by Richie McCaw
Ten minutes before John O’Neill makes the Deans announcement in Sydney, Robbie gathers the Crusaders around him on the field at St Albans. We stand in a circle with our arms linked over shoulders and prepare ourselves for the worst. Robbie tells us that, yes, he’s accepted the position as coach of the Wallabies, and, yes, he’ll be seeing out the 2008 Super 14 season as coach of the Crusaders.
For dunderheads like me who aren’t in the know and are suffering from the delirium tremens of denial, the result is the perfect quinella: there’s coaching continuity for both the All Blacks and the Crusaders.
We’re so relieved that there’s laughter, and we give Robbie a cheer and try to prepare him for the future with the green and gold chant—‘Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi!’
It’s sorted, finally. Time to move on. We’ve got other challenges ahead of us. Last year’s Super 14 was an unsatisfying mess, spoilt by players being rested and an inevitable focus on the RWC. I want to put that right before even thinking about the larger challenge of the All Blacks.
The 2008 Crusaders have some of the usual challenges in front of them, but also some that are unique.
Changes in personnel happen every season, but this year we’ve lost four of our best: Chris Jack and Aaron Mauger have gone to club rugby in England, and Rico Gear and Kevin Senio have gone too. Countering those losses, we’ve got some promising youngsters who seem ready to step up—the likes of Tim Bateman, Kahn Fotuali’i, Sean Maitland and Kade Poki.
We’ve also gained some grunt in the pack. Ali Williams has come down from the Blues, and on the strength of his showing at Cardiff has to be rated one of the best locks in the world. He’s staying with me in the townhouse, so at the very least I’m in for an interesting and entertaining year off the paddock.
Ali’s an interesting case, a hard case, one out of the box, as they say. He has all the attributes of a top international lock: genuine size at two metres tall and 115 kilograms, allied to real athleticism and power and great ball skills. In 2005 against the Lions, he was up there with Victor Matfield as one of the best couple of locks in the world, and he was probably our best player at Cardiff. But Ali’s personality, most charitably described as mercurial and irrepressibly irreverent, is different from your average Kiwi rugby player’s, and he can rub some people up the wrong way.
Some of those people happen to be coaches.
Most recently, during the 2007 Super 14, he’s had a very public falling out with Auckland Blues coach David Nucifora. I’ve only heard Ali’s side of the story, true, but one test for these things is whether the disciplinary response causes more negative repercussions than the original offence. In this case, it seems to me that Nucifora overreacted to Ali’s birthday celebration drink by banishing him from the team. To my way of thinking, Nucifora compounded that decision by hiding behind the senior Blues players, telling the media that it was them, not him, who sent Ali home from the Blues Super 14 campaign in South Africa.
Justin Marshall takes exception to Ali’s attempt to rearrange the part in my hair, 2005.
For me, that took the concept of the leadership group to a new high, or low.
Whatever the details, the upshot was that Ali didn’t want another year with Nucifora and is coming to the Crusaders for the 2008 Super 14. The Blues’ loss is the Crusaders’ gain, and Robbie Deans, who coached Ali at All Black level as John Mitchell’s assistant, has no doubts about Ali’s value to the Crusaders.
Neither have I, though I’ve had my own issues with Ali in the past.
In a Blues/Crusaders Super 14 game in 2005, he and another couple of Blues players got stuck into me on the ground with their boots. I was pissed off at the time because it felt like they were attacking my head, and Ali and the other two players copped suspensions. But it’s hard to stay mad at Ali for long, and I’ve accepted his explanation that while he wanted to give me a bit of a rark-up with his sprigs in the old-fashioned (and outlawed) tradition, he wasn’t going for my head. I just put it down to Ali’s boots being a lot further from his brain than most people’s and that much harder to control.
Graham Henry may also have had his problems with Ali, but the difference between Ted and the likes of Nucifora is that Ted has never wavered in his belief that Ali, if handled correctly, would be a committed and endearingly positive bugger to have around in the team environment. As a result of Ted’s faith, Ali has almost always delivered for the All Blacks and Robbie shares that faith in terms of what Ali can bring to the Crusaders.
The other recruit in the locking department is more of an unknown quantity. Brad Thorn is back, after turning down the All Blacks in 2001 and going back to league with the Broncos in 2005. When he first came to the Crusaders, he was tried as blindside flanker and No. 8, but found the calls and the different lines too complicated to master after a lifetime in league, and reverted to the second row.
This time, he’s back to bolster our locking stocks, though my understanding is that he’s with us on a temporary basis, helping us out and getting in a bit of rugby before taking up a contract in Europe later in the year. I think Robbie had to convince the rugby union to contract him—he’d been thinking about going to Dunedin, but he really wanted to come to the Crusaders and Robbie made it happen.
I reckon it’s great he’s back, and he proves his value at the first scrummaging practice. Ali is a bloody good tighthead lock, but when the two big boys get down to the serious pushing, Big Bad Brad simply can’t be beat. As one of the tighthead props says: ‘It’s like having a V8 up your arse.’
Brad pushes so hard in the scrums that even his strainer posts turn to jelly and he sees stars. He likes that, revels in it. He’s immensely strong, trains like a Trojan, and has developed a very simple approach on his return to rugby: shift bodies in rucks, push like a bloody bulldozer in the scrums and catch the ball at the front of the lineout. If he gets the ball in hand, he’s going to take a very direct route forward, and if he sees anyone in front of him with the ball in hand, he’s going to snot him. He’s absolutely single-minded in pursuit of those goals, so much so that he’s sometimes a difficult guy to talk to on the field. His mind is on his core jobs, what he’s got to do next—he never misses a lineout call, for instance—and he’s not that interested in the finer points of team strategy.
The finer points of team strategy have been getting more than passing attention this year, because the ELVs are coming, whether we’re ready or not.
The stated aim of the Experimental Law Variations to be trialled during the Super 14 is to keep the ball in play longer, promote fewer stoppages, more running rugby and a more free-flowing and exciting style of play.
To that end, the IRB has ruled that there’ll be free kicks for most infringements other than offside and foul play, each backline has to stay five metres behind the hindmost foot in the scrum, and you can’t kick it out on the full if you take it back inside your own 22.
All of that suits the Crusaders’ cause, and, even if it doesn’t, that’s what Robbie tells us. We’re going to embrace this new style of rugby and make it our own. That’s the right message.
The new laws were trialled in the provincial second division in 2007, and reports from those involved confirm that there’s a hell of a lot more running and therefore a requirement for a higher degree of aerobic fitness.
All of that looks like it might suit me.
My biggest attribute is fitness. I’ve always worked bloody hard at it. If you’re fast and strong but you can’t get there, then your speed and strength are no use to anyone. And oxygen debt doesn’t help your decision making.
Some guys don’t like running and they go to the gym, but if I had the choice, I’d always pick going for a run. At the end of the ’99 season I broke my wrist and had quite a long time in plaster after an operation. All I could do was run, so that’s what I did. That base, with what I did when I was younger, really helps, particularly when I’ve been sidelined with injury. I can be out for six weeks or longer, like when I was c
oncussed, but I can get back into it quickly and not be too far off.
I’ve always had the goal that I want to be among the top one or two forwards in the country fitness-wise. In the All Blacks I always make sure I’m at the top.
Having said that, weight training plays a huge part, too. When I first played for the All Blacks in 2001, I was under 100 kg, and I thought that bigger would be better. When I got home that summer, I was 21 and my body was mature enough to handle it, so I did really specific weight training for the first time, focused on gaining weight, and came out the other end at 107 kg. That was too big and I lost some edge, so I trimmed back to 105.
That’s turned out to be about the right playing weight for me: it made me a little bigger than most out-and-out fetchers, which was an advantage, but also gave me more strings to my bow when I had to adapt my game. I wasn’t a natural ball carrier, for instance, but I put a lot of work into that, and the extra weight helped.
I got a heap of turnovers in the first couple of years. When I was playing for Canterbury, that’s what we were scoring all our tries off. I’d get two or three turnovers a game and sometimes that would be two tries. The more I got, the more I wanted, so I was in there every time. Then people started to work me out as I went up the levels, from NPC to Super to tests. I began to get very frustrated, because the turnovers were harder to get. Finally, Robbie took me aside and told me I didn’t need to be a hero every time. ‘Just do your job. If you do your job, good things will happen.’
I took Robbie’s advice on board, and instead of counting the turnovers, began breaking my game down into four key roles: tackling, clearing rucks, flogging the opposition ball or pressuring it, and carrying the ball. I found that if I went out there and made sure I did those four things as well as I possibly could, the opportunity for a big play would come along, whereas if I went searching for it, I’d end up being inaccurate. Some days there were no big plays, nothing spectacular, but I found that was okay if I could come off the field knowing that I did those four things well.
I’ve developed that further, and now measure my impact on influence, not numbers of turnovers. It’s much more nebulous, but I know when I’ve had a decisive impact or influenced a key moment in the game. Increasingly, my own assessment of a game is about what I’ve done with the influence I have, not how much I’ve done.
I’m also used to adapting as I go along, because every year, it seems, someone else comes up with a bright idea to ‘modify’ or ‘reinterpret’ the much-maligned tackled ball rule.
Part of my role as a representative of the Rugby Players’ Association—the players’ union—is to give feedback on the rules of the game. I enjoy that—I’ve been on the Board since 2005 and we work closely with the NZRU on a wide range of issues that influence the playing environment here. We don’t always agree, but we’re lucky to have a good working relationship and most of the time we’re able to get to the right place to ensure the game here thrives. A lot of that is down to Rob Nicol, Executive Director of the RPA, who’s been outstanding in organising the players and making sure the right areas are addressed. But dealing with the IRB over rule changes and interpretations is something else. The RPA and the NZRU try to present a united front, but there’s no guarantee that our advocacy will make much of a difference there and, as an active player, at a certain point, I’ve got to just accept whatever the IRB decides: you make ’em, I’ll play ’em.
The ELVs are no exception. There’s an offside line drawn as soon as the tackle occurs, we’ve got to enter the breakdown area through an imaginary gate behind the hindmost foot, and the halfback can’t be touched unless he has his hands on the ball.
I make sure I know the new rules inside out, that I’ve got a full understanding of exactly what they are, not just because I’m captain and might need to make representations to the referee from time to time, but also for the requirements of my own position.
You have to accept too that the finer interpretations will change from week to week, from referee to referee. You’re always asking yourself, ‘What am I allowed to get away with?’ That’s not cheating; it’s a legitimate question you have to ask if you want to do the job.
In 2007, it paid to be an assist tackler. I could ride the ball carrier to the ground, stay on my feet and stay right on the ball. I didn’t have to back off or let the ball carrier go, so I got a lot of reward through being the assist tackler.
That looks like being the same this year, but I’ll monitor it week by week. From week to week, I’m consciously thinking about ways to have an impact. I want to make it as difficult as I can for them, whether it’s our ball or theirs. I either do that through how I tackle, if I can wrap the ball up, or where I end up, and a lot of that is mental, thinking through scenarios, visualising what might happen.
I often do this visualising kind of work on my own, going through the motions out on the training ground, repeating the exact moves I’ll have to make. It must look weird to anyone watching, but it actually saves me from having to practise the moves quite so much in contact. I’m not sure where this comes from—maybe it springs from being on my own a lot as a kid and having to get things sorted without anyone to train with.
Most of the techniques don’t change, so I practise the same things: how I enter the breakdown from different angles to make sure I look after our ball, how to get rid of someone, or, if someone’s locked on to the ball, what I’m going to do.
If they’ve got possession, it’s about how I tackle to slow the ball up rather than actually trying to win it. How to get them in a bad position so that their ball is compromised. Or when I arrive, make sure that they have to clean me out to end up on top, so it slows their delivery. That’s what I want. A full turnover is great, but if the ball’s been compromised or they’ve at least hesitated, that’s enough.
Caveman Chabal about to return to earth, Wellington, 2007.
I’ll go right back to walking it through, then work it up to full pace. That’ll happen at least once a week, when I and the other loosies will get together at the end of training just to make sure we get that right.
When it comes to different rules, like the ELVs, you have to ask: How does this change what I do? Often, any change is quite subtle. So much is about feel and being able to sum up the situation.
To help me do that, I look at the video of breakdowns and ask really specific questions: about the decision to be at that breakdown; whether my technique and timing were right; whether my positioning was good.
The process of finding answers to those questions helps me make an impact next game. Maybe I have to pull back and pick my time better. If it’s a technique problem, then I just try and work on it.
With the ELVs, the gate behind the breakdown isn’t new, but the change of sanction to the short-arm penalty or free kick is going to be interesting.
That’s putting the devil of temptation in front of loose forwards like me. Risk versus reward. There are people who will find this hard to believe, but I never actually deliberately infringe. However, I might be more prepared to risk a 50/50 to stop the opposition scoring if the penalty is a bent arm, because they don’t get a kick at goal out of it. The refs can only award a straight-arm penalty if they believe the offence was deliberate. That puts a huge onus on the refs to make a decision about intent in the heat of the moment.
For my money, the best ELV in terms of attacking rugby is the five-metre gap behind the hindmost foot in the scrum. It’s going to make it quite tough to defend, and I do a lot of work with Dan, trying to work out how best to manage it. I’m used to him being right beside me in defence, so we can cut the space down very quickly. But under the new ELV, if the opposing No. 8 takes it off the back of the scrum, for instance, and our halfback is on the other side, there’s a lot more space to shut down.
When we loosies talk it through then walk it through, it becomes clear that it’s going to be very difficult to defend off a good scrum. With Ali and V8 Brad, we know we’re going to have a g
ood scrum. Everyone’s talking about tap-and-gos for the free kicks, and the demise of the scrum, but they’re maybe forgetting that the captain has another option for the bent-arm penalty: the scrum.
I keep that in mind, and we prepare as best we can for the new scenarios created by the ELVs. We know the real test is going to be when the whistle blows for the first game, and who’s blowing it.
We think we’re ready, and as the 2008 Super season descends on us in what seems like high summer, another unintended consequence of the 2007 conditioning programme becomes clearer.
I’m used to Dan being right beside me . . .
To be fair, what I and the other All Blacks in the Crusaders are feeling as the season approaches, the lightness of tread, the gleam in the eye, is not just a consequence of Ted’s conditioning group holiday, but it certainly helped.
In 2006, I’d played a total of 25 games (13 for the Crusaders and 12 tests for the All Blacks), whereas in 2007, I played only eight games of Super rugby, and, due to a shortened Tri Nations, started in only six tests before Cardiff. There was no end-of-year northern tour, so my load for 2007 was a total of 15 games. That’s 40 per cent less, year on year: 10 games of high-pressure rugby my body didn’t need to get through.
Given that, it’s no surprise that come February 2008, I feel refreshed, rejuvenated and straining at the leash to get back into rugby.
The other All Blacks at the Crusaders are feeling much the same.
You could say that Ted’s conditioning programme worked. The cruel irony is that it seems to have kicked in about three months too late for the RWC.