Читать книгу Talk of the Toony: The Autobiography of Gregor Townsend - Gregor Townsend - Страница 9
ОглавлениеLife is far too important to take seriously.
Oscar Wilde
‘Benzo – Where are you?’
There was no response.
Grudgingly, I picked up the sledgehammer once again and looked at the wall in front of me. I could have done with some help, and I cursed my workmate, Benzo (Stuart Bennett), under my breath. Covered in a thick coat of sweat that only a humid Australian afternoon can generate, I tried to knock right through the wall. I failed miserably. After a few more whacks, I’d only made a small hole. We had been told that we’d be able to rip at the plasterboard once a gap appeared, so I dropped the sledgehammer and went at it with my hands. Eventually, I saw some daylight. I relaxed in the knowledge that it would be much easier work from now on.
Almost immediately, Benzo’s head appeared through the hole I’d made. I recoiled in shock and he burst out laughing. But it wasn’t him that had given me the fright. Instead, my acute alarm was down to the swarm of huge cockroaches pouring out of the new opening. Benzo was not smiling for long. This was the glamour of my first season playing abroad.
In the two years after leaving school, I discovered very quickly how richly rewarding a successful rugby career could be. These were the amateur days so there was no financial return, but opportunities abounded. Within this period rugby had taken me to Australia, Hong Kong, Fiji, Tonga, Samoa, France, Italy, Spain and Dubai. This was a time when enjoyment was almost as important as winning – an ethos that underpinned the amateur game. It was also when I made the most improvements to my play as I absorbed the lessons and benefits from what felt like an endless succession of amazing adventures – a rugby odyssey.
After the high of beating a Blues side led by Gavin Hastings at Murrayfield, I was selected once more for Scotland B, this time in Albi against the French. Despite losing 27–18, we competed well and my own game was solid and mercifully error-free. It had been the last chance for players outside the Five Nations squad to impress the selectors in an attempt to win a place on the summer tour to Australia. Although I was never really in the running to play for the senior team that spring, being a part of the Scottish Students squad for their Five Nations Championship was just as challenging – and much more fun!
John Rutherford coached the side – a bonus for me as ‘Rud’ was rightly regarded as the best number 10 Scotland had ever produced. He gave me little tips like how to kick into the wind, but the best thing for me was the fact I had a coach who was a former stand-off. I felt that we viewed the game from the same perspective, which helped me no end. It was also obvious that Rud’s temperament must have been a major reason he had performed so well at the highest level. I was starting to discover that being relaxed in pressure situations was a better way to succeed than getting so pumped that you tighten up. Rud was always very laid-back and an ideal coach for a team like the Students, who could be a wild bunch at times.
After losing to a strong England Students team, we went to Dublin for our second game of the tournament. As we had only met a few hours before the game the week before, we didn’t know how rigorous our match preparations would be before the Irish game. After our arrival, the captain, Graham McKee, announced to the squad that we would meet in the hotel bar to talk things through for the following day’s match. It seemed like we were taking a much more detailed approach to our preparations this time around.
Once the squad had assembled, McKee stressed to us the importance of beating the Irish: ‘Guys, we may have a talented squad but it’s no use if we can’t get a win tomorrow. I think I know how we might be able to do that.’
He had our attention.
Just then he turned round and nodded to the barman: ‘Two compulsory pints of Guinness for everyone!! No one is allowed to leave until they have finished them both.’
Such was the hedonistic atmosphere surrounding the Students Five Nations – bonding together was as important as training together. We didn’t take ourselves seriously at all, but we went out onto the pitch prepared to die for one another. Unfortunately, this sometimes wasn’t enough.
Going into the last five minutes of the match against Ireland, McKee asked the referee, Irishman John Cole, what the score was. He replied that we were trailing 21–19. The next time we got hold of the ball we broke through the Irish defence and scored. As a try was still only worth four points, we believed we were now leading 21–23. However, something didn’t seem right – both teams began kicking the ball into touch at any opportunity. Mr Cole had in fact got his sums wrong, as we had actually been 21–16 in arrears prior to our late score. Much to the puzzlement of the Irish, our front-row celebrated the score with ‘victory’ leaps that, in retrospect, must have looked distinctly out of place.
The following afternoon I stood on the terracing at Lansdowne Road with the thousands of other travelling Scots, thankful for the many hip-flasks of whisky that were being passed around to keep us warm. It was great to play a form of international rugby and then experience the real thing the next day from a supporters’ point of view. There weren’t many better sporting occasions in the world than a Five Nations weekend in Dublin.
Our match against the Welsh had been yet another narrow loss, this time played in driving rain at Llanelli’s Stradey Park. We soon forgot about the result. At the after-match dinner, just as things were starting to get out of control, one of the Welsh players announced it was a tradition at Llanelli to get hit over the head with a metal beer tray. Phil May, the ex-Llanelli and Wales second row shouted in agreement and picked up a tray and whacked one of the Welsh players. He then turned to us and said someone had to do the same to him. For whatever reason, I was unanimously voted as being that someone.
Tentatively I took the beer tray and gently tapped Phil May’s bald head. My feeble effort was met by howls of derision and I was urged to do it again – this time with feeling. I didn’t hold back, hitting Phil May so hard that the metal tray was bent in two. I was worried for a moment that I might get a punch from the big man; instead he slapped my back saying, ‘Well done – you’re next!’
The resulting sore head was alleviated an hour later by one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen throughout my rugby career. We had headed back to Swansea, where we were staying, and got dressed up in our kilts before going out on the town. As we arrived in the town centre, there were a number of people shouting at us to lift up our kilts. One car had stopped at the traffic lights, and a group of girls had rolled down the window, urging us to show them if we really were ‘true Scotsmen’. Our prop, Stuart Paul, did the honours, lifting up his kilt and ‘mooning’ to them. This wasn’t enough for one of the girls who asked for a closer look. Stuart obliged and tried to place himself on the front windscreen. We all watched in disbelief as his bodyweight suddenly proved to be too much for the car – the windscreen caved in. Managing not to fall into the car himself he joined the rest of us who were by then already running as fast as we could to seek shelter in a pub. We didn’t stop laughing all night. I can only imagine what the girls felt like to see a kilted Scotsman’s hairy arse coming towards them at close range!
Following the Five Nations, I received the good news that I’d been selected to tour with Scotland to Australia. I also had a rather more unexpected phone call from the Irish Wolfhounds asking if I’d be available to play for them in the Hong Kong Sevens. I was eighteen years old and was being asked to play a lot of rugby, probably too much. I had just played for the Students and Scotland Under-21s and was all set to play sevens for Gala. However, I enjoyed playing so much that I found it hard to say no. An opportunity to play in Hong Kong was too good to turn down.
I had been drafted into the Wolfhounds side as a replacement for Stephen Bachop, who had played stand-off for Western Samoa in the World Cup the year before. I had apparently impressed the manager during the students international in Dublin. What I didn’t realize when I met up with the squad was that our time in Hong Kong would be just like an extension of a weekend’s partying with the Scottish Students. There were some great characters like Dave Beggy, Paddy Johns and Jonny Garth on that trip and it was certainly an eye-opener for myself and another draftee, young Irish winger Niall Woods. During our week together, the only time we didn’t go out to bars like ‘Joe Bananas’ and the ‘Bull and Bear’ was the night before the opening day of the tournament. Not surprisingly, we failed to qualify for the quarter-finals of the main competition, losing the pool decider against France.
We didn’t fare that much better in the Plate, going out in the semi-finals to Tonga. This was more disappointing than our defeat to the French, as winning the Plate had been a realistic goal. However, by that stage a tropical storm had made it a much more level – and extremely muddy – playing field. When the storm hit, it hit hard. Torrents of water sluiced through the stands, turning the grounds into a swamp. I looked on in amazement and admiration as Fiji sailed through the tournament, seemingly unaffected by the mud and rain. They went through their full repertoire of skills in the most horrendous conditions, just like they had done at the Gala Sevens the previous year. Even New Zealand, whom they met in the final, were left chasing shadows as Waisale Serevi and player of the tournament Mesake Rasari dominated proceedings.
I knew the Scotland tour to Australia would be much more professional – anything led by David Sole had to be. Sole had been Scotland’s Grand Slam winning captain two years before, famously leading the side out against England at Murrayfield. I got to witness both the intense and inspirational sides to his character, in what proved to be the final time he wore the dark blue jersey.
Early on in the tour I was Sole’s room-mate. Being amongst members of the 1990 Grand Slam team was a daunting experience at the best of times – a bit like being a pupil asked to spend some time in the staff room with a group of teachers. They gave the impression of possessing amounts of self-confidence I could only dream about. Sole also appeared to have something about him that gave him automatic authority; an almost eerie, potentially crazed nature. He could have been well cast ahead of Jack Nicholson in The Shining. I had seen him snap at one of the players for turning up late on one occasion, so I decided to keep out of his way and try to be early to meetings for a change.
Sole’s performance as a substitute in our third game of the tour against Emerging Wallabies in Hobart left everyone in awe. It also inspired the team to come back from 4–24 to draw the match 24–24. He was magnificent – it was one of those moments when you feel privileged to be on the same pitch as a true rugby legend. What made it all the more special was that Sole, normally a loose head prop, came off the bench to play at openside flanker. He took the game to the opposition at every opportunity, continually cajoling us to do better, and on one occasion lifting the huge second-row, Garrick Morgan, clean off his feet in a tackle that saved a certain try. The second half also coincided with an upturn in my form.
We had lost our opening match in Darwin by a point to a Northern Territory Invitation XV. Although the weather was stiflingly hot and the opposition had brought in some quality guest players, my disappointing kicking performance had much to do with our subsequent defeat. Things continued in the same vein for me in Hobart until we began our comeback. However, my final two games on tour were much better and I ended up winning the man-of-the-match award in my last outing against Queensland Country. While it was pleasing to improve each time I played, I knew there would be many people who thought I would never be able to control an international match from stand-off. Otherwise, my first Scotland tour had been a blast.
I struck up great friendships with Derek Stark, Ian Smith, Sean Lineen and Tony Stanger and I discovered that touring with Scotland wasn’t all hard work. The squad seemed to be very conspiratorial and keen to have fun together. We had a couple of ‘kangaroo court sessions’ during our month in Australia – this was basically a variety of ways to get drunk as quickly as possible. After two weeks we realized that having to drink large amounts of Bundaberg Rum was a sure-fire, one-way-ticket to oblivion. It was used as a punishment for those misbehaving while the court was in session. No one escaped from having to consume a shed-load of alcohol. Firsttime tourists, points scorers, those that had done something stupid that week, those that hadn’t – everyone was called upon to empty their glasses.
Saturday matches were usually followed by a ‘happy hour’ back at the hotel. This was a chance for us to play drinking games. It sorted out the weak – guys like me – from those experienced at this type of thing. It also got us prepared for our night out – a compulsory activity for those who had played that day. ‘Work hard, play hard’ seemed to be an unwritten rule on tour.
Another rule was that of ‘Dirt Tracking’. This happened the night before a match and involved those players who weren’t in the squad for the following day’s game. The theory was that they were to find out which bars and clubs were the best for everyone to visit the next night. What everyone really wanted was for the players to get wasted so there would be a few stories to tell at the ‘happy hour’ the next evening. Incredibly, the management at the time sanctioned this. In fact, the team manager paid for a meal with the ‘Dirt Trackers’ to get them started on their way. What with going out with the midweek team after our matches, I think I was drunk at least three times a week in Australia. At times amateur rugby wasn’t good for your liver!
I think I was a bit of an enigma to the older guys – I combined some daft things like attempting to wash my clothes in a tumble dryer, and trying to keep up with my studies by reading books such as Plato’s Last Days of Socrates. I was the nonchalant, disorganized student and I soon had a reputation for always being the last person to turn up at meetings. While most people called me ‘Toony’, I was renamed ‘Hint-End’ by Tony Stanger on tour. ‘Hint-End’ is Scottish for ‘tail-end’, which was usually where I was – wandering around with my head in the clouds. I didn’t really mind my tag as it gave me an identity. I played up to the stereotype even though it insinuated that I was immature and unreliable. Being known as something was better than being ignored, even if it was a negative. I realized that others laughing at your expense seemed a sure-fire way to be popular within a rugby squad. I helped this no end by my efforts at horse riding.
We spent a day at a ranch out in the bush, enjoying an Aussie ‘barbie’ and getting to ride around on quad bikes. There were a few guys riding horses and I was asked if I wanted to join in. I had never ridden a horse before, but this only seemed to encourage my team-mates who wanted to see me at least have a go.
I didn’t have a clue what to do and I naively thought the horse would just trot around at a leisurely pace. However, within seconds my horse had started to pick up some speed. My feet had come out of the stirrups and I lost hold of the reins. I was clinging on to the saddle and feeling very uncomfortable. For some insane reason I thought giving the horse a kick would act as a brake. As you can imagine, the opposite happened. The horse was in complete control and heading fast for a boundary fence. I decided to jump off.
It was a long way to the ground and I crashed down onto the dirt. I was very sore but hadn’t broken any bones. Through the dust, I could see my team-mates were hysterical with laughter. Well at least it had been funny for someone. If I had any thoughts about getting back on the horse they were quickly dispelled as my eyes and face started to swell up. The tour doctor then informed me I had an allergy to horses. At that moment I hoped I had got all the bad luck out of my system, as the following day we were due to go bungee jumping.
Next stop on my world tour was Italy. Number 8 Carl Hogg and myself had agreed to be available for the Students World Cup, even though we had both just toured with Scotland in Australia. It had already been a long season and we only had three days’ rest at home before leaving for Italy, but we felt it would be worth it. The coaches, David Bell and John Rutherford, had reassured us that we would be used sparingly in matches and could lounge by the pool instead of training. As it turned out, we trained every day and we were two of only three players to play every minute of every game.
I would describe us as a rabble with good intentions. Although our squad was similar to a Scotland 3rd XV in terms of quality, the SRU only provided £10,000 of the total £30,000 costs. This meant that players had to pay £250 each for representing their country. France, on the other hand, ranked their Students behind only the senior national team in their priorities. Our shoestring budget provided us with the scariest plane journey I’ve experienced and some very basic accommodation once we got to our Italian base in Arenzano, a seaside town an hour from Genoa.
Despite a ramshackle and chaotic beginning, we bonded as a group and went on to play some great rugby. We qualified for the last eight as runners-up, having lost to a strong French side that included the likes of Fabien Pelous, Thierry Lacroix and Olivier Brouzet. Although we had been leading them after the break, their experience told and it was no surprise to see them go on and win the tournament. I think we had won their respect, though, and we had a good time with them afterwards in the bar. Our players couldn’t believe their luck the next day when the French turned up at our hotel and handed us some of their stylish Eden Park kit in exchange for some of our gear. They must have felt sorry for us – our T-shirts wouldn’t have looked out of place at a primary school gym class.
The subsequent draw for the quarter-finals gave our management a few headaches. The matches were to be played over two days the following weekend, although we only had enough money to stay in our hotel until the Sunday morning. We put in a request to have our game against Argentina brought forward to the Saturday but the opposition refused, citing the need for an extra day’s rest. It was an embarrassing situation but didn’t ultimately affect our preparations. Mind you, I remember the look of disgust the hotel manager gave us as we stayed an extra night on credit.
We put in a valiant effort against the Argentines, who had a huge pack and looked like they had a lot of postgraduates in their team. The French squad had turned up to support us and sang ‘Flower of Scotland’ as best they could from the stands. We were very much in the game and the final result – a 29–18 defeat – was down to their superior scrummaging and a costly mistake by me. I was close to running on empty by the second half as too many matches that season – my first season of senior rugby – had finally caught up with me. A charged-down kick gifted Argentina six points at a crucial stage of the match and left me distraught – not for the first time that year. I was glad the summer break was on the horizon.
I spent my time working as a plasterer’s labourer in Gala and trying to get on top of my studies. I had been forced to put back my exams until September having been in Australia when I was originally due to take them. Being a model student at Edinburgh University didn’t really fit with my efforts at furthering my rugby career. There were many times I would have to miss lectures and tutorials, but I had deliberately chosen a subject – history and politics – that wasn’t too intensive in the hope that I would have free time to catch up and also fit in some extra fitness and weight training.
University had a similar raison d’être as amateur rugby – enjoyment. I’ve heard university described as a holiday of indulgence, which is hard to deny. I suddenly found myself free to drift, happily suspended from the real world. It was no wonder I became known for having my head in the clouds. Spending an hour discussing the American mid-term elections or listening to a lecture on seventeenth-century Scottish history was a delight and if rugby had turned professional five years earlier, I would have missed it terribly.
As well as a sense of freedom, I enjoyed the anonymity of university life. Strolling through the Edinburgh’s Meadows on the way to a lecture with hundreds of fellow students was a pleasant departure from the expectations and pressures of trying to break into the Scotland team. I remember lining up for the national anthems at Lansdowne Road two years later and being distracted by someone trying to wave at me. I looked around and saw a guy who was in my political theory tutorial. His face was a picture of utter disbelief – he hadn’t a clue that I was a Scotland rugby player.
I became less anonymous when I was presented with a sponsored car from a garage in the Borders. My name was emblazoned on both sides and I used to dread parking it in case anyone noticed me. Years later, Duncan Hodge, a top bloke who also played stand-off for Scotland, admitted to me that his student mates used to try and find my car after a night out and then urinate over each of the door handles. I suppose I had been asking for it.
The following season I was quickly back in the groove with Gala, enjoying an excellent run of games. However, we blew our chances of winning the championship on the penultimate week of the season. We were only a point behind Melrose with two games to go, the first of which was away to already-relegated Dundee. Our final fixture was a home match against Melrose and all the talk in the Borders was about what a fantastic climax to the season it would be – almost like a play-off for the title. There was predicted to be a record crowd at Netherdale and I think we got carried away with it all when our focus really should have been on first beating Dundee. I remember talking with the Gala players on the bus to Dundee about moves that might work well against the Melrose backline. We were far too complacent against a fired-up home team and lost the match by a point. It always brings a smile to Andy Nicol’s face – the Dundee captain that day – when I remind him that it was the biggest disappointment of my time playing for Gala.
That season also saw me move position for the first time in my career, as I was picked at outside-centre for the South in the Inter-District championship and also for Scotland ‘A’ in a one-off match against Spain in Madrid. I continued to run at stand-off for Gala, but there was now a lot of speculation that I might get a start in the number 13 jersey for that season’s Five Nations. As Sean Lineen had recently retired, pundits predicted that the Scottish midfield would include either Graham Shiel or myself at centre to play alongside established backs Craig Chalmers and Scott Hastings.
The selectors showed their intentions with the team they picked to play Italy in December. It was Gavin Hastings’ first game as Scotland captain, although caps were not awarded for the fixture. I was chosen as outside-centre, partnering Scott Hastings in the midfield. Duncan Paterson, the team manager, said that the five debutants were very unlucky not to be winning their first caps. Scotland, like other countries at the time, still deemed Italy not to be of a standard worthy of awarding Test-match status.
Although we just sneaked a 22–17 win over the fast-improving Italians, I’d felt reasonably comfortable and was getting increasingly used to playing at 13. There were only two more games before Scotland’s opening Five Nations match against Ireland and I was given two further opportunities to play at centre. First up was an A international against Ireland and then the National trial. This time I was picked to play for the Blues (probables). Unfortunately the timing of my first real rugby injury couldn’t have been any worse as I tore my medial knee ligament after only twenty minutes. It was only a minor tear, but it was enough to keep me out of action for three weeks, consequently missing the Irish match. Even the help of a machine used to heal horses’ joints couldn’t reduce the recovery time. After Scotland won their opening game, Graham Shiel held onto his place in the centre and I had to be content with sitting on the bench for the remaining three matches.
By the time of our final match, away to England, I was resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t be winning my first cap that season. At the time, replacements could only come onto the field for an injured player. As no one in their right mind would want to quit a Test match unless it was a serious injury, we didn’t even bother leaving our seats during play. All the subs were aware that if any player suffered a bad injury our team doctor, James Robson, would throw a towel onto the ground – these were the days before the medics had a radio link with the coaching staff. After twenty minutes of the game, Craig Chalmers was being treated for an injury and I got told to do the obligatory warm-up just in case. I thought this was unlikely as Craig usually got up with a shake of the head and carried on playing.
I was on my way down to the touchline when I saw the doctor’s towel being lobbed onto the field. The blood started to drain from my body and I became as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. What made me even less comfortable was what coach Ian McGeechan then told me. He said that I was to go on at inside-centre, a position I had never played before, with Graham Shiel, who had been at inside-centre all season, moving to stand-off. I didn’t have time to feel disappointed about this bizarre and unexpected decision but the little confidence I had in reserve now evaporated. I did the necessary stretches as I waited for Craig Chalmers to be carried from the field. I couldn’t help looking up at the huge stands opposite, which didn’t do much to console me. I also started thinking of friends and family watching the game on television. My focus certainly wasn’t on playing inside-centre against quality opponents like Will Carling and Jeremy Guscott.
The first ten minutes were a blur – I ran about in a daze unable to control my movements, and certainly not any movements associated with tackling. This was no doubt due to trying to work out what to do at inside-centre and also due to an element of being self-conscious in front of 70,000 people. It was as if I was running around with my eyes closed. Unfortunately, the opposition ran towards me on a couple of occasions with the ball. It really seemed like I couldn’t remember how to tackle and I was as effective at stopping them as a speed bump is at stopping a car.
Martin Bayfield was one of two players who ran through me and when I later joined him to play at Northampton he thanked me for my efforts in getting him selected for the Lions Tour in 1993. In fact there is a photo from the match in the clubrooms at Northampton of me poised to tackle him. Luckily the photo wasn’t half a second later as ‘Bayfs’ strode on to make what was undoubtedly his longest break of his international career.
If Geech had been thinking of the players that might become Scotland regulars, I’m sure he must have already put a line through my name. However, I got my act together after twenty minutes and by the second half I was desperate for the ball, enjoying the atmosphere instead of being intimidated by it. England had hit a purple patch where they ran us a bit ragged, but we were much more competitive after this. Considering our midfield after Scott Hastings went off injured was Graham Shiel at stand-off, myself at inside-centre and Tony Stanger at outside – all three of us playing out of position – we had done well to keep the score down to 26–12.
We drowned our sorrows at the after-match dinner – an event that seeks to destroy those that have just won their first cap. A tradition at the time was that new caps had to finish whatever was in their glass each time someone came over to them with a drink. Predictably, this happened quite frequently. To make matters worse, I was forced to drink port because the red wine on the table wasn’t deemed strong enough. I soon became very drunk, and was back in my hotel room with my head in the toilet before midnight. Mind you, I fared better than when lock Ian Fullarton won his first cap in New Zealand in 2000. He didn’t even make it to the toilet and has the memory to tell his grandchildren that he was sick all over the shoes of Jonah Lomu, who had been sitting beside him.
In the midst of trying to win my first cap, I had been involved in the build-up to the inaugural World Cup Sevens. In November, I was part of the Scotland team that went to Dubai and shocked everyone by winning the tournament. There were maybe only a handful of international sides present, but we had beaten France, Queensland, Natal and England along the way. The setting was as far removed as it was possible to be from anything we could have experienced back home in Scotland – we played in extreme heat and the pitch consisted of tightly packed sand. I had imagined that playing rugby on sand would be much the same as running on a beach, but this was very different and very painful. It was as if a thin layer of sand had been put on top of concrete and even though we wore knee and elbow pads, we still ended up having our skin lacerated every time we hit the ground.
Two days after my first cap at Twickenham the next leg of our sevens preparations took me to Australia, Fiji and Hong Kong. Known at the time as the ‘debacle’, the best we achieved in the three tournaments was a quarter-final appearance in Hong Kong against Western Samoa, the eventual winners. Our win in Dubai, where we had mixed a kick-and-chase game with traditional Borders sevens rugby, had led us down a cul-de-sac. Sevens rugby was evolving very fast and the best exponents were those that had a physical edge to their play. We had opted for stamina over explosiveness and weren’t in the same league as the leading nations. Samoa’s performance in Hong Kong and later England’s triumph at Murrayfield demonstrated that the abbreviated game was now all about power. Despite our poor results and some punishing bouts of endurance training, the sevens tour was very enjoyable – we only had a squad of ten players and we became quite a close-knit group. Also, our time in Fiji was terrific, as none of us had experienced anything like it before.
As soon as we had boarded the bus at Nadi airport and on the three-hour trip south to the Fijian capital Suva, we saw people playing rugby wherever we went. Usually in bare feet, in fields sometimes having to dodge past trees, Fijians were out throwing a ball around. There can’t be another country in the world where rugby is so popular. On the morning of the tournament, all the teams were driven in open-top buses through the streets of Suva. The parade brought out thousands of exited locals, many of whom mobbed our bus, but their interest wasn’t in any of the players. Our assistant coach, John Jeffrey (‘JJ’), got the locals very animated and we could hear them saying excitedly ‘White Shark’ over and over to each other.
The Fiji tournament was another disappointment as we failed to qualify from our group – just like the previous week in Australia. However, the skill on show from the local village sides was amazing. Six out of the eight quarter-finalists were Fijian – having consigned Australia, the All Blacks and us to the Plate competition. That the Fijian national team turned out to be the eventual winners was solely due to the presence in their team of one man – Waisale Serevi.
I had always wanted to call my first born after my favourite rugby player. David Campese was my rugby idol for years but by 1993 the two potential options were Zinzan or Waisale. I don’t think I would have persuaded my future wife with either of these choices. Waisale Serevi, known as ‘the wizard’ by his team-mates when he later played for Leicester, was the instigator of the Fijian wonder try of the 1990 Hong Kong Sevens which is one of my all-time favourite sporting moments. Under pressure from a strong All Black defence, Serevi took a low pass and instinctively passed it between his legs to Noa Nadruku who, as he was being tackled, flicked it on to the captain Tomasi Cama. Cama then sprinted fifty yards – hitch-kicking all the way – to score the tournament-clinching try. Serevi was a magician and I had seen him close-up in the 1991 Gala Sevens and the 1992 Hong Kong Sevens where he danced through the mud to win yet another sevens trophy for Fiji.
While in Fiji, I think I had bored my team-mates senseless eulogizing about Serevi. I felt it was justified when he proceeded to produce a master class of sevens rugby on the final day of the competition. Unknown to me, JJ had spoken to Serevi and told him that I was his biggest fan. So, between them they decided to have some fun at my expense. As I was watching one of the ties I got a tap on my shoulder from none other than Waisale T. Serevi.
‘Hello Gregor. Can I have your autograph?’
‘Well, y-y-yes. Erm, of course.’
Although somewhat surprised, I thought I couldn’t turn him down and it wasn’t until I started to sign my name that I noticed JJ laughing with the rest of the team. I’d been stitched up.
In Fiji, the rugby-mad public treated Serevi like royalty. He was married the weekend before we arrived in the country, and the national paper devoted almost all of its pages to cover the event. I remember a local rugby supporter raving about Serevi and a try he had scored at a recent sevens tournament. It involved him flicking up the ball with his feet as two defenders were chasing him. I wish I had seen it.
It was probably with this in mind that I tried to do something similarly outrageous in the World Cup Sevens that were held at Murrayfield in March. As I went back to cover a kick that had been put in behind our defence I could sense that there was an Argentine player very close to me so, instead of diving on the ball, where I would inevitably be tackled as I tried to get back on my feet, I chose the element of surprise and back-heeled the ball past the oncoming defender. With Serevi as my inspiration I had tried the most unlikely of options and it had worked. Unfortunately as I was in the process of picking up the ball, I got smashed by another Argentine player.
The back-heel was to be my only good memory from the World Cup as I suffered the ignominy of being dropped. I watched the action from the bench for the next two days and it was obvious that our three-week tour had drained our energy levels and belief. Although I wouldn’t have said so at the time, being a replacement was probably no bad thing as Scotland ended up in a dismal eighteenth place.
A number of players who had taken part in our many squad sessions and the three-week tour had since been dropped or were out injured. The attrition rate had been horrendous, and for those left standing, there was little left in the tank. Just to rub salt into the wound, England were crowned world champions after having decided not to enter any other sevens event. Their lack of any meaningful preparation had left them fresh to play a high-octane brand of power sevens. We had reached the end of the road a long time before.
I remember chatting to Tony Stanger prior to the tournament about injuries – he had hamstring problems and missed the World Cup while I was struggling with a groin strain. But I couldn’t resist carrying on playing and I made myself available for the Scotland tour to the South Seas at the end of the season. Although we were due to play the Test sides of Fiji, Tonga and Samoa, the SRU deemed that no caps would be awarded. The reasoning was understandable – with the Lions touring New Zealand and a spate of injuries, just three players in our tour party had played during the Five Nations.
Travelling in the South Pacific was a peculiar experience. The 180th meridian of longitude, which indicates where the western hemisphere comes to an end, passes through the Fijian island of Taveuni. Situated some 400 miles to the east is Tonga. However, the King of Tonga – more of whom later decreed that, geography notwithstanding, the 180th meridian would be stretched eastwards to embrace his kingdom and thus enable Tongan time to be thirteen hours ahead of GMT instead of eleven hours behind it. This meant that the Tongan people would be the first in the world to greet the new day, but caused us no little confusion as we toured the South Sea Islands. On one occasion, we boarded a one-hour flight from Tonga on a Tuesday night and arrived in Samoa – our destination – on the Monday night. Robin Charters, our jovial president quipped, ‘I haven’t had a drink since tomorrow!’
As with the West Indies and cricket, so with the Pacific Islands and rugby. Rugby – union and league – suits Polynesians, who enjoy the physical challenge. They thrive on making big tackles and running with the ball in hand. In addition, they tend to have oodles of flair and daring. Fiji have dominated sevens rugby for the last two decades and we’ve seen at a number of World Cups how good Samoan rugby is. This is achieved with little help for creating a professional structure in any of the three countries. Samoa once played in the Super 10 competition – a forerunner of the Super 14 – but have been largely ignored ever since the game went professional. It is a disgrace that the All Blacks have never played a Test match in Tonga or Samoa, but are quite happy to fly around the world for revenue-generating games at Twickenham. If rugby really has ambitions of being a global game then it must stop snubbing the Pacific Islands – and Argentina for that matter – and include them in international tournaments such as the Tri-Nations or the Super 14.
Being dropped seemed to be becoming a habit, as I didn’t make the starting line-up for our First Test match against Fiji. My performance in the opening game of the tour was patchy and my kicking was all over the place, despite us winning 51–3 against Fiji juniors. I thought the coaches might have taken into account the fact that I hadn’t started a fifteen-aside match for over three months and was understandably rusty. My battered confidence needed games, and I hoped I could play myself back to form. Certainly, I knew I had lost an edge to my game – a spot of soul-searching was inevitable.
I felt I was being forced to grow up too quickly and began having second thoughts about what direction my life was taking. With questions being raised about my future as a stand-off, I felt a long way from home. Coach Richie Dixon tried his best to put me at ease with the comment: ‘Gregor, we have belief in you and I know you’ll soon be back playing well. You’ve got to concentrate on playing your natural game – that’s when you’re at your best.’ This was a great help – although waiting a week on tour for a chance to prove yourself is a long time, especially in a barren place like Tonga where we were staying in the island’s only hotel. I knew my next game against a Tongan President’s XV, bolstered by many of their Test side, wasn’t going to be criticized for a lack of desire or concentration. I was determined to bounce back.
The match still ranks as one of the hardest games in my career, both in terms of the pressure to perform and in having to face such hard-tackling opposition. We were all wearing elbow and knee pads as in Dubai – this time because the grass pitch felt as hard as an airport runway. The Tongans were incredibly physical in the tackle, sometimes even if you had already passed the ball seconds before. We were fiercely competitive ourselves and battled to a 21–5 victory. I scored sixteen points (which included a try) and my confidence was restored. I remember calling my parents later from the hotel – I think we all felt relief and joy that I’d come through my toughest examination to date as a fledgling international.
I had always felt that I just needed another chance to show what I could do, and that I was capable of getting rid of the errors in my game from the previous week. But I knew deep down that this was a turning point in my career. I was determined to kick on from here. I had decided that I wasn’t going to pay heed to those who advised me to rest in the summer. Coaches, the medical staff and even some players had been questioning the wisdom of my intention to go and play club rugby in Australia after the tour, especially given my continuing groin pain, but the last month convinced me to leave Scotland and learn rugby away from perceived opinions. It was also a place where I knew I could play attacking rugby. Having won back my confidence, I couldn’t wait to play more rugby. I finished the tour in good form.
I was recalled to the Test side and we went on to beat Tonga 23–5. It was a much less intense match than that in midweek, and I think the experience of meeting royalty before the game may have slightly altered our focus. The seventy-five-year-old King Taufa’ahau Tupou IV (an absolute monarch who had been in power since 1965) was seated on a makeshift throne up in the main stand of the national stadium in Nuku’alofa, Tonga’s capital. The King wasn’t only famous for his longevity, but also his waist size. He had previously made international headlines when he entered the Guinness Book of Records as the world’s heaviest monarch, tipping the scales at a staggering thirty-three stone. We were made to walk up the steps to the King to shake his hand before the game could begin. For some strange reason he was wearing a motorcycle helmet – it was as if we had slipped into some surreal parallel world.
Tonga consists of 170 islands, but its population – at 100,000 – is less than that of the Borders. The locals seemed much more aloof than the ever-smiling Fijians, and there were times when they looked like real warriors surveying the enemy as they watched us walking about. This might have had something to do with the garish tour outfit we had been issued with: knee-length royal blue socks complemented grey shorts, white shirt and a royal blue blazer – it’s no wonder that the Tongans looked like they wanted to kill us!
Before we left for our final destination – Western Samoa – a few of the squad were asked to lead a training session at the former school of Australian backrower Willie Ofahengaue. They wanted to know what sequences to run from lineouts, so we showed them how to get quick off-the-top ball out to the stand-off. We explained that this was the easiest way to get a strike runner over the advantage line. Then I gave a flat ball to inside-centre Ian Jardine who was running at half-pace, trying to show the Tongan lads the best angle to attack the opposition line. Out of nowhere a fourteen-year-old schoolboy poleaxed him with a chest-high tackle. Jardie, struggling to get back to his feet, congratulated the lad on his defence and added that it wasn’t necessary to put in tackles against us. It was a reminder to never to let down your guard while in Tongan rugby circles.
Samoa – a tropical paradise – was my favourite destination. The people seemed to be somewhere in between those we’d met in Fiji and Tonga – friendly and welcoming but taking no prisoners on the rugby field. We lost the Test 28–11 but this was by no means a disgrace. After all, this was the same group of players that had made the World Cup quarter-final two years before and included future All Blacks Alama Ieremia and Junior Tonu’u in their line-up. In temperatures reaching 36°C – so hot in fact that before the game we had to move from the touchline into a shaded area to sing ‘Flower of Scotland’ – Samoa were too strong for our development side. A month later they pushed the All Blacks all the way, eventually losing 35–13 in Auckland.
Having just turned twenty, I had experienced a lot in two years of senior rugby, but it was being suggested in some quarters that my rugby career was faltering and that my game was characterized by errors. Learning over the summer could only help me improve – and doing it outside Scotland was likely to make it more pleasurable. A year previously I had wanted to stay out in Australia after the Scotland tour to play club rugby, but was forced to return to compete in the Students World Cup. Tony Stanger had turned out for Warringah and it was through him that I had established contacts to join up with the Sydney-based team for a three-month stint.
Going to Warringah wasn’t just an opportunity to improve my rugby experience – it was also a chance for me to grow up on my own terms. Only 25 km away from the city, on Sydney’s northern coast, Warringah Rugby Club is close to many magnificent beaches and headlands. The club captain, Rob Blyth, and his wife Leanne provided me with a room in their house alongside the Kelso flanker Stuart Bennett. From Borders farming stock, Benzo kept his side of the room as tidy as a neglected pigsty, and our living space inevitably began to attract cockroaches and spiders as big as your hand. Benzo played really well for the club and gained respect for his combative approach. He was different to Aussie backrowers at the time in that he played the game much closer to the ground. He was always first to a loose ball and was much better than them at clearing rucks. Up against more physical players, managing to break into the Warringah first-grade team was a superb achievement.
Warringah organized jobs for its itinerant players – like Benzo and myself. First we were demolition men, but once the plagues of cockroaches grew too much for us, we were given the positions of groundskeepers at the rugby club. Our first task was to clear away the large rocks that were scattered around the outside of the pitch and car park. Feeling a little like Paul Newman on the chain gang in Cool Hand Luke, we set to work. Our Calvinist spirit drove us to clearing most of the rocks by midday, much to the horror of the head groundsman – this one job was supposed to take us three months. We soon slowed to the rate of a rock a day, playing games of cricket with our spades and the numerous golf balls that had been hit over the fence from the nearby driving range.
Warringah were known as the ‘Green Rats’, after the 9th Australian Division that defended Tobruk during the Second World War. Although they had never won a Premiership title, the team had a reputation for uncompromising rugby. They were coached by Steve Lidbury, a former backrower who been capped twice by the Wallabies in the Eighties before switching to rugby league. On a Thursday night after training we always went out as a squad to a pizza restaurant and Benzo and I used to make sure we sat near our coach. With his muscular frame and quick wit he always dominated conversation, and he was soon recalling anecdotes from his time playing for Warringah, the Wallabies and Canberra Raiders as well as stories from his other employment as a security guard. Despite having to retire after breaking his neck, he continued to play touch footy with us and was an astute coach. He must have been some player in his day.
I think Libbo liked me as a player, and he moved me into stand-off (or five-eighth as it was called over there) after two appearances for the club at outside-centre. For the first time in my career I had a coach that really appreciated my kicking game. Although I’d made a lot of improvements, this was probably more due to the fact that there was hardly any kicking in Australian rugby, which was in stark contrast to the situation at the time in the northern hemisphere. Watching paint dry was occasionally a better option than attending a British rugby union match in the early Nineties, as the ball very rarely got past two phases without someone kicking it in the air.
In contrast, it seemed that most coaches in Australia insisted on the ball being kept in play, as up-and-unders left too much to chance. My centres always wanted me to use them to set up another phase and the only kicks we tended to utilize were diagonals, which forced the opposition to kick to touch and give us the throw at the lineout.
Australia had won the World Cup two years before through some terrific attacking play, which was a credit to the standards and attacking philosophy of their club competition. In successive weeks, I encountered two of the driving forces of that World Cup victory – captain Nick Farr-Jones and record try scorer David Campese. My first match in the number 10 jersey was against Farr-Jones’ Sydney University side, which went well as I was voted man of the match in our home win. I could tell that Farr-Jones was a natural leader and organized his team from scrum-half. He impressed me not just with his ferocious commitment but also his goal-kicking ability that had kept his side in touch for long periods of the match.
Next up was an away fixture against Randwick – the most famous club in Australia. They were known for playing a quick-passing game, and their pancake-flat alignment was pioneering. The Ella brothers had once strutted their stuff for the ‘Galloping Greens’, as they were called, and they continued to deploy a similar attacking style. I remember seeing my opposite number, Lloyd Walker, arrive at the ground with his family at the same time as me. Walker had played several times for the Wallabies, but I fancied my chances against him that day. He looked old, overweight and I expected him to be slow off the mark. I was later shown a masterclass in how to play in heavy traffic, and how to make a defence open up for you.
Walker was so flat from scrum and phase ball that I could almost touch him. At first, I left him alone for my open-side flanker to deal with, as Randwick had some devastating runners out wide who posed much more of a threat. Walker’s lack of pace didn’t prove to be a drawback for him – he started so close to the advantage line he was soon getting in behind us, causing panic in our defence. When I later changed track and marked him directly, he began to deliver some deadly accurate wrist-passes to runners on either side of him. We never once managed to line someone up in the Randwick backline and knock them back in the tackle.
Out wide, Campese was a continual threat. I also noticed a tenacious edge to his game, which proved to me that you don’t get to the top unless you are mentally tough. Libbo had instructed me to test out Campese with some high balls, but to make sure they landed shorter than usual so that the pack got the chance to ruck the living daylights out of him. This we did on a couple of occasions. It all seemed to no avail, as Campo got back on his feet without complaint and played superbly thereafter. I realized he must have had to endure that sort of treatment right throughout his career.
During the previous season I had seen seasoned internationalists being laid-back, but it finally hit home in Australia that I needed to relax much more around game time. At Warringah, in the lead up to kick-off, the backs nonchalantly threw a ball around in the car park, chatting to each other as if they were about to go out to train, not play an important match. I loved this mindset – it implied that this was no different from training and there was no added pressure to worry about. Once on the field they were passionate and totally committed to the cause, effectively embodying the spirit of the club – never to give in, just like the Rats of Tobruk.
I used to live by a quote I’d read somewhere: ‘If you’ve never made a mistake, you’ve never made a decision.’ Now I was getting much better at recognizing the two benefits of failure: first, if you do fail, you learn what doesn’t work; and second, the failure gives you the opportunity to try a new approach. As the game was fought out on the gain line it was really high-pressure stuff, which brought out the best in me. Players were bigger, more physical and the pitches were hard and fast. I loved every minute of it.
We climbed up the table and I was playing consistently well – by far the best rugby of my career. Unfortunately I had to return to Scotland for my exams, which I had missed because of the Scotland tour to the South Seas in June. Warringah tried hard to get me to stay. They arranged to have the exam paper faxed out to a university in Sydney, and said I could fly home to Scotland and pick up anything I needed to help with my studies before coming back a couple of days later. In the local paper, the Manly Daily, Libbo had said, ‘I am going to block his way to the airport, handcuff him, anything to get him to stay.’
I was worried that Libbo might prove to be all too persuasive in terms of stopping me from returning, as I was reluctant to muck around Edinburgh University any more than I needed to. I’d cut a few corners already in the first two years of my course and I knew I would have been further distracted if I was to sit my exams in Australia. I left Warringah with two games still to play. Unfortunately, the club went on to lose the Grand Final. Looking back, I wish I could have stayed. However, at the time there was another reason I wanted to return home. The new club season in Scotland was just about to begin. First up for Gala was an away trip to arch-rivals Melrose – a game I didn’t want to miss.
We won 14–13 and I carried on my Warringah form, once more in direct opposition to Scotland stand-off Craig Chalmers. I was buzzing with confidence and played well the following week against Boroughmuir. We again won away from home, which meant that we had now beaten the champions from the previous two seasons in our opening two matches. I remember former Scotland centre Sean Lineen daring me to take a quick drop-out against him during the game. I dummied the normal kick to the forwards to my left before knocking the ball along the ground to the right, past his despairing dive. After having shown caution and self-doubt at times during the previous season, Sean might have been right in thinking that I wouldn’t have had the audacity to try something like that, but my experiences in the summer had made me much stronger mentally.
Having shown my resolve in Tonga and then become much more relaxed and rounded in Sydney, I felt I was ready-made for international rugby. A year earlier I had been too caught up in other people’s opinions and expectations of my talent and there would have been times when I’d actually have been thinking ‘I shouldn’t be doing this’, even when I was making a break. Pace and willingness to have a go had always been my two biggest assets, but I now had a greater awareness of other aspects of play and was confident in my decision-making. Things couldn’t have been going any better – which is often the exact moment that adversity chooses to seek you out.
