Читать книгу Raging Bull: My Autobiography - Phil Vickery - Страница 11

After the fantastic experience of playing for England A at Welford Road, it was back to Gloucester with a series of tough matches one after another. The standard of rugby being played in clubs had already begun to improve since the arrival of professionalism. Defences were harder to penetrate and players were starting to get fitter. The game was tougher than ever.

I remember playing in a particularly hard-fought match against Leicester at Kingsholm. Back then they had Richard Cockerill, Martin Johnson, Neil Back and a plethora of international players in their side. They had a particularly good pack so I knew I would have my work cut out. In this match in early February I remember the scrum going down badly, and the referee telling us to stand up. As I did so, Graham Rowntree gave me an uppercut right into the side of my jaw. Bloody hell it hurt. I still remember the pain today. I managed to get through the rest of the match and woke up to a very sore jaw the next morning. I decided that next time I saw Graham Rowntree he’d pay for that punch.

A couple of days later, I was at home one afternoon when I had a call from John Fidler. He told me that the England coach had been on the phone and wanted me to go to the Petersham Hotel in Richmond to join the international rugby team. ‘They want you to play for England,’ he said. ‘You’ve done it, son. Well done!’

I suppose I should report that the world spun on its axis as soon as John said those words, but the truth is that I was so worried about how on earth to get to this hotel in London that I didn’t have time to get excited about my selection for the national side. I know that for most people winning an international cap would be a most special moment in their lives, so I wish I could describe it as being thrilling and exciting but, genuinely, the only thing going through my mind was … London? I don’t want to drive to London. How on earth will I get there? Where is London? Which motorway do I take? The M3? Where’s that?

I asked John where I had to go and he told me to head to south-west London. Christ, where was that? I was given a map and told which motorways to take, and I was sent on my way.

Eventually, I got there. I arrived at this magnificent old hotel called the Petersham, grabbed my bag from the boot of the car and walked into the marble reception area. I didn’t know where to go, who to ask for or what to do. I hovered around, wondering who to approach when I saw Lawrence Dallaglio striding across the reception area towards me, and putting his hand out to shake mine. He welcomed me to the England hotel and he probably, to this day, has no idea how much that meant to me. I’d driven to a place I was unfamiliar with, late at night, to meet the best team of players in England, and to join them to play a level of rugby I wasn’t familiar with. That friendly gesture from Lawrence made me feel welcome. It was a great thing to do.

Things didn’t stay all that great though because when I got up to the room, still nursing my face from the punch I had received from Graham Rowntree when we had met across the scrum the previous Saturday, I discovered my room-mate was… the same bloody Rowntree! I looked at him, this bloke who had given me a cheap punch in the face, and thought, This is the last person in the world that I want to spend time with. Seriously, though, Rowntree is a brilliant bloke and he was a great team-mate. He was a good room-mate too, but it was funny to see him standing there, welcoming me to my room, while I was still sporting the bruises he’d given me the last time I’d seen him.

It was difficult to turn up at the England team hotel, and mix straight in with this group of players who’d been together for a while, especially since none of them were from Gloucester, but what helped was the feeling of camaraderie from the other players. It had taken me just thirty-four first-team games for Gloucester before I was asked to join the England squad and my first match in England colours happened just eighty-one days after my England A début, so there was a great deal of talk about me, a lot of interviews to give, and press attention to cope with. I didn’t even know whether I would be in the team to play France, or whether I’d just been brought in for cover at training.

I got through my first evening in the team hotel, and went out training with the players the next day. Bloody hell. I’ve always been a physical bloke, and I’d been playing a decent standard of rugby at Gloucester, and for England A, for a while, so I was fit and used to very hard rugby training, but - blimey - nothing like that! I knew that it would be a step up when I was called into the international squad, but it was rugby training on a whole different level. I just wasn’t prepared for it and, I’ll be honest, I almost died in the first scrummaging session. No, really, I did almost die. It was so bloody cold and we did so many scrums. Time and time again we were forced to reset the scrum and replay the moves. I couldn’t believe what was going on. I was 23 stone of bright red beetroot for about a week afterwards. I think it took me about a year to get over that session. The reality of international rugby hit me like a sledgehammer, leaving me determined to lose weight, sharpen up and get properly fit to compete in this environment. It’s interesting to look back now … when I first turned up for that England training session I was 130kg; by the next Five Nations I was 115kg!

Playing for England was going to be hard. I’d had a taste of how hard it would be when I’d been selected to play for England A, so I was under no illusions. When you played for England at the time you came up against the Leicester mafia and as a lone guy from Gloucester I felt outnumbered from the start, but I always felt that if I worked hard my work would be rewarded. The culture with England at the time was a real can-do one, thanks to Clive’s influence, and however out of sorts you felt, and however baffled by events, you knew that if you put in the effort and produced the goods Clive would be there to support you.

The game that I was drafted into the squad for was against France in Paris. I was told that I would be sitting on the bench. I was absolutely terrified. I spent the whole time hoping to God that I wouldn’t have to go on to the pitch. I know that might sound odd, but remember, these were the days when if you were on the bench nobody really communicated with you, so I had no idea what was going on out there. I didn’t even know what the lineout calls were. The idea of running onto the pitch in Paris to play against France in my first match for England, and not having a clue what anyone was doing or what their calls meant, was quite terrifying. I was happier just sitting out the match on the bench…

Things have changed a great deal during my time with England, and one of the things that has changed enormously is the relationship between the bench players and the first XV. You feel as if you’re very much part of the team when you’re on the bench now, but back then it was as if you didn’t exist. I suppose the crucial difference is that now when you’re on the bench there’s every chance you’re going to get on to the field, whereas in the past you only went on to the field if there was an injury to someone, so it was less likely that you would be involved in the game. Today, bench players are absolutely vital because they are the players you bring on at crucial times in the game. Why would you ever put on a player who didn’t even know the lineout calls? It seems ridiculous, looking back, but when I started, rugby was a very different game to the one played now. I’m not that old but it sometimes feels as if I played in two different sports - before and after professionalism had fully kicked in.

So, there I was, back in 1998, at a time when the England front five was very Leicester orientated, the only person in the squad from Gloucester, still recovering from the most terrifying training session I’d ever encountered, still bruised from when my now room-mate had punched me, sitting on the bench for England versus France with 80,000 people screaming at the pitch. I didn’t know any of the moves and I didn’t know the lineout calls. Please don’t let me on the pitch, please don’t let me on the pitch, I thought as play commenced. Happily, I didn’t have to go on. Even today I think it’s hard to come off the bench, with little warning, and give your best performance, especially if it’s your first game and you have no idea what to expect when you get out there. From my point of view, I know I’ve never prayed so hard for anything as I prayed for Clive Woodward not to send me on to the pitch on that day in Paris. We lost the match, unfortunately, but the good news was that I was selected to play against Wales at Twickenham the following weekend. Not on the bench - on the pitch.

I arrived at the Petersham Hotel a week before the game against Wales (it was slightly easier this time - at least I knew where the hotel was) and met up with the other players. We had a training session on the Monday which nearly killed me again, and once again I vowed to lose weight when I saw my scarlet face in the mirror. On the Tuesday there was a big press conference at the hotel. All the journalists had come to hear the announcement of the team, then interview the players. I’d been warned that, as the new boy, everyone would want to interview me, but I hadn’t realised just how excitable it would all become. I walked into the press room, after the team had been announced, and was immediately grabbed by journalists. It was fine, they just wanted to know how I felt and what I expected from the game, which Welsh players I was looking forward to coming up against… things like that. I have never had a problem with the press but I did find it hard when I first had to do it because it is one thing that you are not prepared for.

Another thing you’re not prepared for is all the attention you get. People calling me to see how I was, asking for tickets, giving me advice and suggesting popping in to see me after the match… I learnt very quickly that all the attention can be distracting and draining. If you’re not careful you can lose so much of your energy doing things other than rugby. I could have charged around trying to find tickets for people, replying to emails and doing every interview request made of me, but that would have used energy that I had to reserve for the match.

A lot of people asked me if I found it stressful in the lead up to the match. I don’t think that ‘stressful’ is the right word to describe how I felt, because I have always been quite good at separating myself from the anxieties surrounding a match. I had found it difficult in Paris because I hadn’t felt properly prepared, but usually I tell myself that it’s just a piece of grass. It’s the same size piece of grass as you play on every week. There’ll be fifteen blokes one side, fifteen blokes on the other side. You do this week in week out, and just because everyone is making a fuss about it doesn’t mean anything will be different when you’re on that piece of grass.

You lose too much energy if you stress about things. The truth of the matter is that you have been selected because people believe that you are good enough to be out there, and if you’re worried about it then the fear is in your head. You wouldn’t be in the team if they were concerned about your ability. Now you have to get the confidence and believe you can do it, and go out there and do what everyone believes you are capable of doing. I know I’m making it sound simpler than it is, but you do have to have a train of thought like this to survive.

There were so many new things to get used to in the week leading up to a game… new calls in the lineouts, not being familiar with the other players, different coaching styles. John Mitchell nearly killed me in his training sessions. I’m sure I must have gone green in every one of them. It was awful. But the game was so much faster that you needed to be much fitter than you had to be to play the club game.

The night before the match I managed to sleep a little by taking a sleeping tablet. I tend to have to do that before a big game because I’m a bit of a worrier. At 2 a.m. in the morning I’ll be pacing around, reminding myself about the moves, the calls, and wondering how I’m going to pay the mortgage. Sleeping pills knock me out and ensure that I get the good night’s sleep that is essential if you’re going to play well at international level.

The thing I remember most clearly about the next morning and, indeed, the week leading up to the game is the number of letters, faxes, telegrams and emails that poured into the Petersham Hotel for me. Loads of people had taken the trouble to contact me, including Mike Teague, the former England player who’d been such a stalwart for Gloucester. I really cherished those letters and I’ll take the opportunity now to say an enormous thank you to everyone who took the trouble to send them. I was really touched by notes from guys I knew at Bude and Redruth. It’s difficult to get in contact with people to thank them at the time because there’s so much going on, but it was humbling to get all those notes from people and I’m very grateful.

I suppose I didn’t really know what a massive thing it was to play international rugby until I saw the letters and faxes and the interest caused by my selection. It just hadn’t ever been this big dream of mine to get to the top of rugby, like it is for so many people. I was always the sort of guy who just concentrated on the game he was playing.

We made the short journey to Twickenham by coach, then headed into the changing room. My most enduring memory is of walking out of the tunnel; that was amazing. I came out onto the pitch when we first arrived and saw there were just a few people in the stands, then I went out to the team warm-up twenty minutes later and it was half full. I didn’t go back out again after that, I stayed in the changing room and got myself taped up while some of the others went out to throw the ball around, so when I went out for the start of the game, just fifteen minutes later, it was packed in the stadium. It seemed astonishing that so many people had packed into the place in just a few minutes.

People talk about the noise when you run out of the tunnel, and it is truly amazing… like a wall of sound that hits you as you run onto the pitch. Then there’s the singing of the national anthem, which is such a highlight for me. I love it - there’s sound, a loud, roaring noise, then suddenly you’ll catch the words being sung and it all becomes so poignant.

I was given a great bit of advice in the lead up to the match that has stayed with me. Jason Leonard came over to me, looked me in the eye, and said, ‘Make sure you enjoy what you’re doing and live in the minute. It’ll go so quickly; enjoy it all.’ I decided to try and take Jason’s advice, and as we dispersed after the anthems and prepared for the game, I was determined that I was going to enjoy this experience and cherish every minute.

Yeah. Great, in theory. It proved to be much harder than I’d imagined because it was so tough. After ten minutes I was blowing out of my arse! I was absolutely bloody knackered. I’d never known anything like it. I’d been warned about how fast the game would be, but it was way faster than I’d expected. It felt so incredibly furious. It was hard to see what was going on, and get a sense of what was happening on the pitch, when it was all flying past you at such a pace. The daft thing is that I bet if I looked back at the match now I’d laugh at how slow it was, but back then it was such a huge step up from what I was used to.

All my memories of the game are of the great speed and the big hits. Everyone seemed bigger, faster and more focused than I had ever seen in rugby before. I just had to concentrate on what I had to do and what my role was. I remember trying to stay in my zone and do what I was there to do, but things happen in international rugby that you don’t expect and you’re not experienced enough to cope with. They floor you temporarily, but you have to deal with them and get back on the game. If you make a mistake or someone does something you’re not expecting, you have to keep a clear head and focus back on what your role is. I think that’s one of the hardest things in international rugby - keeping your focus on what you need to do while chaos reigns all around.

The overwhelming feeling after that first cap was of just how proud I felt and how lucky I was to have the opportunity to have played the sport at that level with those guys. We all went to the Park Lane Hilton for a massive dinner and I remember being so excited to be at the Hilton. Scott Quinnell came over to see me. He’d given me quite a whack in the game, so he was the first person to come and have a drink with me. He gave me a glass of wine which I knocked back. He said, ‘Well done,’ then another Welsh player came up and did the same, then another, then another …

Then all my team-mates came up … one by one. I drank wine with them all. By the time the dinner started I was absolutely legless. Lawrence was captain so he stood up to speak, and I was so drunk I stood in the corner shouting, ‘Bruno, Bruno, Bruno!’ (his middle name). Lawrence had to keep looking over and asking me to be quiet. The evening’s all a bit vague after that, but I’m told that Jason Leonard and Roger Uttley carried me to my room and put me in the bathroom, with my head in the toilet. It wasn’t the most dignified way to end my first cap, but it was a lot of fun. I woke up at 5 a.m. with a raging thirst and dried sick all over my hair and clothes. Horrific. Things didn’t get any better when I found out that I’d been cited by Peter Boyle, the match commissioner, for punching Colin Charvis in the second half of the game. I must admit that the first thing I thought when I was told about the citing was, What about Scott Quinnell punching me?

When it came to the citing, I was lucky on this occasion, though, because it never amounted to anything. I was told that I would be penalised with a one-month suspension, which seemed harsh, because the offence would have meant me getting just a yellow card if it had been dealt with by the referee during the game. In the end, Roger Pickering, who was the Five Nations’ chief executive at the time, changed Boyle’s decision because he said, ‘The citing procedure was not followed to the letter. There were misunderstandings between people who I have no intention of naming and as a result of the legal advice obtained by the committee the suspension was deemed unsafe.’ All very odd, but I wasn’t complaining.

I staggered out of that hotel in the morning, still drunk, I imagine, aching from head to foot and with the worst headache known to mankind, but I felt lucky. Very lucky. I’d been given the opportunity to play for my country. Now I needed to do everything possible to make sure that I was given the opportunity again.