We progressed through the pool games with wins over England, the USA and Japan which ensured we topped our pool, securing a quarter-final against Ireland at the Concord Oval, Sydney. We felt in great shape and were determined to get to the final match of the tournament, at Eden Park, Auckland. If we achieved our ambition it would allow the entire squad to be together for an extended period of time rather than a couple of hours each afternoon. With a 33–15 victory over Ireland we were one match away from competing for the biggest prize in our sport.
In the semi-final we faced France, with 20,000 of our supporters drowning out the party of twenty-three travelling French fans. We were a ‘shoo in’ to get the trip to New Zealand. Unfortunately the French try scorers that day, Alain Lorieux, Philippe Sella, Patrice Lagisquet and the incomparable Serge Blanco, thought otherwise, and together with the on-form French goal-kicker Didier Camberabero they beat us 30–24.
The mood in our changing room was desperate, players sitting around in various states of undress, many of them holding their heads in their hands, staring at the floor. Even our flamboyant winger David Campese was unusually quiet. With the players desolate, I remember our coach Alan Jones entering the room to be greeted by the deafening silence. He wandered around, patted a few players on the back and checked on the welfare of guys who’d received knocks during the match. After several minutes he stood in the middle, surrounded by pieces of discarded kit and bandages, and said, ‘Will someone at least turn on the bloody showers so we can create some atmosphere in here?’ With the benefit of hindsight it was quite a good line, but it had no noticeable effect on the mood of the players, a mood which worsened when he informed us we were going to New Zealand after all, to compete in the third- and fourth-place playoff match in Rotorua, against either New Zealand or Wales, who were playing their semi-final the following day.
I don’t want to cause any offence to Kiwis, particularly those who live in Rotorua, but I think it’s fair to say that we weren’t all that keen to travel there for a consolation match against Wales after such a disappointing loss. We arrived as a complete squad, took part in a few days’ training and did what we could to raise ourselves for the non-match. We ran onto the pitch and were confronted by 20,000 screaming New Zealand Maoris, all supporting Wales and doing a comprehensive job of drowning out our dozen or so travelling fans. Eighty minutes later, following a last-minute touchline conversion from Welsh full-back Paul Thorburn, we were officially the fourth-best team in the world.
Acting the Part
The second Rugby World Cup four years later was a far more pleasurable experience for the Australian team and our supporters. Most of the bar staff, and 90 per cent of the transitory Aussie community in Earls Court, witnessed our victory over England at Twickenham, in addition to millions back home who set their alarms and watched it on TV at some unearthly hour. Several members of the squad had been playing back in the 1987 tournament and still carried the scars following the fourth-place finish. We were much better prepared than previously, not least because England is 12,000 miles away from Australia, thereby precluding any members of the squad from working at their day jobs during the tournament.
I suppose the game most people who follow rugby reasonably closely remember was our quarter-final against Ireland at Lansdowne Road, Dublin. This was a game we almost lost having never been behind until the seventy-sixth minute, when the Irish flanker Gordon Hamilton made a superb break from a line-out to score what thousands of Irish fans thought was the winning try. Robert Armstrong of the Guardian wrote, ‘Australia and Ireland put on an enthralling exhibition of ambitious, freewheeling football in their quarter-final to leave Lansdowne Road in a state of high emotion. It was a classic demonstration of how fiercely committed underdogs can compel a favoured team to sweat every inch of the way for survival.’
This was an accurate reflection of the game. We were the favourites but at no point in the match were we comfortable until the final whistle blew with us leading 19–18. Of course when you get into the changing room things are completely different, cries of ‘never in doubt’ and ‘all in a day’s work’ could be heard from various quarters (Campese predominantly). With Nick Farr-Jones aggravating a knee ligament injury early in the first half I had become acting captain for the remainder of the match, a responsibility I took seriously. With a semi-final to look forward to I wandered around the changing room having a word with a few players, letting them know how well I thought they’d done and congratulating them on not giving up. A future Australian captain who would lift the World Cup eight years later was a young member of the team that day, by the name of John Eales. I sat beside John and offered a few words of encouragement to the youngster. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts it seemed as though he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. I gave him a nudge and asked if he was okay. He turned, smiled at me and said, ‘I am now we’ve won.’ In that instant I realised how important it was to him to succeed. I can’t say I knew he would become a future captain, but to me, in those few succinct words, he demonstrated the desire and passion required to play international rugby. He was going to be special, I was convinced.
‘I was so worried with a few minutes to go when we went behind,’ he continued. ‘All I could think about was flying back to Australia tomorrow, and wondering how on earth I was going to get my dry cleaning which I put into the hotel laundry this morning. Do you think they would have posted it to me?’
I became acting captain once more during the tournament. It was at the official dinner following the final (in which we beat England, sorry Lol) held at the Lancaster Gate Hotel. Typically, it was a male-only affair, with about eight hundred people attending, at which various ‘stuffed shirts’ delivered proclamations about ‘rugby football being the winner’ and ‘how wonderful the tournament had been in spreading the rugby union message to the world’. I’m a relatively quiet guy and I remember thinking how pleased I was not to have to make a speech that evening, or any other evening. I was happy doing what I needed to do on the pitch and then flying under the radar the rest of the time. By 10.00 p.m. I was pretty ‘relaxed’ and had just ordered a glass of port and my annual cigar, and was having a few quiet reflective moments before leaving the function, getting shot of the formal outfits and seriously getting stuck in back at the team hotel in Surrey. It was at this moment Nick Farr-Jones came up to me and said, ‘I’m not feeling well, you’re going to have to make the captain’s speech on my behalf.’ I could tell by the look on his face he was being serious and any doubts I might have had were dispelled as I saw him leave the room seconds later as a glass from the top table was being tapped with a knife to get everyone’s attention.
Will Carling, the England captain, was invited to say a few words, none of which I heard as I was in a state of blind panic. What could I say? How should I pitch it? I didn’t want to appear arrogant, but at the same time I wanted to recognise the huge achievement of winning the World Cup. I was in pieces as ‘Nick Farr-Jones, captain of the Australian team’ was invited to respond by Tony O’Reilly, the former Irish international and one of the best raconteurs I’d ever heard. It was only as I walked towards the microphone that suddenly I realised I was in the shoes everyone in that room wanted to be in; I was captain (okay, acting) of a World Cup-winning team. What a marvellous feeling, and once I had it in my mind I became instantly at ease. I have no recollection of what I said apart from thanking all the relevant personnel involved with the tournament in general and Australian rugby specifically. I’d like to think I did a reasonable job, and achieved a suitable balance between humility and pride in our achievement.
This may sound immodest, but I think Nick Farr-Jones did well in choosing me as his deputy that night. Another option would have been David Campese, and had Nick gone down that route it’s quite possible the dinner might still have been going on now.
Double Victory
Sean Fitzpatrick
During an international career lasting twelve years, Sean played in nin
ety-two Test matches for New Zealand as hooker, and captained the team from 1992 until his retirement in 1997. As a player he was absolutely fearless and never gave up, and in many respects he epitomises the ethos of All Black rugby. I remember hearing him speak at a function a few years ago and a couple of things from his talk remain with me. When discussing the All Black philosophy he said that when your opposite number comes up to you at the end of a game and asks if you want to swap your jersey, “Ask yourself, does he deserve it?” The other thing which struck a chord was in a changing room following a defeat, when the captain of New Zealand told his team to “Remember this feeling, remember how you feel right now, and know you never want to feel this way again. We celebrate our victories and remember our defeats.”
‘When listening to some of the platitudes spoken by players from losing teams saying “we’ll learn from this and move on” or “we’ll put this behind us” it made me realise how much sense there is in the All Black approach.
‘Sean has lived in the UK for many years and whenever we meet, which is fairly often, we always enjoy a couple of beers and a bit of reminiscing about how good we used to be.
‘In 1997 Sean was awarded the New Zealand Order of Merit by the then Governor General of New Zealand, Sir Michael Hardie Boys. He remains an icon in New Zealand and is highly respected throughout the rugby world.
I remember looking forward to the 1991 Rugby World Cup with a huge amount of anticipation. Firstly, we entered the tournament as defending champions (a situation we haven’t found ourselves in since) and secondly, it provided us with the opportunity to prove conclusively we were the best team in the world by following up our home victory with a win on foreign soil, and in the northern hemisphere. It was a challenge I relished, as was the chance to compete against the English hooker Brian Moore.
The opening game of the 1991 World Cup was England against New Zealand at Twickenham. It was the occasion of my thirty-fifth Test match and marked the first time I ever played against Brian. Obviously I’d heard a lot about him and knew he enjoyed making comments to the press which were often designed to wind up the opposition, a tactic which proved particularly successful when playing against France and Scotland I believe.
The first time I saw him was while we were performing the haka a few minutes before kick-off. He was smaller than I’d imagined and not exactly the most handsome hooker I’d ever faced. Now I don’t want to give the wrong impression here. I didn’t generally judge hookers by their looks, but there was something about Brian that stood out. Or rather didn’t. It was his lack of a full set of teeth that caught my eye. In some individuals, the look can indicate a degree of meanness and aggression, but to me it always says a guy who was just too slow to get his face out of the way. I wasn’t sure if he smiled or snarled when he caught my eye, but he certainly made an impression. Apparently there is an explanation for his absent dentures. It seems he fell asleep as a child with his head under the pillow and later that night the tooth fairy arrived and took the lot. At this early stage in the story you may be thinking I’m being a bit harsh on Brian, but believe me he deserves it.
Sledging has been an integral part of cricket for generations. There are legendary tales of players verbally attacking each other in order to gain some kind of psychological advantage. Rugby has always been much simpler in its approach to intimidation. If you want to send someone a message, punch them! It was during the match in 1991 that I first witnessed sledging from a rugby player, and there are no prizes for guessing that the sledger was Brian Moore and the recipient was me. In fact, the sledging was completely unnecessary as he’d already caught me off guard with a sneaky jab to my jaw. That was fine. If you play the game of rugby you know at some point or another someone is going to send a punch in your direction. In Brian’s case I think I annoyed him during the first scrum when our ‘baby faces’ came into contact and I muttered something about not understanding how he had the nickname ‘The Pitbull’ when surely it would have been more appropriate to be called ‘ugly duckling’. He bided his time and shortly before half-time landed the shot I mentioned earlier. I heard a couple of gasps from the English forwards, clearly not surprised Brian had lost his cool, but worried they might be required to back him up if I decided to retaliate. To be fair to Brian he had done what he felt he had to and even more importantly had managed to do it without alerting the referee. He should have left it there, but instead, he leant forward as I was clearing my head and said in a loud, excited voice, ‘And I slept with your mother last night.’
I have to be honest, the comment briefly stopped the game as everyone contemplated the words he’d shouted at me. And I was slightly perturbed. Mum had been in London the previous night.
By now everyone was staring at me including the referee. Was I going to ignore the comment? Or was I going to erupt? It was before the days of red and yellow cards but the ref was definitely reaching in his pocket for something, probably his whistle so he could give it a loud blast in an attempt to assert his authority before I whacked Brian. He needn’t have worried. Me? A hothead? Never. Instead, in a very calm voice I said, ‘Brian, you’re twenty-nine years of age, my mother is sixty-two. By my reckoning that’s a result for Mum.’
Match result – New Zealand 18 England 12
Personal result – Sean Fitzpatrick 1 Brian Moore 0
On the Edge
Will Carling
Prior to Will Carling, England captains remained relatively anonymous outside of the Five Nations Championship. His time in charge coincided with a period of success and a greater media interest in the sport which thrust him into the spotlight. He became the youngest post-War England captain aged twenty-two and led the team to back-to-back Grand Slams in 1991 and 1992. He gained seventy-two England caps, no fewer than fifty-nine as captain. He also toured with the British and Irish Lions to New Zealand in 1993.
‘While the style of play adopted under his leadership was often criticised as being dominated by the forwards, it was successful and rare victories over Australia, South Africa and New Zealand saw a huge rise in the sport’s popularity in England and across the Home Nations.
‘Just prior to the 1995 World Cup Will was famously relieved of the captaincy for referring to the Rugby Football Union Committee as “fifty-seven old farts”, a comment made in reaction to their pronouncement that England players had a desire to “cheat” by breaking the amateur ethics of the game (the comment was not meant for public consumption as he believed the interview was over and the microphones turned off, something former Prime Minister Gordon Brown thought during last year’s election campaign I believe). He was, however, soon reinstated following a public show of support and a personal apology. Just a few months later the game became professional.
‘There is no doubt Will and his team raised the profile of the sport and his centre partnership with Jerry Guscott was the most successful English pairing for several generations.
International teams are always looking to find an edge over the opposition. Obviously in recent years the search for any such advantage has become increasingly high-tech, and some of the gadgetry around now would not be out of place in a Hollywood blockbuster. For several years there have been devices available that measure a player’s heart-rate, the total distance run and top speed. These were in their infancy when I was involved in the sport and most of the players treated them with a degree of scepticism. Results were often read out in team meetings prior to going out on the pitch to train.
Inevitably Peter Winterbottom, our world-class open-side flanker, would run in excess of twelve miles during a match, stopping only to add his weight to a scrum or assist in a line-out, and even then he was often seen running on the spot. Someone like Jason Leonard, however, would never break the six-mile-an-hour barrier, but to be honest I never cared about his speed (or lack of it) because I knew the damage he could inflict on opposition scrums and was well aware of his value at rucks and mauls (those he managed to get to anyway). But the statistics did s
ometimes reveal interesting facts. For instance, we discovered that the quickest player in the squad was our ‘flying winger’ Rory Underwood. Hardly a surprise you would think, considering he played eight-five times for England and scored a record forty-nine tries. Swerving to evade a sprawling defender would surely be the moment when his foot slammed down on the accelerator to achieve maximum acceleration, one would imagine. Ah, not so, I am afraid to report. Rory was clocked in full flight as he ran in celebration towards Jerry Guscott, who had just scored a try. You have to take your hat off to a guy whose top speed during eighty minutes was reached in order to give a team-mate a hug!
Today, the devices are far more advanced, data is fed via a small transmitter in a player’s collar to a laptop computer in the stands, recording such things as an individual’s core temperature, and even the level of fatigue they are experiencing. This information will then assist a coach when deciding whether or not it’s the right time to make a substitution. In my day the players were pretty good at making these decisions themselves. I can recall various occasions when Wade Dooley looked at me gasping, ‘Will, I’m f****** hot and feel shagged out. Either go down injured to give me a rest or get someone else on.’ I can’t help thinking it was more personal during my time.
More Blood, Sweat and Beers Page 8