More Blood, Sweat and Beers

by Lawrence Dallaglio

  ‘Jason acts as the Charity’s key advocate, promoting the Charity’s work at a national level to decision makers, organisations and the government.’

  This makes me sound like a relatively serious individual, but in order to make my World Cup memories interesting I know I’m not going to portray myself in the best possible light. More worrying still is the thought of certain players around the world including me in their recollections. Even allowing for the legal department throwing out any dodgy contributions, I suspect Wooden Spoon may now seriously question their wisdom in appointing me to assist in promoting the charity at a national level. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted and I hope I did some good.

  It’s well known in rugby circles that I like the occasional drink and while I see little problem with that, the revelation coming later in this book from my England team-mate Josh Lewsey, concerning the lengths to which he was prepared to go in order to avoid a couple of in-flight sharpeners on the plane home from Australia in 2003 after we’d won the World Cup, made me wonder if my reputation hadn’t perhaps become a little exaggerated. I decided on some scientific research to unearth the truth. I googled ‘Jason Leonard drinking’ and was more than a little surprised to see the search engine found 3,800,000 results in 0.25 seconds. Such evidence may indicate Josh had at least some basis for his concerns, I suppose.

  I was fortunate in the timing of my career as I spanned the amateur and professional eras; obviously post-1995 when money was finally introduced (legally) to the game the approach and attitude of players had to change. It was no longer sufficient merely to turn up and train a couple of times a week while looking to spend as many hours as possible in the pub with your mates. Change happened virtually overnight; it seemed as though every day was taken up with training, resting, studying rugby videos, talking about opposition teams, discussing tactics etc. Whilst I embraced the new world I was never going to abandon all my amateur roots, so I decided to train full-time with Harlequins and England and also see if I could continue to get away with a few visits to the boozer, just for a bit of relaxation you understand.

  I remember on the eve of departure for the 1995 World Cup in South Africa, team manager Jack Rowell called a meeting of the squad to discuss an important issue. We all arrived in the team room at the Petersham Hotel in Richmond, took our seats and waited for the man to arrive. He walked in, very smart, on the stroke of 8.00 p.m. You don’t become managing director of Golden Wonder by being late, or not wearing a crisp suit (sorry, couldn’t resist it!).

  Jack was seeking support for an idea he had, which he believed would give England an edge in achieving the dream of World Cup victory. He wanted the entire squad to adhere to a ‘voluntary’ booze ban for the duration of the tournament. He put his side very eloquently, pointing out it would be a small price to pay for the ultimate prize in rugby, and if we did win then we’d all participate in the biggest party the world had ever seen. It was difficult to argue against his clear rationale, although a few of us did give it a go. I suggested banning drinking sessions but allowing the occasional evening beer to help get some sleep, to which ‘The Pitbull’ Brian Moore shouted, ‘When has just one beer been sufficient to put you to sleep?’ After a healthy debate it was decided Jack was right and the squad were going to abstain from that moment on.

  Ten minutes after the meeting finished a few of us were making our nightly visit to the Sun at Richmond for the final time before going to Heathrow the next day. We discussed the voluntary booze ban over a couple of cool lagers in the public bar and reached the decision it was probably the correct thing to do. After a couple more we were convinced it was going to benefit the team and our chances. The ‘booze ban’ had our support.

  One of the boys arrived back at the Petersham Hotel just after 2.00 a.m., slightly tired and a little emotional, and seeing a light on in the team room he assumed it was a couple of squad members looking for food. So he climbed the stairs to the first floor and pushed open the door. He had just enough time to see the backs of Jack Rowell, Les Cusworth and Mike Slemen, the coaching team, studying a rugby video. In an instant the super-quick scrum-half reversed out of the doorway and ran to his room as the three of them turned in their seats to see a door wide open to the corridor.

  Most of us were expecting a late start since we weren’t leaving until mid-afternoon, so a 7.30 a.m. alarm call from Les Cusworth informing us of an emergency meeting was not welcome. Everyone was summoned to the team room where we found a stony-faced Jack Rowell. To say he wasn’t happy goes nowhere near describing how angry he was. He’d had a few hours to think about the previous night’s incident and had obviously decided someone was going to pay. I looked around the room and noticed most of the squad were looking bleary-eyed and confused, but they had nothing to worry about. One individual (who many years later won ITV’s Dancing on Ice competition) appeared to be very anxious.

  Jack got straight to the point.

  ‘Someone has let the entire squad down,’ he began. ‘We had an agreement, an agreement amongst men, no one was going to drink alcohol for the next few weeks and within hours one of you is coming back to the hotel at 2.00 a.m., and I’m assuming the individual had not been out on a moonlight walk. If I find out who it was make no mistake they will leave this campaign immediately. In fact they will never play for England again while I’m in charge.’

  He continued in this vein for a few minutes and it became apparent where most of it was being aimed. In fairness to Jack he never made any accusation, but the fact he looked at me more than anyone else was an indication of whom he thought might be the culprit. As did Martin Bayfield who was sitting behind me and leaned forward making a ‘tut, tut, tut’ sound near my ear.

  Jack left the room in a fury and a few of the boys obviously suspected I might have been involved and uttered little comments like, ‘Close one, Jase’ and ‘Got away with it again, Leonard’. All the time the 6ft 10in Martin Bayfield was looking down at me, continuing his tut tut tutting. I was beginning to feel guilty even though I knew it couldn’t have been me. There were no members of the management left in the room as I said, ‘It wasn’t me,’ with as much indignation as I could muster. ‘It couldn’t have been me, I didn’t get in until 6 a.m.!’

  Assuming he no longer has realistic aspirations of playing for England again, and for the benefit of overseas readers who have not been subjected to Dancing on Ice, the naughty boy Jack was referring to was a twenty-three-year-old Kyran Bracken, who went on to play in excess of fifty times for England. Might have been more if he’d followed my example.

  Jetlagered

  In 2003 the England team arrived in Perth, Australia, almost a month before the tournament kicked off, all part of Clive Woodward’s professional approach to the campaign. He knew it would take a few days to recover from jetlag and decided there was no point in training until we were all fully acclimatised. As a result we were told we had three days off before we got down to business. To be fair we had trained incredibly hard for years and in particular the previous six months, so a bit of downtime was not going to affect our fitness levels. Clive suggested we spent the time relaxing and getting in sync with the Australian clock. He had a mature approach to alcohol and said he didn’t mind if we went out for a couple of beers to help the process. That was all I needed to hear.

  On the first night I took out all the young members of the squad for a couple of drinks. We had a great evening and I felt I’d managed to pass on some of my experience when I brought them all back to the hotel at about 4.00 a.m.

  On the second night I took out the senior members of the squad, who proved they had more stamina than the younger lads by arriving back at 5.00 a.m.

  On the third night I took out everyone and I like to think this was critical in helping the team bond (although having been together for several years there may be a limit to how tight a team can become). The vast majority (minus Jonny Wilkinson, of course, who was safely tucked up in bed) returned to the hotel at 6.00 a.m.
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br />   Day four and we have a 10.00 a.m. training session. I’ve had a couple of hours’ sleep, a quick shower and am getting in the lift to go to breakfast. One floor down and the lift doors open to allow Clive Woodward to enter and join me. I am looking a little bit shabby, to say the least. Clive stares at me for a few seconds and says, ‘Jase, you look absolutely shocking, are you okay?’

  I raise my hand to my face and try to talk out of the side of my mouth in an attempt to divert the alcohol fumes away from him, ‘Clive, I’ve never been affected this badly before but the jetlag is f****** killing me.’

  Heaven is not a Place on Earth

  Martin Bayfield

  Martin was a valuable member of the England team for several seasons; at 6ft 10in he often intimidated the opposition and dominated the line-out. He played thirty-one times for his country and in all three Lions Tests in New Zealand during the 1993 tour.

  ‘Forced to retire from rugby due to injury in 1998, he developed another skill on the after-dinner speaking circuit. He is without doubt the best rugby speaker and probably one of the top three sporting speakers in the UK. He also entered the world of tele vision presenting, including anchoring ITV’s World Cup coverage in 2007 and also the World’s Strongest Man. Ironically his most famous role earned him little if any recognition, as Robbie Coltrane’s body double during all the Harry Potter films, where he played Hagrid, particularly in the longer shots when they needed to emphasise the size of the giant. He was delighted after the second film when his name appeared in the credits as an actor and not a stuntman!

  ‘Our international careers overlapped for just a season or two during which time I thoroughly enjoyed his company, an extremely funny man who sees the humour in every situation.

  My only World Cup experience as a player came in the 1995 tournament. From an English perspective things went quite well on the field of play apart from that lad Jonah who did spoil things a bit. Off the field I was personally quite interested to see how relations between our coach Jack Rowell and a prominent figure in South African rugby, Louis Luyt, developed.

  Jack Rowell was coach of the English team from 1994 to 1997 and during his time in charge England won twenty-one of their twenty-nine games, making him in ‘percentage terms of games won’ England’s most successful coach. Prior to this he was head coach of the successful club side Bath, overseeing the glory years when for an extended period of time they appeared to be invincible, winning numerous Cup finals at Twickenham together with a collection of league titles. He was also a successful businessman who acted as chairman of a number of companies in the public and private sectors, predominantly in the food industry, including Dalgety plc, where he was executive director responsible for the consumer foods division. One other piece of information you will need to know about Jack is he has a razor-sharp wit, not always understood by all, but nevertheless great company in social situations. Given his background of success coupled with a healthy ego it was always going to be an interesting encounter when he met Mr Luyt, the President of the South African Rugby Union.

  Louis Luyt has been described as a business tycoon and politician. He was a rugby player of some repute as a young man, and went on to found Triomf Fertiliser, Luyt Breweries, and also took control of the Ellis Park Stadium in Johannesburg, venue for the 1995 World Cup final. It’s fair to say he was not overburdened with self-doubt. To be kind I would describe him as a confident man bordering on arrogant. Perhaps the following snippet of information will allow you to form your own opinion. After the 1995 World Cup final, there was a huge celebratory dinner. In a speech resonating with old Afrikaans conceit, Mr Luyt proclaimed the victorious Springboks as, ‘The first “true” world champions. There were no “true” world champions in the 1987 and 1991 World Cups because South Africa was not there. We have proved our point.’ This statement was described by the New Zealand media as ‘boorish’. The inference clearly was that had South Africa been allowed to compete they would have won the previous two tournaments as well. When you consider New Zealand, the beaten 1995 finalists, were winners in 1987 it will not surprise you to learn that the All Blacks’ captain Sean Fitzpatrick walked out of the function, followed by his team.

  One year prior to the World Cup, England took the opportunity to tour South Africa, allowing the squad to experience the country and some of the stadiums we’d be playing in during the tournament. It was seen as the perfect preparation for the team and it also brought Jack and Louis into contact for the first time. Both men had strong personalities, with Jack having the edge when it came to wit and repartee. At post-match functions both men often had to give a speech and without doubt Jack was the winner of these unofficial contests. You do not reach their respective positions without having a strong competitive streak.

  Louis knew he was coming off second best and was heard saying to Jack that he was going to enlist the best scriptwriters in South Africa in order to produce a speech which would deliver all of Louis’s aims, which in effect amounted to ensuring he looked good while making Jack look small (not an easy thing to do to a man who is over 6ft 6in tall). Jack took the news in good heart and smiled at Louis as if to say ‘bring it on’.

  Following our victory in the first Test, Louis was only too keen to get on his feet and deliver his talk, explaining how England had been lucky and that things would be different the following week. In retrospect it was not an improvement on previous efforts, with humility once again failing to secure a slot on the agenda. Jack was obviously delighted with our win and once again managed to turn the screw just another notch while on his feet. At the time the South Africans were developing an additional tier to a stand at Kings Park, Durban, and I recall Jack saying he felt the developers had missed a trick by not inviting Louis to each match and asking him to open his mouth, as this would easily provide space for the additional 15,000 seats they were seeking at very little cost. Seven days later we did in fact lose to South Africa and it was clear to everyone Jack was not best pleased with the result. He had a face like thunder for a couple of hours after the final whistle, but in true Jack style he became more upbeat as the evening wore on.

  The post-match function was of the highest quality, something Jack covered in his speech. Everything was top-class, there was even a lady playing a harp in a corner of the room. Jack dealt with the more formal aspects early on by thanking South Africa for hosting a superb tour. He talked about the dinner itself and delivered a line which had the English team roaring with laughter in addition to those who didn’t live in fear of Louis Luyt.

  Jack was in full flow as he said, ‘In terms of quality this is possibly the best dinner I’ve ever attended, I look at the fine bone china and notice it’s of the highest standard, as is the cutlery and the crystal glass. The food has been exquisite and the wine some of the best I’ve ever tasted. The service has been first-class and the venue second to none. In fact a few minutes ago I looked around this magnificent setting and stored a mental image. I then closed my eyes and listened to the conversation and laughter and when I heard the harpist playing over to my right I honestly felt as though I was in heaven. I then opened my eyes, saw Louis Luyt, and instantly realised I couldn’t have been.’

  Another great victory for Jack.

  1999

  The 1999 Rugby World Cup was hosted by Wales and saw a change in the format, as for the first time the big eight nations did not qualify automatically. Only the champions, the runners-up, the third-place playoff winners from 1995 and the host nation were afforded that luxury. This meant South Africa, New Zealand, France and Wales were assured of their places, with sixty-five nations taking part in a new qualification process.

  Another modernisation for the fourth Rugby World Cup was the expansion to a twenty-team format, divided into five pools of four, a scenario that necessitated a quarter-final playoff round involving the five runners-up and the best third-placed team to decide who would join the pool winners in the last eight.

  England was once again in the s
ame group as New Zealand and suffered a hefty 30–16 defeat, which meant that even with huge victories over Italy and Tonga (67–7 and 101–10 respectively), and notching up an impressive tally of twenty-two tries (none by me), we were confined to second place, and thanks to the new format a playoff match against Fiji. The game took place at Twickenham and although the Fijians were unlikely to pose too much trouble for the England team, the very fact of having to play the match created a major problem because the winner was due to take to the field again only four days later, for the quarter-final in Paris. The opposition would be a pool winner, in our case South Africa, who had avoided the playoff stage and therefore had a full nine days to prepare.

  England beat Fiji 45–24 in a very physical match (again I failed to score) and departed for Paris. Having encountered the force of Jonah Lomu four years previously, it was to be another giant of the game that would send us home prematurely (if you are English, that is) this time. The stand-out performer in the quarter-final was the South African Jannie De Beer, who was transformed from ‘occasional Springbok fly-half’ to ‘national hero’ when he kicked a world-record number of dropped goals against us. De Beer had been second-choice in his position up to then, but an injury to Henry Honiball gave him the starting spot for our game. The match remained close until De Beer took control in the second half, slotting his five dropped goals, five penalties and two conversions to clinch (okay, walk away with) a 44–21 victory. As someone who played in the match, let me tell you his metronomic kicking was heartbreaking. Oh, and for the record, none of England’s points were scored by me.