The Real McCaw: Richie McCaw: The Autobiography

by Richie McCaw

  As much as I try desperately hard not to be affected by all this, and not let it show, I am affected. I can’t speak for the other guys in the team, but I hope the other All Blacks aren’t feeling the vibe. That big black cloud. Here we go again.

  The night of Ted’s impassioned defence of my captaincy, I play my worst game of the season so far and we’re deservedly bludgeoned 5–18 by the Chiefs in front of a capacity crowd at Waikato Stadium. Our winning run is over.

  Somewhere in the midst of all this, I’m summoned to Auckland for a seminar on leadership. It turns out to be quite positive, but in a way the organisers probably hadn’t anticipated.

  Ted, Shag and Smithy are there, along with Steve Tew, Jock Hobbs, Paul Quinn, Mike Eagle, Darren Shand, Gilbert Enoka, Mils, Dan and me. The day was organised by the NZRU and a number of speakers are lined up, who’ve all been briefed to give us their views on how they see team environments and how they get the leadership right and how they get the teams to be successful. We have Kerry Spackman, who wrote The Winner’s Bible, we have former Aussie cricket coach John Buchanan, we have an academic, we have Mainfreight CEO Don Braid, and we have Pat Lam, who gives us a Polynesian perspective.

  It’s all terribly interesting, and we’re sitting there thinking that this or that might be useful in the future, when Wayne Bennett, coach of the Broncos, walks on to the podium, looks straight at Ted, Shag and Smithy and says, ‘I don’t know why the fuck you’re sitting there and still got your jobs.’

  After Ted’s impassioned defence, I play my worst game of the ’08 season, against the Chiefs.

  Whoa!

  Then he looks at all of us and says, ‘I wouldn’t be giving any of you your fucken jobs back.’

  It’d be fair to say that we’re all sinking a bit lower in our seats as he turns his attention to Steve and Jock. ‘But you bastards have got balls. At least you’ve fucken done something different.’

  ‘Why were you playing guys out of position?’ he asks the coaches.

  While they’re pondering that one, Bennett walks over to Mils, who’s kind of scrunched down in his seat. ‘Did you want to play 13?’

  ‘Ah . . .’

  ‘Where do you want to fucken play, son?’

  ‘Ah, fullback,’ says Mils, almost apologetically.

  ‘Well, what the fuck were you doing playing centre?’

  Mils understands that the question is rhetorical, or at least directed at Ted, not him, and says nothing.

  I can’t remember much else of what’s said at that seminar, but some of Wayne Bennett’s words stay with me when I get back to Christchurch.

  ‘I tell my guys that if I stop chipping them, you better make a real quick decision,’ said Bennett. ‘You’re either perfect or you’re gone.’

  That’s a positive I can take out of the criticism of my captaincy at Cardiff: at least everyone’s still interested!

  I come away from all that determined to get my focus back. There’re four rounds left to secure a home semi.

  First up is the Blues, an emotional tester for Ali, who might feel he has a point to prove, not so much to his old mates from up north, but to David Nucifora, the coach who humiliated him by putting him on the plane back from Africa before the Blues’ semi-final. That history hypes the media interest, and I can see that Ali’s feeling the heat a bit. He jokes about making an appearance as Spiderman—he and Dan have got lots of party costumes, all the superheroes etc—and I think, Yeah, good joke Ali, and forget it, until bugger me he turns up to the interview wearing his Spiderman suit, and talks about himself in the third person!

  The media don’t seem to be terribly impressed, think he’s taking the piss out of them, whereas it’s just Ali’s way of trying to take the heat out of the situation—his looming confrontation with his old mates in the Blues. It does actually defuse things.

  Ali’s spent a lot of his downtime back in Auckland, but he’s been a great flatmate for me, even if he doesn’t know how to cook toast. That’s been okay, as I like to cook if I’m home—nothing cordon bleu, pretty much meat and three veges, maybe a stir-fry—and Ali does the dishes. That week, I can see that he’s got a bit of an edge, and I remind him to just go out and play well and try not to get personal.

  The usual Super Rugby attrition is making the playing XV a week-by-week exercise in manipulation of resources—we’ve not been able to field the same backline for consecutive rounds at any stage. This week Casey’s out, not recovered from being KO’d by the Chiefs, Dan’s ankle is still not right from a bad sprain, but Stephen Brett is back from a shoulder injury and Leon’s back too.

  Nucifora pulls a switch before the game, pushing Nick Evans to fullback and Isa Nacewa to first-five. The Blues scrum goes well and it’s a tight game, but Spiderman rules the air with a commanding display in the lineouts, and in the end we get there 26–22 and secure a home semi. Corey Flynn scores two tries and gets Man of the Match, despite being sin-binned for a shoulder charge, but the award could easily have gone to Leon, who sets me up for a try. The loss more or less pushes the Blues out of contention, which might be some satisfaction for Ali, though I doubt it.

  Sure you’ve got the right person, ref? Off to the bin against the Sharks.

  The Sharks are next up, contenders for a home semi position after an unbeaten home run, but now on the slide and desperate after being beaten by the Brumbies and the waratahs in a five-game slog through Australasia. we get there 18–10, which sounds a hell of a lot more comfortable than it is. Their athletic No. 8, Ryan Kankowski, scores a great individual try, and the game’s in the balance until five minutes to go, when we feed off a handling mistake and wyatt Crockett scores. It’s a reminder how physical the South Africans are—they steamroller us a couple of times with mauls and are fierce in the collisions. Our situation’s not helped by the 10 minutes I spend in the sin-bin for a professional foul.

  We go to Brisbane needing just one point to finish top of the table and get hosting rights for the play-offs. The Reds started the early rounds badly, but are playing good attacking rugby in the latter stages of the competition, and Suncorp is always a tough place to play. Robbie decides to rest Ali, Corey, Andy Ellis and others, but the biggest point of interest for us is Dan’s presence on the bench, ready to get back into it after a long absence with that ankle sprain.

  The danger is that we’ve already got our minds on the play-offs, and as much as we think we’ve factored that in, we’re still sloppy on attack, lazy on defence and 21–8 down well into the second half. Pride is on the line, particularly after Quade Cooper dummies Leon and me to score.

  Robbie has had enough after 55 minutes and gets Dan and Ali and Andy Ellis into the game. That improves things a little—we get to 15–21 with 13 minutes to go. we get a break—well-earned, we’ve got them on the ropes—when their halfback Ben Lucas resorts to a professional foul and gets a yellow card. They’ve already got Digby Ioane in the bin for a spear tackle on Casey, so they’re briefly down to 13 men. Ali scores, Dan converts, then scores in the corner, and we fly home and try to take some comfort from the last 20 minutes, when we woke up and pulled the game out of the fire.

  We play poorly against the Highlanders and get done. Johnny Leota drags Dan and me.

  The strain is definitely showing, and although we talk the talk before the last round against the Highlanders, say all the right words, we get done. There’s no miracle finish this time. We play poorly and get dicked.

  Afterwards, Robbie is pretty restrained in his comments to the media, dismissing what happened against the Highlanders as irrelevant, but he knows and we know that that’s not true.

  At practice it feels like we’ve come to a rocky patch. We’ve lost something and we’re not even training well. Robbie doesn’t flog us, just watches us for a couple of sessions, then reveals how much finishing with a title means to him.

  He has a great knack of picking out the times where you expect him to get angry and doing something different, being reassuring, and then
when things are ticking along nicely, bang, he’ll give it to you between the eyes about staying on the job. He’s always picked his moments really well, giving confidence that he—and we—have it sorted. He’s usually really measured under pressure. That’s bloody important. Same with the captaincy—if you’re shitting yourself, don’t ever let that show because the team will pick up on it real quick.

  Kieran Read scores against the Canes in our Super 14 semi-final. Reado’s rise has been one of the features of the season.

  This time, although we’re going badly, there’s no hiding from Robbie’s wrath. He gets us on the line and really fires up. ‘Are we going to come this far and let it slip? Like hell we are! Harden up!’

  That one. Stay on the job.

  We’re up against the Canes in the first semi, while the Waratahs play the Sharks in Sydney.

  During the build-up, it becomes apparent that they have a belief that we’re there for the taking. The Canes’ loose forward trio, Jerry and Rodney and Chris Masoe, have been labelled The Bouncers by their fans, and Kieran will certainly remember being bounced by a stiff-armer from Jerry in Round 7, but as it happens, Rodney is sidelined by a rib injury, and Kieran proves he’s the coming man by outplaying Jerry in the van of a dominant pack.

  The game illustrates the difference that attitude makes. We’re on edge and bring that edge to the match-ups, dominating the breakdowns, making the advantage line with pick-and-gos, then taking the legs away from them by sweeping wide on attack. They’re only five points down at the break, but in the second half they run out of juice. Conrad later admits that bringing the line forward on defence was difficult because he was so knackered.

  We take the semi 33–22, with their score inflated a little by a Neemia Tialata try after the fulltime hooter.

  I watch Jerry toe-kick the conversion and realise that the great warrior’s All Black career is over.

  So are Corey Flynn’s immediate prospects—another broken arm, sidelining him for three months. He’s been in top form, one of our best: sheer bad luck, not just for the final, but for his All Black aspirations.

  Over in Sydney, the Waratahs roll the Sharks, so it’s an Australasian final, a re-run of the 2005 final, which we won 35–25, only getting away in the last few minutes. The Tahs destroyed the Sharks’ lineout, and with Dan Vickerman, Dean Mumm and Rocky Elsom as targets, they’ll doubtless try to again.

  Which makes it a huge game for Ti’i Paulo, starting in Corey’s place. Robbie makes some changes to what has been the playing XV, though that’s been in such a state of flux through injuries, it’s been hard to say what the top XV is. Tim Bateman’s preferred at second-five over Stephen Brett, who has struggled since his shoulder injury. And Kieran’s retained his starting spot on the blindside, ahead of Reuben Thorne for what we know will be his last match for us, after having a hand in every title won by the Crusaders.

  Kieran’s rise has been one of the features of the season. He’s a big man, quick, good with ball in hand and he works hard—you can rely on him to turn up where he needs to be. In that respect he’s like Reuben, but a more explosive ball carrier and, if anything, even better than Reuben in the lineout. For a young guy, he’s got a calmness about him and thinks well, to go with really good instincts around the game.

  Reuben’s the ultimate team man and has handled the demotion with good grace, giving Kieran a great deal of help. Caleb Ralph is also finishing. These two guys have been benchmark players and team men for the Crusaders team.

  The strange twist is that it’s also a farewell match for both coaches—Robbie’s off on Monday to start coaching some of the players we’re trying to bash on Saturday, and Ewen McKenzie was sacked by the Waratahs Board mid-season and has no job to go to. We don’t want to give him a chance to shove it up the Tahs’ Board by brandishing the trophy.

  During the build-up, there’s pressure on Robbie to vent a bit of emotion in public, but he’s focused on the game and won’t talk about what lies ahead after the weekend; if anything, he’s more curt than usual.

  The game, like Cardiff, could have turned on a sin-binning. Sixteen minutes into the second half, we think Wyatt’s scored, only to find one of the touchies has his flag up 60 metres back downfield. He reports that Brad’s thrown a punch and the ref has no choice but to haul out the yellow card.

  I’m surprised, because Brad just doesn’t do that, but it’s hard to miss or deny, when the replays show him chasing some Tah across the field and punching him, after being blindsided with a cheap shot. Brad sinks into the chair, holds his head in his hands, wondering what the hell he’s done, as the bloody Tahs flanker Phil Waugh yells at him that he’s just cost his team the Super title. Phil knows that Brad’s desperate to win a Super title after two losing finals, yet he’s blown it by succumbing to the red mist.

  Dan’s dropped goal against the Waratahs in the final proves what a loss he was at Cardiff.

  Almost. With Crocky’s try, we could have been 19–12 up going into the last quarter, but instead we’ve only got a two-point lead and are one man down.

  The character and defensive fortitude the guys show in the next 10 minutes wins us the game. Plus Dan’s kicking. He emphasises what a loss he was in the last quarter at Cardiff by drop-kicking a goal to get us out to 17–12 and then kicks his fourth penalty, for a final score of 20–12.

  Good, tough game, worthy of a Super final, and the perfect send-off for Robbie—his fifth title as head coach, plus two as manager.

  The moment that matters. The 2008 Super 14 trophy.

  We have a lunch together on Sunday, nursing our hangovers, but there are no memorable last moments between me and Robbie—apart from when we held up the trophy after the game, which, in the end, is the moment that matters.

  The irony is that if you win the final, you don’t get time to celebrate it properly. Robbie is due in Sydney on Monday to begin his duties as Wallaby coach, and I and the other All Blacks are due in camp to prepare for the Irish. The next time we see Robbie, he’ll be in the green and gold coaches’ box plotting our downfall.

  That’s all in the future. What matters right now is that we’ve won the Super 14.

  It’s not redemption for Cardiff, but it’s a step towards it. The real thing can only happen in a black jersey.

  Jerry Collins gets an early release from his NZRU contract and is gone, with some not very gracious words from Ted ringing in his ears—which doesn’t help Ted’s battle to win back the hearts and minds of Kiwi rugby fans. Jerry’s only 27, same age as me, and what surprises me is the rapidity of his decline. One moment he’s the warrior with an unquenchable thirst for battle, and the next he’s had enough, all appetite gone. When the desire goes, the body and form aren’t far behind.

  I know that Cardiff eroded his spirit, but is Jerry’s fall a marker for the toll taken by the modern professional game? If so, how many years can any of us count on? Deb Robinson, the All Black doctor, who’s seen it all in terms of battered bodies and bones, is quoted as saying that without a significant change to the rugby calendar, there is a real chance that careers will get shorter. In the meantime, the game gets more physical every year.

  It reinforces one of the little pre-game mantras I always write down in my Warwick 2B4: Enjoy. Enjoy today. A rugby career is as fragile as your knee joint.

  Jerry isn’t the only one going or gone. The traditional post RWC clean-out includes not just Jerry, Aaron Mauger, Anton Oliver, Chris Jack, Carl Hayman, Byron Kelleher, Reuben Thorne and Doug Howlett, but also Nick Evans and Chris Masoe, along with a whole swag of players who give the New Zealand game depth, like Jimmy Gopperth, Shannon Paku, Craig Newby, Troy Flavell, Hoani MacDonald and Tom Willis. Most of these were anticipated or expected.

  The name that isn’t expected and the one that has alarm bells ringing is Dan Carter. For months, during the Super 14, there’s been speculation that Dan is going, and he’s been linked with every club from Toulon to Timbuktu. This is a huge worry for me, because I know he’s s
erious about leaving.

  Dan takes a while to get to know, but he and I have a lot of things in common. Born and raised in tiny South Island rural settlements, pin-pricks on most maps, we shared that country-boy reserve and an almost instinctive understanding of each other, even though we’re very different people and we don’t live in each other’s pockets. I know that Dan needs to get away from rugby more than I do, and at times I’m sure he gets annoyed at my being in his ear, but he’s become bloody good at telling me what he thinks and we’re quite tight. So when it becomes clear that he’s seriously considering going overseas, it worries the hell out of me, because I know the All Blacks can’t be the same team without him.

  When he first came into the Canterbury NPC team in 2002, he was seen more as a second-five, and he was big enough and defensively secure enough to play well there and made the All Blacks in 2003. In 2004, he moved into first-five for the All Blacks and became the man in charge. In 2005 he played sublimely against the Lions and was acknowledged as not just the best first-five in world rugby, but arguably the best ever in that position.

  And the pundits were right. The thing about Dan is that he can do everything and, like most great athletes, seems to have all the time in the world to do it. You get first-fives who can kick or run, but can’t do both, or are great at directing the team around the field, but can’t tackle to save themselves, can’t defend their channel or cover defend. Dan’s got real pace, accelerates from languid to full in a split second, uses his low centre of gravity to good effect with hip-bump, body swerve or step. His only weakness initially was a reluctance to call the shots, impose himself, direct the show, but he’s grown into that.