Undefeated

by Reardon, Stuart

  As they drew closer, the towering walls of the stadium came into view, the massive oval shape dominating the landscape.

  Even though they’d all seen it before, the players craned their necks to catch the first glimpse of where, God willing, they’d make history.

  It was the largest dedicated Rugby Union stadium in the world and had stood there for over a hundred years. Before that, the ten acre site had been used to grow cabbages, and even to this day, the stadium was affectionately known as the Cabbage Patch.

  Nick’s chest swelled with pride as he thought of all the famous players who’d been there before him, wondering if they’d felt the same sense of destiny.

  At the players’ entrance, there were more photographers, and Nick stood with the rest of his teammates in front of the team bus, smiling for the cameras. More autographs and more well-wishers, then the players disappeared inside.

  Now, it was down to the serious business of the day.

  They changed out of their Paul Smith suits and into training kit, ready for their work-out, getting their muscles warmed up. The physiotherapists were already there, waiting in their uniforms to rub, pummel, strap, and ease muscles and joints.

  Following that was second breakfast of poached eggs, more fruit, protein shakes and vitamins.

  There were fifteen players and eight subs, along with all the staff working to get the team into tip top shape before they stepped onto the field.

  As the clock ticked down toward kick-off, the atmosphere began to thicken, tension in the air, in the very walls around them. Nick tuned out, disappearing into himself, shutting out everything around him as he plugged in his headphones, listening to his music. He breathed deeply and slowly, using Anna’s relaxation techniques. Just thinking about her eased a knot of anxiety inside him. No matter what, she’d be there for him—he knew that without a doubt. It was a good feeling. The best.

  Up in the commentary box, the BBC sports commentators were also warming up.

  Jimmy Smith:

  Welcome to the BBC’s coverage of the Rugby World Cup Final 2016. We’re here with former internationals Jonny Wilkinson who scored the winning drop goal in the 2003 Rugby World Cup, and Stuart Reardon who has been capped for England ten times, and Great Britain five times. Jonny, what are you hoping for from this Cup Final?

  Jonny:

  We’re all very excited for this game today. Samoa brings to the table athletic, strong, physical, very physical players who always play exciting rugby. It’s going to be a great game today. Wouldn’t you say, Stu?

  Stuart:

  Yes, it’s a bright, sunny day with a firm ground, there’ll be lots of play today. Because of the weather conditions, it’ll be a fast-flowing game, wide passes, hopefully high-scoring, definitely. It’ll be a Backs game today. Samoa are a great team. Very big, physically aggressive side, like Jonny said. England will have to be strong in the middle, and use the skill out-wide with the extremely fast and skilful Backs England have got—I fancy their chances today! It’ll be an exciting game!

  Jonny:

  Whoever controls the ball most and wins field position, will win the game. England have got too much for Samoa.

  Jimmy:

  Nick Renshaw, wearing the number 17 shirt, will be up against his great buddy Fetuao Tui who he plays with at Finchley. Tui is in the number 12 shirt. How do you think that will go, Stu?

  Stuart:

  It’ll be very competitive, there’ll be a great battle between those two today. There’ll be a bit of banter for sure. Even though they’re great mates at the club, that all goes out the window when you’re playing for your national side, and I’m sure it’ll be a massive physical and athletic competitive game. It’ll be good to see who comes out on top.

  Jonny:

  It’s quite tough playing against a good friend, but they won’t be thinking about that today. It’s a big responsibility playing for your country. You keep it clean but play as tough as you can.

  Stuart:

  If they’re against each other in the field, they’ll both want to win the ball . . . and it’s bragging rights when you get back to your club level team. Whatever happens, they’ll have a laugh and a joke and a drink after.

  Jimmy:

  So how do you rate England’s chances today, Stu?

  Stuart:

  England are looking really well today, they’re in fantastic form. They’ve been playing some exciting football throughout this tournament building up to this game, so today is going to be no different. Everyone’s been really pleased by how Nick’s done in this series. He was a surprise pick—a lot of eyebrows were raised at Nick’s selection in this team, but he’s proved that he deserves this shot and he’s playing really well. He’s come through a lot of issues and a lot of media intrusion, so it’ll be good to see how he deals with it all and how he plays today.

  Nick stared up at the number 17 shirt hanging above him in the England colours, the name RENSHAW proudly stencilled across the back. He’d worked for that shirt, he’d earned that shirt, and now he was going to do it proud.

  For every person who said he wouldn’t make it, he’d prove them wrong.

  For every person who’d encouraged him and believed in him, he’d prove them right.

  He was ready.

  He pulled the tight-fitting silky material of the 17 shirt over his body, slipped the shorts over his lucky Speedos, then laced his boots tightly.

  The players grouped together, arms around each other’s shoulders, as Coach looked at them all seriously.

  “Big day, lads. But you’ve trained hard, you’re fit, and I know you’ve got this. Stick to the game plan. We’ve watched hours of video, we know where their weaknesses are, so we’re going to tie them in the middle and look to spread to their right—the left side defence is weak. Keep the mistakes to a minimum. They’re a tough team, but we’re tougher. They’re a hard team, but we’re harder. You’re going to go out there and play your hearts out, and I know you will. Make me proud, make England proud, but most of all, make yourselves proud!”

  “Raaah!”

  They were led out by the England mascot and two young boys who played for their schools. They’d both won competitions to be there on this special day and were equal parts proud and incredibly shy.

  Four foot nothing and skinny as twigs, they led out the England team of tall, heavily-muscled men, clad in the white uniforms with the red rose of England stitched over their hearts.

  Walking next to them were the huge, darkly tanned Samoan players, solemn and serious, grinning and excited.

  Fetuao winked at Nick.

  “Hello, shorty.”

  At 6’ 5”, Fetuao towered over most of the England players.

  Nick grinned back.

  “Big buggers fall harder. See you at the try line!”

  The tunnel was dimly lit and it echoed with the thunder of thousands of feet above them.

  Nick felt like a gladiator going into battle—which wasn’t far from the truth.

  The pounding echoed in his blood and he felt the pulsing adrenaline flame through him. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to breathe deeply.

  Anna was nearby, and he whispered her name, like a prayer.

  He knew that the designated seats for the families were behind the tunnel and he hoped he’d be able to get a quick glimpse of Anna in that sea of faces. She was sitting with Trish and his parents, as well as her mother who’d flown in two days earlier. But just knowing they were nearby was enough.

  He sucked in a breath and walked out in front of 82,000 people, a mix of emotions pummelling him: fear, excitement and honour, butterflies in his stomach. The roar of the crowd hit him like a blast of super-heated air, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the wall of sound. It was so loud, the music and fans chanting, with fireworks blasting off as the teams stepped onto the field. It was breath taking, surreal, beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

  The bright swathe of green stretched in f
ront of him, a perfect set of stripes pointing toward the H-shaped goal posts.

  There wasn’t a single empty seat, and the noise rose upwards on and on, a wave of cheers, the enthusiastic, excited roar of the crowd.

  The England fans were singing, their voices rising in a crescendo. Nick closed his eyes as the emotion hit him in the centre of his chest.

  Thousands of people were here to watch the game. To watch him play. It was the moment that he’d dreamed about his whole life, worked for and prayed for, but here he was living it.

  Thoughts cascaded through his mind about what it took to get here, what his job would be on the field, what he needed to do, the game plan.

  And he felt a deep well of gratitude for being selected by Coach, a man who’d kept faith in him and given him this chance; grateful for all the help he’d had along the way. And now he was proud and determined to show what he could do.

  It was hard to believe that not so long ago he’d been injured, dropped by his club, cheated on by his fiancée, jobless, friendless and hopeless. At the beginning of the season, he wasn’t even in the starting team. And now he was here, at the home of British rugby, because he never gave up.

  He felt a quiet pride, thinking of the many years it had taken to reach this point, to build his body, his fitness, his skills and his unbreakable spirit.

  To be here, representing his country on the biggest stage of his career. He knew that Anna and his family were watching and proud of him, they knew his struggles through different jobs, the hours he’d put in.

  He wanted to succeed for them as much as for himself. To prove that he was and would always be, undefeated.

  He was ready.

  The teams lined up for the official photographs and flashbulbs popped in front of their eyes. They were bathed in light, the sun beaming down on bronzed skin and perfectly hewn bodies, their tight uniforms clinging to them.

  Nick glanced up, awed by the scale of the scene, taking a moment to enjoy who he was, where he was, and what he was about to do.

  Then it was time for the national anthems to be sung.

  An amplified voice rang out around the stadium.

  “Please be upstanding for the Samoan National Anthem.”

  There was a soft hush and then the sweet, tranquil sounds of the South Sea Islands music rose in the air. The team stood straighter, their eyes glassy with emotion as they filled their lungs and sang. Around the arena, a few red flags with a patch of blue with white stars waved boldly and the words echoed quietly:

  Vaai i na fetu o loo ua agiagia ai / Look at those stars that are appealing.

  Then it was the turn of the England team. Nick lifted his chin and sang with everything in him, the words meaning more than ever before. And up in the Royal Box, he knew that members of the Royal Family were watching. Not Her Majesty, but Princes William and Harry, for sure.

  God Save Our Gracious Queen

  Long Live our Noble Queen

  God Save the Queen.

  It was staggering, hearing nearly a hundred-thousand voices belting out the words. Nick felt his heart racing, pride and humility mixed inside him.

  As the final notes died away, a huge roar erupted from the crowd.

  Now, they were just minutes from the kick-off.

  As the noise dipped again, the Samoan side lined up, faces grim as they performed their haka, the traditional war cry.

  They flexed their muscles and roared at the England team, stamping the ground as they stuck out their tongues, eyes narrowed and threatening.

  Nick didn’t know what the words meant, but he recognised the aggression on their faces, the challenge thrown down. The England players formed a long line, linking their arms, staring back at the Samoans who shouted across the field.

  The challenge was delivered and accepted, and then the teams jogged to their starting positions. Two of the players ran to the 22 yard line, knelt, said a quick prayer and crossed themselves.

  Nick no longer noticed the fans—instead, his intense focus was on the other players and the leather ball. He was in the zone.

  The referee blew the whistle and the two sides surged together.

  Nick was fast, sprinting forward and grabbing the ball from the Hooker and racing down the field, a blur as he sidestepped two players.

  On the other side of the stadium Anna cringed as all 17 stone of Fetuao tackled Nick, sending him crashing to the ground. She swore she heard the sound of him hitting the dirt, even though she knew that couldn’t be possible.

  She’d seen many, many rugby matches by now, but worried that she’d be watching this one through her fingers. Nick’s mother gripped her arm and buried her face.

  “I can’t watch! I can’t watch! Tell me when it’s over!”

  “Mum! It’s only a minute into the first half!” Trisha scolded, her cheeks pink from the excitement.

  Nick picked himself up, checking that all his limbs were attached. Yep, no damage done. Fetuao winked at him and called him a pussy Pommie.

  The game was fast, passes flashing across the field, and Nick was in his element. This was his game. This was how he played rugby. God, he loved it! Every dirty, brutal, painful second of it!

  His muscles surged, thighs pumping furiously as he raced toward the goal, catching a glimpse of Fetuao as the huge Samoan tried to trample him into the ground for a second time. Suddenly, he felt an iron grip around his waist and his legs were swept from under him, just yards from the try line.

  Nick tried to hide the ball under his body as three more players piled on top of him, flattening him across the field, but it was wrenched free and the pressure suddenly disappeared.

  He climbed to his feet, frustration painted on his face, and he ran his hands over his short hair.

  “Come on!” he yelled. “Get in!”

  Whether he was talking to himself or his teammates, no one knew. Anna clamped her hand over her mouth and tried not to cry out.

  Up in the commentary box, emotions were running high.

  Jonny: That’s a great attacking position for Samoa now. Latu gets the ball, spins it out to Nanai. Missed pass out to Fanene and he tries . . . he beats the first tackle. He’s held up five yards from the line.

  Stuart: The white jerseys are all over there! Out to Foster who’s on the right wing although he’s the left wing. What’s he doing?

  Jonny: He’s held up a yard from the line, now the ball comes back. Paul Dawson from the right touchline, out to Renshaw swinging across. Jonson in midfield drives. England will get a penalty.

  Jimmy: The ref blows the whistle. Good play by the English Backs but what happened to the Forwards? The Samoans were all over them!

  Jonny: The Samoans are taking an upper hand, that’s for sure. Lomu touches down but there was a body check there.

  Stuart: Nice pass out to Renshaw. He’s running for the line! Go, Nick! Go . . . ow, he got hammered there, completely milled. I wouldn’t want to be feeling that tomorrow.

  Anna had closed her eyes a fraction of a second before Nick was tackled. Next to her, Nick’s mum cried out. The women clung together until Trish told them grumpily that they could look now.

  Nick staggered to his feet, shook his head, then jogged back into position.

  At half time, the teams left the field, bruised, bloodied in some cases, and with England trailing 12 points.

  Nick gulped down some water and fruit juice, then chewed some sweets for a sugar hit. He knew that they hadn’t played as well as they could. He knew it, his teammates knew it, and Eddie Jones knew it.

  “Come on, boys, we know where we’ve gone wrong,” Eddie barked, his voice half choked with passion. “We’re behind on the scoreboard and need everyone here to step up to the plate, show me what you can do. Go out there and play better than your opposite number. Stick to the game plan—let’s do what we know we can do. It’s a massive occasion, everyone’s watching. We need to do what we’ve practised; everyone in here now! Look at the guy at the side of you; look at the guy in
front of you. We’re here to win this; we’ve worked hard to win this; we deserve to win this!”

  He turned to Nick.

  “We need you to pick up your game. Be sharp, act first, where’s your urgency gone? We need points, and it’s down to you and the Backs to get them. Show me what you can do. Go out there and prove it! This is your time.”

  Nick felt the words in his core. Yes! This was his time—here and now.

  Eddie was on a roll, his passion inspiring the team.

  “Gav, I need you to control our field position better. We control that and we control the game. Make them work harder for every yard. Vince, are you even on the field? You’ve got five minutes to show me why I put you out there, or I’ll pull you off pitch and give someone else a chance! It’s up to you!

  “Paul! Show me why I picked you—show me what I know you can do! And the rest of you—I picked you, I backed you, I selected you! You’re the best and you can do this! We’ve trained hard! We’ve put all the hours in! Now is your time to shine! We need 100 percent. When we leave that field, we need to know that we’ve given everything to win this game. Play like we’ve practised, play for each other, play for the badge, play for your country!

  “We’re only trailing by a few points! That’s nothing to what we can do! We know how many points we can score. Stick to the game plan, let the ball play! Go out there and enjoy it! It’s a special occasion! Have pride in your shirt! Show everyone watching on TV what this team is about! Show what you can do! Raaaaah!”

  The captain stepped forward, signalling them all to huddle, desperate to gain some momentum from his tired team.

  “We can still win this! But you’ve got to want it! You’ve got to need it! It’s about all of you, not one person. This is our journey and we can see the prize at the end. Stick to the plan, make those conversions. Mostly, get in there!”