ballantyne, Greig Crosbie, Alan Bell and Alan Johnstone, but our antics must have driven the coaches mad at times. One night after a heavy snowfall they still wanted us to train – instead we went outside and built a snowman and then pelted them with snowballs. I’m sure Johnny was wishing he was still preparing to play the likes of Mark Ella and David Campese.
Like anyone else in Scotland, on 17 March 1990 I was celebrating the fact that we had beaten England to win the Grand Slam. Everything about that day at Murrayfield was a credit to the values of Scottish rugby at the time: humility, passion, graft and togetherness. Four days later I felt very privileged to run out on the same ground to play in the Schools Cup Final against St Aloysius. In fact during the next month I played on five occasions at Murrayfield. I had made it into the Scotland Schools side and we played three matches at the ground, together with a match against Ireland at Lansdowne Road. Unfortunately, all four games were lost.
The Schools Cup Final had also ended up in a defeat and left me with an embarrassing reminder each time I returned to the home of Scottish rugby. Before the match we were in the home dressing room, a vast area underneath the old West Stand. As was the tradition at the time, we had a pre-match ‘psych up’, which involved slapping our legs and faces then grabbing someone and wrestling with them. With memories of David Sole leading out his troops the previous Saturday, we were all pumped up. On the way out, in a rush of adrenalin, I kicked the door to the changing room. Unfortunately, my boot went right through the plywood, leaving a sizable hole. Each time I returned over the next few weeks, I was racked with guilt. Just as well the West Stand has now been replaced or I think the SRU would probably come looking for some compensation!
Following the success of Gala Wanderers in winning the national title at Murrayfield, I came under the radar of the Gala selectors. This I know, because my dad was still one of the selectors at the time. He had told me they wanted to give me a run at the end of that season, when I was still sixteen years old, but both he and my school coach, Rob Moffat, were not keen on the idea so it never happened. I had enjoyed an outing for Gala in the Kelso Sevens a few months later, but I presumed my final year at the Academy would be spent once again playing for the school in the morning and the Wanderers in the afternoon. That was how things were panning out until we broke up for the October holidays.
For a Borders youngster with a talent for sport, rugby was seen as the only true way to express your natural abilities. I grew up in the golden age of Borders rugby. We had some great ambassadors for the area – people like Gary Armstrong, Roy Laidlaw, John Jeffrey and John Rutherford – all of whom successfully blended courage, modesty and skill. The Scottish League officially started in 1973, the year I was born. Between then and 1990, the year I made my debut for Gala, there was only one occasion when a non-Borders team won the championship. So, when I was asked if I would be available to play for Gala in their league match away to Stirling County, I jumped at the chance.
A club’s tradition and history are what make it special. If the club is also your home town, it makes it something to aspire to be a part of. Even though it had been a few years since Gala’s run of three championship titles in the early Eighties, at the start of the Nineties the side still had a reputation of being a tough team to play against. They invariably finished in the top half of the table. One key difference that separated Gala from the likes of Hawick or Melrose was that they lacked a ruthless streak and a sizeable forward pack. However, Gala possessed many talented individuals. Players like Ian Corcoran, John Amos, Mark Moncrieff and Mike Dods were some of the most skilful in the country and were on the fringes of the Scottish squad. However, it was the more experienced players like Hamish Hunter, Peter Dods and Dave Bryson that I turned to as I prepared for my first match at that level.
Brideghaugh, Stirling’s home ground, was almost completely waterlogged after some torrential rain, but the game went ahead. We went on to lose 12–10, but I’d put in a decent enough performance. I relished the step up in intensity and the fact that everyone was taking things seriously. There had been times when I felt that there weren’t many of my teammates at school or youth level who cared that much about rugby. This time, however, I could see the guys were visibly upset at not coming away with a win. The Gala players had been great with me and were already talking about next week’s fixture as if I’d be playing.
Although Gala’s traditional rivals had always been Hawick, it was Melrose – just four miles away – who had emerged as the team we most desperately wanted to beat. Melrose set the benchmark in Scottish club rugby, and would go on to repeat the feats of Hawick who had dominated the championship in the Seventies and early Eighties. Well marshalled by their inspirational coach Jim Telfer, they were aggressive and relentless up front and had halfbacks who knew how to control a game. One of those half-backs was Scotland standoff Craig Chalmers, who had played for the Lions and won a Grand Slam in the previous eighteen months. I was due to face him on his home turf in only my second game for Gala.
Against the odds, we defeated the reigning champions 19–15 in a game that was much more open than it had been at Stirling. I had a pretty mixed game, making some good breaks but also missing tackles and struggling with my restarts. I once read in a coaching manual that the biggest room in the house was the room for improvement and that definitely applied to my game – I knew I had many things to work on. That was why I had already decided I would return to play for the school team the following weekend. I thought it would be a better way to work on my basic skills, as well as offering a chance to finally win the Scottish Cup after two Final defeats in a row.
Later, some said that my return to schoolboy rugby had been bad for my game. They said that as I had continued to dominate games bad habits had developed. For years I would have argued with this sentiment. I worked very hard on my kicking and passing under the expert eye of Rob Moffat, often spending lunch hours during the week out on the pitch. I also achieved my goal of captaining the Scottish Schools team and leading Gala Academy – finally – to a Scottish Cup success. However, my form a year later, when I became established in the Gala side, was not as good as I expected. Part of the reason was a frustration borne from being unable to find holes as easily as I had done at Under-18 level. Throughout my career I have always felt my game has improved every time I’ve had to make a step-up to a better standard of rugby, but it wasn’t immediately obvious that I had made real progress in my first season of senior rugby. Although my last season at school was very enjoyable, maybe I should have decided to stay with Gala after the win at Melrose.
Near the end of the season, I managed to play the odd game for the club and made it into the side for the 100th Gala Sevens, which attracted international teams such as Canada and Fiji. Despite incessant rain, thousands turned out at Netherdale and they were treated to a wonderful exhibition of sevens rugby from the South Sea Islanders. The annual sevens season in the Borders is the region’s rugby heartbeat, and the five spring tournaments are still an established part of Borders life. The abbreviated form of the game was the brainchild of Ned Haig, a butcher from Melrose, where the first ever sevens tournament took place in 1883. Melrose Sevens today draws crowds of up to 15,000 and it was a pity and a mistake that the SRU did not give the town the right to host the Scotland leg of the IRB Sevens circuit.
The 1991/92 season – my first full season with Gala – was delayed because of the Rugby World Cup. This coincided with my first weeks at Edinburgh University where I’d enrolled to study history and politics. The season started well as we got our revenge on Stirling, winning 31–9. I made a break that led to a try and featured Kenny Logan falling for an outrageous dummy that was shown on the BBC’s Rugby Special as part of their intro for the next few years, much to Kenny’s irritation. Gala were undefeated going into December as we prepared for the biggest game of the season, at home to Melrose. This was one of two matches in a month that got me a reputation for being brilliant one minute, lousy the next.
It was a bitterly cold day and the pitch was barely playable from an overnight frost. This hadn’t deterred 5,000 supporters turning up at Netherdale. Melrose made a dream start to the contest, galloping away to a 28–3 lead after only twenty minutes. Apart from a try from their hooker Steve Scott, the other three Melrose scores all came from mistakes by yours truly. I learned some harsh lessons as a bout of nervousness led to two fumbles and a loose pass. A paralysing feeling had enveloped me but I came back to score a cracking try late in the first half. We lost 28–16 and, although I was devastated by the start I had made, I knew that once I had recovered my composure I had played really well. James Joyce once remarked that mistakes are the portals of discovery – I discovered that day that temperament is a key factor in achieving sporting success.
I thought that the Melrose game might have dampened down the expectations that had been building up around my play, but less than two weeks later and after only three months of senior rugby, I was selected to play for Scotland ‘B’ against Ireland. At eighteen years old, I was set to become the youngest ever B cap. I spent a week giving press interviews and being photographed for the Scottish papers. I remember one dodgy photo I had to have taken with my dad, which for some strange reason involved us both cleaning my golf clubs.
An article appeared in the Daily Telegraph that had the headline ‘Scot set to rival Barry John’. It quoted John Jeffrey as saying I was Scotland’s ‘outstanding hope for the future’. The Telegraph had even managed to get in touch with Barry John himself: ‘I have only seen him on video and heard rumours. Although I wouldn’t want to burden the boy with unnecessary expectations, there is clearly no limit to what he might achieve.’ While flattering, I found it daft and I believed that it was both a reflection of the state of the game (which at the time was dominated by kicking) as well as a lack of rugby stories since the end of the World Cup.
It was nice to hear illustrious people say such things, but all I wanted to do was play and improve – expectations weren’t in my control. There’s a quote from Henry Ford that you can’t build a reputation on what you are going to do. I wanted to be judged on how I was performing in the present, not on whatever potential I had. All I could do was remind people that I hadn’t done anything to justify this talk, remind them of my mistakes; and together with the media I helped build up my image of being ‘prone to errors’. The irony is that I spent the last few years of my career trying to tell them I wasn’t prone to errors after all.
For the B international we stayed in Edinburgh’s opulent Balmoral Hotel, which was in a different world to the room I had been given that year in the university halls of residence in the same city. My room was G1 – something I wouldn’t forget in a hurry. G1 meant the first room on the ground floor, situated next to the main entrance of the halls. This frequently meant I’d get a restless sleep as drunken students arrived back at various times through the night talking loudly or singing. This wasn’t as bad, though, as the times I would hear a knock on my window, followed by the request, ‘Could you open the main door? Sorry, I’ve forgotten my key.’ It drove me mad. I lapped up the luxury of the Balmoral and felt that this was a much better way to prepare for a game.
A few of the Scotland team were congregating in the hotel lobby as I wandered about after dinner.
‘Toony, you want to come for a walk along Princes Street with us? It’s a tradition the night before a big match, and it’ll help you sleep later.’
One of the others suppressed a laugh at this, but I couldn’t see what the joke was. I agreed to join them for a leisurely walk. We were a group of around half-a-dozen, all from the Borders, which was comforting to me – not just the fact that I knew the other players, but in that I presumed that Borders rugby guys would know how to best prepare for a match.
After making it to the end of Princes Street we skirted by the Castle on our way to the Grassmarket. Up ahead, my Gala team-mate Gary Isaac shouted back to me, ‘We’re stopping at the next pub for a drink, before we turn back to the hotel. It’s just a lemonade – you coming with us?’
‘Of course’, I replied.
I didn’t want to walk back on my own and everyone else seemed keen to get into the pub, in fact they seemed to start walking more quickly than before.
We had walked up a hill at the end of the Grassmarket into darker territory. We stopped and were now facing three pubs, all of which did not look the most salubrious of establishments. What I later realized was that we had been drawn into Edinburgh’s ersatz red-light district – affectionately known by locals as the ‘pubic triangle’. This had not happened by coincidence. Within seconds of entering the bar, most of my teammates were seated next to the stage where a stripper was well into her routine.
Like any hormonal teenager finding himself surrounded by half-naked women, I was initially in a state of shock. I tried my best to relax, and after ten minutes it’s fair to say my mind was no longer on the fact that I was making my debut for Scotland B the following day. Just then the door to the bar swung open and in walked the three members of the Scotland management team. We had been busted and thoughts were running through my head that we’d be sent back to our clubs for a lack of professionalism. However, it turned out that the Scotland management had arrived not on a search and rescue mission, but clearly with more personal agendas. We quickly made our excuses and left, although we couldn’t shout to one of our team-mates at the other end of the bar. We left him stranded, beer in one hand, stripper in the other. Curiously, neither players nor management ever mentioned the incident again.
The next day I played a game that was almost the reverse of my performance for Gala against Melrose. On this occasion, I played some of my best rugby to date for the first sixty minutes. I don’t think I had ever kicked as long and as accurately, and my half-back partnership with Andy Nicol was going very well. However, just after the hour mark I committed an absolute howler, which saw the Irish take the lead for the first time.
From a scrum near the halfway line I called a pretty standard backline move called ‘Dummy rangi, rangi’. This may sound like something that is shouted at a toddler’s birthday party, but all it involved was that I ran across the field with my inside-centre dummying the outside centre before I finally gave the ball to the full-back on a scissors pass. However, for whatever reason, full-back Mark Appleson stayed out wide as I took off on my lateral run. In attempting to show him that he was supposed to be running towards me, I stuck out the ball in one hand. Irish centre Martin Ridge didn’t need a second invitation and stole the ball from my fingertips to run in unopposed from fifty yards. In hindsight, this was not my wisest career move to date. Just to rub salt in the wound, I dropped a ball close to my goal-line near the end of the game – another mistake which resulted in an Irish try. We lost the match 29–19.
Press cuttings now began to appear with words like ‘mercurial’ and ‘enigmatic’ used to describe my game. These were to stay with me for the rest of my career. After the disappointments of the Irish match I had the chance to bounce back immediately as I was selected at stand-off in the National Trial for the Reds (possibles) against the Blues (probables). We blitzed the shadow Scotland team, winning 27–18, and my performance exorcized a few of my Murrayfield demons. While I was probably still too raw to have any chance of being included in the Five Nations, it was now obvious that rugby had become an integral part of my life. And more than that, it was about to take me all over the world.
