The Real McCaw: Richie McCaw: The Autobiography

by Richie McCaw

  Whatever, that’s gone. I’m determined to make it work now for the Crusaders’ benefit.

  The English Premiership has been described as a marathon, compared with Super rugby’s sprint. That might have been true of the Super 6 or even 12, but with 14 rounds, semis and finals, the Super 14 is more like a lung-busting middle-distance race, where you have to get out of the blocks quickly, sustain close to maximum pace through the middle stages, work to make sure you’re in the right position at the top of the final straight, and try to finish over the top of them. Last year we got the staggers at the tape: in 2008 we think we’re ready.

  By the luck of the draw, we get an early opportunity to find out how ready. Rounds 2 and 3 are in South africa.

  A drought-breaking late summer deluge at Jade makes it difficult to judge the true effect of the ELVs in the first game played under the new laws. we beat the Brumbies comfortably enough, 34–3, and there are some promising signs in the way Leon MacDonald counter-attacks to set up the first try for Mose Tuiali’i. Mose runs powerfully for his second after halftime, then Brad and Dan score—right on fulltime—to get the bonus point.

  However, the biggest thing we take out of that game is that our thoughts about the power of a dominant scrum prove well-founded. Our scrum is so dominant that I take that option every time we get a free kick, and it keeps the Brumbies under the hammer.

  As we board the plane next day for the now familiar trek to Africa, we’re aware that neither the Brumbies nor the weather conditions at Jade is much of an indication of what we’re about to strike next. Last year’s champions, the Bulls, are waiting for us at Loftus Versfeld, scene of our ignominious semi-final exit last year, and we have no idea how the Bulls will adapt to the new rules.

  The answer becomes apparent quite early in the game. They haven’t.

  For the first half hour, they do much as they did the year before, take it forward with the panzer division, one pass off the ruck looking for the collision, two passes if they’re really chancing their arm, then hoof it high. And for the first half hour it works—Derick Hougaard kicks four penalties. Bulls 12, Crusaders nil.

  We’re struggling to find our rhythm, and it’s shaping up as a replay of last year, but the new rules—even if you don’t embrace them—keep the ball in play longer and have a cumulative effect which the Bulls clearly haven’t trained for. We’re certainly feeling jaded, but as time goes on we can sense they’re feeling it more than us. The pace quickens if anything, and there are suddenly a lot of wide open spaces on the high veldt to attack. The scoreline for the second half hour is Crusaders 35, Bulls nil.

  At fulltime, it’s Crusaders 54, Bulls 19.

  Journalist Paul Lewis sums it up: ‘New Age Crusaders, Stone Age Bulls’.

  Okay, no Bryan Habana, no Matfield, no Bakkies Botha for the Bulls, but we’re still able to take some big pointers from the game. Robbie’s strategy to get us fit enough to take advantage of the space the ELVs create seems to work.

  And we appear to have the personnel to execute that strategy. We have a powerful pack which is also very mobile. Mose is a so-far unsung hero—big ball carries and powerful defence. Ali is bringing aerial command and pace and power to the middle row, and Brad is a unique mix of power and mobility and stamina. Stephen Brett at second-five is loving the space Dan’s giving him, and guys like little Kade Poki are really dangerous one on one, particularly with the direction they’re getting from Leon at the back. Leon seems custom-made for the new rules.

  South Africa is so vast, and the differences between Pretoria and Cape Town so pronounced, that it’s entirely possible that the Stormers will have a very different approach to that of the Bulls. Richard Knowler of The Press, who’s travelling with us, describes Pretoria as Margaret Thatcher, compared to Cape Town’s Catherine Zeta-Jones. I’m glad he said that!

  Certainly, Cape Town seems to have more than its fair share of beautiful women, and the hotel we stay in is an easy stroll from the waterfront bars and bistros and has a dramatic outlook to the Atlantic Ocean. The Crusaders seem to have a lot of local support in Cape Town and there are a lot of people floating around the hotel getting photos and autographs, but for all that, Newlands is a damn hard place to win at. It’s too early in the season to have much intelligence about how the Stormers are playing, but there’s no reason to suppose that they’ll be as conservative and anachronistic as the Bulls, particularly with a new coach, Rassie Erasmus, in charge.

  At Newlands on Saturday, Kade Poki pulls a hamstring in the warm-up, and Sean Maitland gets his first start. When Kade pulls up lame and Sean is promoted off the bench, it causes a bit of consternation up in the lounge. Hamish Gard has just knocked off his first beer when he’s told to get down to the changing room and get his gear on, he’s replacing Sean on the bench. I think that was the beginning of a new protocol—no beers until after the whistle for kick-off has sounded!

  It’s a game of two halves, as they say, but this time they’re perfectly balanced: a try and a penalty in the first half for an 11-point lead, exactly replicated in the second half, when Sean gets the critical try.

  The most pleasing thing about the 22–nil scoreline is the ‘nil’. If defence is about attitude, then keeping the Stormers scoreless—not even a penalty goal—for 80 minutes of rugby under the new rules says a lot about the determination and spirit of the 2008 Crusaders.

  Man of the Match against the Stormers.

  I’m happy with my form too. I get Man of the Match for both games in Africa, and as much as that’s a bit of a pluck out of the hat, it’s an indication that I’m back in the groove and putting last year behind me.

  It’s our first clean sweep of South Africa since 2002, and we fly out to Perth with a real sense of mission accomplished, leaving a lot of questions behind for the new world champions. Already Fourie du Preez and Bryan Habana, two players who might have profited most from the ELVs, have instead publicly lamented the damage the ELVs are doing to their structured game. Their protests don’t bode well for the ELVs’ review at the end of the competition.

  That sense of mission accomplished almost turns out to be a banana skin in Perth. Part of the problem might be the time we have to kill—eight days. As beautiful as Perth is, and as much as we try to take advantage of the beaches and golf courses, hanging round for eight days waiting for the game is too long, particularly given it’s our third week on the road. Robbie’s right when he says that you tend to lose track of the days, from game day to game day, and the days of the week don’t mean much.

  Then, five hours after the end of the game, we have to get on the midnighter to Sydney. That means you pack up at the hotel and leave from the stadium directly after the game. There’s always a risk that you’ve got one foot on the plane before the game starts.

  None of this can be used as an excuse if we fall over, and we damn near do. Two years previously, we escaped with a draw in Perth when Marius Jonker ruled out what looked like a legit try, and it almost happens again.

  The Force are 17–12 up at halftime and could have had another five points on us but for a forward pass by Cameron Shepherd. They quickly remedy that in the second half, going up 24–12. But we level up with tries from Ali and Andy Ellis, then when Matt Giteau misses touch, we counter-attack and Casey Laulala scores what proves to be the winner.

  We’ve crabbed ahead 29–24 by the last quarter, but it’s squeaky bum time—Nathan Sharpe throws a loose pass into touch with the line open. That would have tied it; a conversion would have won it for them. It’s a warmish night and we’re buggered by the time the ref blows the whistle for fulltime.

  The Brumbies, Bulls and Stormers got one try against us. The Force score four and could have had, should have had, two more. You’ve got to hand it to coach John Mitchell. He got them to go wide against us and put runners into space: in other words, his approach to the new rules is the same as Robbie’s, and it almost pays dividends.

  Mitchell is a good coach, and his partnership with Robbie
might have worked for the All Blacks if it had been the other way round—Robbie head coach and John Mitchell his assistant. That might have saved us all from some of his cryptic answers at the media conferences. I used to sit there thinking ‘F’christsakes man, just bloody say how it is. Just answer the bloody question!’

  Back at Jade, we pull up our socks and hoe into the Cheetahs, to the tune of 55–7, despite benching Ali, Greg Somerville, Mose and Corey Flynn, and losing Stephen Brett to injury in the first half. This game shows the value—again—of trusting the whole squad.

  At the following Thursday training, we have some interested spectators—Ted and Smithy and Kieran Crowley, who’s just been appointed to coach Canada. They’re going round the franchises, talking with the Super 14 coaches about what they’re looking for in the All Blacks. Clearly, they’re not going to do that with the new wallaby coach, and they maintain a respectful distance. It’s all a bit tense and difficult, but it’s been like that between the Crusaders and the All Blacks for a few years, so nothing much has changed.

  The atmosphere might still be a bit unsettling, though, because we’re really off our game in the first half against the waratahs, dropping passes, not looking after the ball at breakdowns, and find ourselves down 6–7 early in the second half. But, again, the fitness factor tells in the last quarter—we start hearing the sweet music of their forwards gasping for breath. we hold on to the ball and grind them down. It takes 17 phases to get Mose over the chalk, but that kills them off, and we get another two tries, the last one for a bonus point right on the hooter. The final score of 34–7 was never in prospect at halftime, but it shows again that the most critical change precipitated by the new rules is time: ball in play time.

  It seems extraordinary to be six rounds down without having faced one New Zealand side. The Hurricanes in Wellington remedy that. As the Force under Mitchell proved, New Zealand coaches seem to have a more positive attitude towards the changes, and we know we can’t count on the Canes running out of breath in the last quarter.

  There’s a bit on the line for this game, all sorts of individual match-ups for a start. Kieran Read, Mose and me up against Chris Masoe, Jerry Collins and Rodney So’oialo, Ali and Brad versus Craig Clarke and Jason Eaton, Corey Flynn versus Andrew Hore, Andy Ellis versus Piri Weepu, and Casey versus Conrad Smith. Some were left out of the All Blacks in ’07, some were injured, and those that did play mostly didn’t play well and are looking for redemption. It’s a virtual All Black trial, mate against mate. That gives extra motivation and these derbies can often be pretty brutal and intense—you go hell for leather but within limits, and what happens on the field stays there.

  Tough grind: Waratahs, 2008.

  We’re heading into the bye, so we know we can give it everything and we do, in front of 31,500 fans at Westpac Stadium. It’s the toughest game of the season so far, and, sure enough, Jerry fells Kieran with a coat-hanger early in the second half. Six months after being brothers in arms at Cardiff, I’m in referee Steve Walsh’s ear, trying to convince him that Jerry’s a nasty recidivist who has to be sent off. Doesn’t work. Instead, Walsh yellow cards Mose with 15 to go for tackled ball infringements. Horey scores a couple of minutes later and it’s all on, with our defence getting us home 20–13.

  The week off is timely: we’re knackered, but satisfied—top of the table, stage one completed, time for reflection.

  The ELVs have certainly made a difference, but the biggest difference is not really in the individual rule changes, but rather the cumulative effect they have in increasing the time the ball is in play. That’s the critical factor and it comes back to fitness. Maybe that has had some effect on some of the big boys if they lack mobility, players like Jone Tawake and Sione Lauaki, maybe even our own Campbell Johnstone. But it’s too early to be definitive about that.

  Certainly, the five-metre scrum gap gives a dominant scrum a real advantage, both as an attacking weapon and a means to manipulate the defensive alignment, but other than that, there’s not a hell of a lot of difference to the basic game, and I’m a bit bemused by the bleats of protest coming mainly from South African teams who are using the ELVs as an excuse for playing poorly. What we work on each week is what we’ve always worked on.

  We come back from the bye and crush the Lions 31–6 at Jade.

  All in all, I’m in a happy place, with the weekly routine of play, recover, recondition, prepare, play. The team is going well, and I’m back on top of my game to a degree I never quite managed in 2007.

  Throwing myself into the Crusaders campaign has worked—with every week that passes, the pain of Cardiff recedes a little. I’m putting it behind me and feel that, finally, I’m able to move on . . .

  A feeling that turns out to be more than slightly premature.

  Back when the NZRU called for applications for the All Black coaching position, the Board had an opportunity to quiz the applicants and thoroughly canvass whatever opinions they needed from their stakeholders and the players—all of which I know they did—before making their choice. Surely that was the de facto review that mattered. We all know what happened. Done and dusted.

  But no. I’d forgotten all about the other review, the official one, the one the NZRU instituted as a knee-jerk reaction in the immediate aftermath of Cardiff. Until I get a phone call from Steve Tew mid-April.

  Steve tells me there’s a bit of criticism of my captaincy in the official review.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘The drop-kick.’

  Again? Jeez, I’d like to drop-kick that bloody drop-kick . . .

  Steve Tew says the coaches were asked ‘Did you send a message down?’ and that they had to say, ‘Yes, we did.’ That it then looked like I just ignored the message.

  Steve intimates to me that if I feel that is too tough, he’ll try to get it cut from the public version of the report.

  The easy option would be to ask Steve to cut it. Everyone in the loop already knows about it, so is it essential that the public know too?

  I’m dreading the looming publicity, the public relitigation of the whole shemozzle that it’s going to bring with it. A drop-kick was never in the play-book, we’d never used it in the past, we’d always got home in the last quarter by sticking to our guns, et cetera, et bloody cetera. But even given all that, and as much as I want to avoid being dragged into it, I can’t bring myself to ask Steve to cut it.

  Would people then have a right to ask: ‘Why isn’t the captain mentioned?’ It would seem like a glaring omission. I was the captain. I was in charge, the buck stopped with me on the field.

  And besides, there’s a question of basic morality and propriety. If the NZRU thinks it should be cut, they should make that decision, not ask me to collude in it. If I’m the person in the gun, I shouldn’t have the right to decide what does and doesn’t go public. That just doesn’t smell right, that’s not how it should work.

  Ted tries to defend me at the 2007 RWC Campaign Review press conference.

  So I duck my head and try to lose myself again in the Crusaders campaign as I wait for the media heat.

  Sure enough within the week, the shit hits the media fan and away we go again.

  The NZRU gets a lot of flak, not so much for the report’s conclusions—Tony Smith writes in The Press that Blind Pew, an under sevens midget coach and the corner grocer could have reached the same conclusions—but for the timing and cost. It’s seen as a waste of time and money, despite Mike Heron and Don Tricker’s diligent approach to the job—41 people or organisations were interviewed.

  Of course, the element of the report that attracts most attention is the bloody drop-kick. ‘In the dying minutes of that critical game, the leadership model failed to deliver what was its most important objective—decisions which give the best chance of winning the game . . .’

  At the press conference to release the report on Thursday, 17 April, Ted mounts a passionate defence of my captaincy, which is much appreciated but kind of begs a question which seem
s not to have been asked by Messrs Heron and Tricker. Yes, the message was delivered, but was a drop-kick ever in the play-book? Was it ever practised?

  If flying to the moon had been the right option, but we didn’t have an astronaut and hadn’t practised take-off, can you still call it a viable option?

  Heron and Tricker seemed to assume that ordering it was enough, that it would just happen—and maybe if Dan or Nick or Aaron had been on the field it might have happened, without any intervention or direction from me. But they weren’t there at the critical time, and I had to make a decision as to whether to call an option that we’d never practised as a unit. We’d never practised setting up the play, manoeuvring the scrum or ruck to protect the pocket, and putting a player in the pocket to execute that option.

  That lack of preparation was a contributing factor to my not having the confidence to call that option out on the field in the heat of the moment, where one mistake would lose us the game. If I had been able to call a move that everyone understood and had practised, that would have made it a hell of a lot more attractive.

  The bulk of the report is unstinting in its praise of the team’s organisation:

  ‘The overwhelming impression from our review of the documents, reports, our interviews and the 360-degree feedback is that the quality of the planning and preparation was of the highest calibre. It was universally described to us both at interview and in the documents as “meticulous”, “excellent”, “superb”, and “incredibly efficient”.’ An adidas representative apparently described the All Blacks as the ‘most professionally organised team I have ever seen’. And Ross Young, the general manager of Rugby World Cup Ltd, ‘gave the impression that the All Blacks were the most demanding and exacting team in terms of their planning and attention to detail’.

  All of which is great, but none of that helps me in the great drop-kick debate.