The Real McCaw: Richie McCaw: The Autobiography

by Richie McCaw

  This was 1998, so rugby was in its third year of being professional, but I had no real thought of becoming a professional rugby player. The steps on Uncle Bigsy’s stairway to rugby heaven didn’t have dollar signs on them: it was about playing for the All Blacks; it wasn’t about making a living from rugby. Perhaps I was naive, but that was the way I thought.

  But a couple of things happened in the latter part of my last year at Otago Boys’ that made me think—and also put my commitment to going to Lincoln University and Canterbury back in the balance.

  When Mum and Dad dropped me off at Otago Boys’, they’d told me to make sure I made the most of the opportunity, to get stuck in, don’t waste this chance. I took their advice to heart to an almost ridiculous degree and had a crack at everything. Orienteering. Drums. Rowing. Tennis. I got a bit carried away, but some things stuck.

  Winning lineout ball for Otago Boys’ against the visiting Rugby School of England.

  I was a waste of everyone’s time on the drums, but at the end of my first year, we had a hostel Christmas dinner and another third former got up and played the bagpipes and I thought, Oh Jeez that’s cool. Right, I’m going to do that. I quizzed him and ended up learning the bagpipes with him twice a week at lunchtime. We would stay at school instead of going back to the hostel for lunch. I’d either get a cut lunch or I’d just go without lunch pretty much. In the end, there were four or five of us, and an old fella called Airdrie Stewart, a really good piper, used to come in and teach us. We had a couple of drummers and we played in a wee band at some concerts at school, but my aspirations were fairly modest—I didn’t want to be in a pipe band, I just wanted to be able to pull them out on special occasions and bust out three or four tunes.

  I’d never played cricket because they didn’t have cricket in Kurow—I’d played tennis on Saturdays during summer. The only cricket I’d played was on the back lawn with Dad and/or Jo. When the cricket trials came up at Otago Boys’, they told us to turn up only if you’d made rep teams or played a lot of cricket before, but I thought bugger that and turned up anyway. I told them I wanted to be a ‘batter’—batsman—but I was about as useful at that as I was at playing the drums, so they gave me the ball and told me to hurl a few down in the nets. Turns out I was a natural left-arm seamer. One of my mates was there in the nets. He’d been in the North Otago underage cricket team, and he kept missing, and complaining that I was making him look bad.

  At ‘boot camp’ for the Lincoln Rugby Scholarship, Burnham Military Camp, 1999.

  A couple of days later, one of the teachers came up and said they’d put me in the third form second team. ‘We were going to put you in the top team, but there’s another left-armer, so we’ve put you in the second team for now.’ I thought that was pretty cool.

  By taking a punt and getting a bit of encouragement to keep developing, I finally made the First XI in the seventh form.

  My academic development paralleled my cricket career.

  When I started in the third form, I wasn’t in the top class, but I got there in the fourth form.

  In the seventh form, I made Head Boy and did Chemistry, Physics, Stats, Calculus and accounting, and was runner-up to the dux. I did better than the dux in the end-of-year externals, but the dux had beaten me in the internal exams, which I put down to the extracurricular demands of inter-schools rugby and cricket. Even then, I was very competitive and didn’t like getting second! Maybe it was because I had to work hard for everything I got. So hard that I copped a bit of stick for being a geek—though not from my mates, and I was saved from the worst of it by my sporting prowess.

  But the geek calls didn’t put me off—just the opposite. It probably brought out my competitive nature. I wanted to be top. I wanted to be first in the class. In retrospect, I think I probably overdid it, and wonder whether it was really that important, but when it came to leaving school and moving on, those academic achievements opened up a few doors, and suddenly, instead of a degree at Lincoln being a lay-down misere, I had other options thrust in front of me.

  When I went up to Christchurch for a look around Lincoln, it was suggested that I also have a scout around Canterbury University, with a view to doing an engineering degree. So I looked at the campus and the college house where I might board, but it didn’t really grab me.

  By that time, my rugby was really blossoming too. My rugby path at Otago Boys’ had been easier than cricket because I’d made North Otago and Hanan Shield rep teams and had some pedigree. I played for the top Otago Boys’ teams in third and fourth form, and was selected for Otago age-group representation in Under 16s and Under 18s, but missed out on the New Zealand Schools side to my nemesis from Christ’s College, Sam Harding.

  But in my last year, Christ’s College didn’t make the National First XV Championship, so I had a stage that, for once, wasn’t shared by Sam. The top three North Island First XVs and the top South Island First XV played in a tournament in Christchurch. Otago Boys’ just scraped past a very good Southland Boys’ side, with the likes of Clarke Dermody, Corey Flynn and Jeff wright at No. 7, to finish top South Island First XV.

  We thought we had a pretty good team, with Captain Ryan Martin at halfback, a bit of Polynesian muscle in the pack, headed by Filipo Levi, and pace and power in the backs with Jason Kawau at centre, but Kelston were something else. They had guys like Mils Muliaina, Sam Tuitupou, Steve Bates and Boris Stankovich, who ended up playing hooker for Bath in the UK. They looked very big and very dark, compared to us. They did their haka first and it was so powerful and impressive that we just knew that the little white boys from down south weren’t going to cut it, so we flagged ours. We hadn’t really recovered by the time the whistle blew. In one movement, they scored under the posts: 7–0. I remember thinking, Jeez, I hope this is less than 50 points.

  One of us looks the part! Hostel ‘formal’ at Otago Boys’ with mate William Lowe.

  We were shell-shocked, but knuckled down and tackled our hearts out. As the game wore on, we tackled and tackled, and they couldn’t score again, and it seemed to surprise them that we hadn’t just capitulated. We won narrowly with a kick from near halfway that was aimed at the corner posts and was blown in by the wind. Then we drew the final against Rotorua Boys’, and ended up joint winners of the tournament.

  Those two games, particularly the game against Kelston, got me into the trials for the New Zealand Under 19s, and it also brought me to the notice of a certain Steve Hansen, who was running the Canterbury Academy. Steve reportedly told Canterbury, ‘Get him up here’, and was presumably told to relax, that I was coming to Lincoln, and everything was sweet.

  Meanwhile, word about my intentions filtered back to Otago. The headmaster at Otago Boys’ collared me and asked me why I was going to Lincoln. He told me I had the ability to do medicine at Otago. When I said that didn’t appeal, he said that it was a waste my going ‘up there’ and I should stay ‘down here’.

  It didn’t end there. I was at a leavers’ dinner with businessman Eion Edgar’s son, Adam, who was in my year at Otago Boys’. Eion had—and still has—huge official and unofficial heft in the Otago Rugby Union. When Eion found out I was off to Lincoln, he repeated the question—‘What the hell are you going up there for?’

  The very next day, I got the same question from Des Smith, who’d been one of my masters at Otago Boys’ but was now working for the Otago Rugby Union. ‘What the hell are you going up there for?’ He told me if I wanted to stay, he’d organise some accommodation and I could do a degree at Otago. He even arranged for Tony Gilbert, the Otago coach at the time, to show me around Otago Uni and the Unicol residential towers. Wow.

  ‘Have a think,’ said Tony, ‘and get back to us.’

  Steve Hansen must have heard a rumour that I was in danger of changing my mind about coming to Lincoln, and next minute I had him on the phone. At least there was a slight variation in the question: ‘What the hell are you staying down there for?’

  I’d heard that Canter
bury and Otago had an informal pact not to poach each other’s players, but I’d also heard a whisper that Otago had lured the New Zealand Schools No. 7, Sam Harding, down from Christ’s College with blandishments of fees and accommodation. So perhaps Canterbury were trying to get their own back by coming after me. Sam ‘The Dominator’ was a bloody good player, had basically beaten me for every team we’d been up for, so that was playing in the back of my mind too—Otago had preferred Sam; I was a bit of an afterthought.

  Still, I had a girlfriend I was keen on in Dunedin.

  I left it and left it and didn’t know what to do. I felt a bit overwhelmed with all the attention. It got to Christmas and I still hadn’t made a decision. After Christmas, I got a call from Steve Tew. I had no idea who he was until he identified himself as CEO of the Crusaders, who had won the 1998 Super title.

  ‘I’m just ringing to see if there are any problems or if you’re still coming up?’

  I still didn’t know what to do, but I felt I couldn’t justify changing my original decision.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I think, um, yeah, I’m still coming.’

  And that was it. Later I heard that Steve Hansen put him up to it.

  It might have taken me a while to make, but it was the right decision. I’m sure I wouldn’t have made the All Blacks as quickly with Otago. If it had been the other way round, and Sam and I had both stayed where we were, Sam might have made the All Blacks before me because of the superior way Canterbury was organised.

  An example of that was the Rugby Academy, the first in the country I think, run by Steve Hansen, with a trainer to help him. They really kept tabs on you.

  In my second week of uni, I played in a final trial for the Under 19s, and was selected for the team—the first time I’d beaten Sam Harding for any team! All of a sudden, it seemed, I was on a plane for Wales—my first real trip overseas, apart from Australia—to play in a world tournament, New Zealand’s first at Under 19 level.

  Two weeks in Newport may not seem like everyone’s idea of a great trip away, but for me it was magic. We stayed in a hotel, not a billet, which I thought was extremely cool, and played four games, beating Ireland in the semi and Wales in the final. Graham Henry was coaching Wales and at that stage was going pretty well, being the Great Redeemer and all that, so it was a great place to play with the silver fern on your chest. Many of those players kicked on—Clarke Dermody, Campbell Johnstone, Brad Mika, Steven Bates, Jerry Collins, Aaron Mauger, Mils Muliaina and Tony Woodcock all went on to play for the All Blacks.

  When I got back to start the academic year at Lincoln, Steve Tew rang me up again and said, ‘We’re paying Aaron $5000 on an academy contract, so we’ll give you that as well.’

  Wow. First year at uni, and I’m getting my fees paid and $5k on top of that, for playing rugby, effectively.

  That might have been the first inkling I had that there might be more to playing rugby than sheer pleasure.

  Being part of the Academy introduced me to the facilities at Rugby Park in St Albans.

  In those days, there was just a weights room in the bowels of the grandstand, where the trainer ran sessions and taught us how to train with weights. There’d be Mehrts and Blackadder and the like floating around. I never had the front to talk to them, but I thought it was pretty cool just being that close.

  We were given guidance on nutrition, and encouraged to share any problems we had at uni. I was set a programme to follow, which was a hell of a lot more sophisticated than flogging myself up and down the road, though I still did that as well. We did Mondays and Wednesdays with the Academy, on top of club practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and every so often we’d be taken away for camps.

  In hindsight, it was all valuable preparation for becoming a professional, and it was reinforced by sometimes seeing the Crusaders and NPC stars at close quarters.

  I made the Canterbury Under 19s that year, as scheduled by Uncle Bigsy, and we had a similar playing schedule to the Canterbury As. So when they were playing in town, we were also playing in town. That had its advantages: there were always big line-ups at the entrance to the pub, and whenever we tried to bluff our way in, we’d stuff up and get told to bugger off for being under age, but we discovered that if we turned up in our suits, they thought we were part of the NPC team and we were in, no questions asked. Sweet.

  Of course, being in the Academy also meant they could keep an eye on you, and you couldn’t just bugger off, but I couldn’t see a downside in any of that.

  A couple of years later, Rugby Park at St Albans was developed into a state-of-the art facility, and over the years it’s become a second home to me. What seemed so state-of-the-art back at the turn of the century now seems a bit rumpled and old-fashioned in comparison to the facilities of some of the other Super franchises I’ve seen, but there’s comfort and security that comes from familiarity and past success all round me here, happy memories of people and events that have been a huge part of my adult life.

  When I swipe my card at the door that leads straight into the weights room under the old wooden grandstand, I’m hit by that welcome home aroma of sweat and liniment. The room is just a big old torture chamber with steel racks and frames and a big single-hand clock on the front wall to measure the minutes of your pain. Not my favourite place, and I tried to avoid it as much as I could and go running, but back in about 2003 I could feel the guys I was tackling and wrestling with at the breakdown getting stronger and stronger and knew that I had to get stuck in, right here in this room. There’s no escaping it.

  It had another benefit too. I had a chronic back problem and was told that if I strengthened my core, it’d help my back. I didn’t really believe it, but it worked. Even now, if I forget to do the core stuff, my back starts reminding me.

  The trainer’s room is at the far end, and leads through to a couple of prefabs, a team room where we order in lunch a couple of times a week and eat as a team, and beyond that the physio room.

  Turn back to the old grandstand and stairs lead you up to a series of rooms built into the roof, which look out over the field. There’s management and administration offices, then the Canterbury NPC coaches’ office, then the Crusaders coaches’ office, with video rooms behind.

  Down in the depths of the grandstand, our changing room, plunge pool and showers are at the end closest to the field, with pretty ordinary unpainted chipboard ‘cubicles’, just shallow recesses with a seat and shelves and hangers. Mine is #17 down the end closest to the players’ tunnel.

  Back through a short corridor is a big room with no windows, the strategy room. This is the hub of Crusaders rugby; for me, it’s the heart of the beast.

  The floor is taped out as an accurate-to-scale rugby field, with little plastic cones in various colours that can be manoeuvred around, and pins with numbers on, which can, say, indicate spaces we want to kick to or attack. Up front there are whiteboards and a big roll-down screen for video projection, but what always strikes me when I walk through the door is the facade of what looks like a Greek temple or one of those grand old limestone buildings in Oamaru, which fills the far wall.

  It looks like grey granite but it’s polystyrene—foundation stones across the bottom, Corinthian columns soaring up to plinths and gables, topped off by the Crusaders shield, with the arm wielding a sword. Underneath that, Our House is across the top of the gable. Beneath that, across the central plinth, is Excellence, then the six Corinthian columns are headed Nutrition, Physical, Technical, Practical, Teamness and Mental, with the body of each column full of pinned-on typewritten aphorisms about each of those aspects of the game. The content of the columns changes from season to season, from week to week, but the truth of some of the sayings never changes—Failing to prepare is preparing to fail. Go hard or go home. Excellence is a habit, not a skill.

  The foundation stones at the bottom hold up the whole structure—Loyalty, Enjoyment and Integrity supported by Respect, Team-First (the centre-stone) and Work Ethic.

&n
bsp; Coaches announced: the result is the perfect quinella for me and, it seems, for Ted and Robbie.

  It’s funny how often, if the team’s not going well, you look at those foundation stones and find the reason in there somewhere.

  Once I’m back here, and past Robbie’s interrogation of my reasons for wanting to be captain again, I find, like the other returning All Blacks, that I desperately want to get back to playing rugby, to get stuck in for the Crusaders, move on from Cardiff, leave all the political fallout behind . . .

  But that’s not so easy with all the publicity around what’s happening at NZRU HQ in Wellington.

  On 6 December, Robbie’s shown leaving with a big smile on his face after his interview. There’s a photo of Ted too, looking, well, just like Ted.

  There’s speculation that the Board’s deliberations could drag on until Christmas, but, as it turns out, the decision comes quickly.

  On 7 December, the NZRU confirms Graham Henry’s reappointment as coach of the All Blacks for the next two years, with assistants Steve Hansen and Wayne Smith. Not everyone is pleased.

  ‘The spirit of New Zealand rugby died yesterday,’ writes Tony Smith in Saturday’s Press. ‘We are witnessing a once-proud sport in the delirium tremens of denial as it bounces around its padded cell.’

  Chris Rattue, as usual, is equally moderate and considered in the New Zealand Herald. Under the headline ‘Ship of fools welcomes the skipper back’, he writes ‘What a black moment for rugby union in this land, and a mighty victory for dunderhead thinking.’

  Things get rapidly worse for the Robbie Deans Fourth Estate Fan Club. Within the week, Robbie is confirmed as the new coach of the Wallabies. Australian Greg Growden tries not to crow: ‘Those in the know in the Shaky Isles are deeply concerned by the Deans appointment. They realise the All Blacks head into 2008 with the wrong coach and their best export will now be conspiring against them.’