More Blood, Sweat and Beers

by Lawrence Dallaglio

  Everyone jokes about the All Blacks and how they manage to peak between World Cups and then fail to deliver when the tournament arrives. Clive was never going to entertain the thought of a poor New Zealand team, but he did use the opposition in that particular meeting as a way of inspiring the England squad. He had been standing at the front of the room as he spoke to us and to his right was what looked like a flip chart covered with a black drape.

  Towards the end of the meeting he pulled off the drape and revealed a chart which had the England team selected to play the following day written down the left-hand side of the sheet, and on the right was the anticipated New Zealand team. He had started with the tight-head props and written the names in order of playing position, finishing with my position, No. 15, full-back. Both teams were lined up in this manner so you only had to glance to the right of your own name to see who your opposite number was.

  After allowing us a few moments to look at both lists, Clive said he wanted to highlight something. ‘Look at those teams and as you do I want you to know there is not one member of that New Zealand team who I consider good enough to gain selection for my England side.’

  I think we all looked at the various match-ups and tended to agree; it certainly made you puff your chest out a little knowing Clive thought so highly of us. I picked out a couple of head-to-heads: Martin Johnson v Ian Jones – I’d have Johnno every time – and the same could be said when I spotted Will Greenwood up against Tana Umaga. However, there was one comparison we were all drawn to and it was left to Jason Leonard, who was sitting in front of me and next to Lawrence Dallaglio, to verbalise what every player in the room was thinking.

  He leaned over to Lawrence and said in a stage whisper everyone could here, ‘I don’t know about you, Lol, but that 6ft 5in, 19st winger would get into my f****** side every day of the week.’ The squad collapsed into laughter with the exception of Austin Healey, our winger, who was up against the All Black sensation Jonah Lomu the following day.

  Target Rugby

  Andrew Mehrtens

  When Andrew retired from international rugby he was New Zealand’s all-time leading scorer with 967 points (since surpassed by Dan Carter). All Blacks rugby has had few players who have won such wide popularity and affection as Andrew. In a twelve-year career at first-class level he became a national figure rather than simply an icon of his Canterbury province. However, there was never total agreement on his ranking in the pecking order of All Black fly-halves. Some, headed by the legendary Colin Meads, believed Andrew was the best in his position ever produced by New Zealand. Others felt despite his immense skills, vision, kicking and ability to throw long cut-out passes to his centres and even wingers, he had limitations. He was seen as lacking the physique or inclination to mix it physically, either taking the ball up or committing himself to the tackle. To be perfectly honest if I played outside half for the All Blacks and possessed the talent of Andrew Mehrtens I would expect my back row and centres to do all my tackling, allowing me to get on with being a genius.

  ‘In 2005 he came over to the UK and had a very successful season with Harlequins before signing to French club Toulon, who gained promotion at the end of his first season. He is currently still playing in France for Béziers aged thirty-eight.

  My introduction to this project came as a result of a phone conversation with the ‘great man’ Lawrence Bruno Nero Dallaglio OBE.

  The phone rings.

  ‘Mehrts, it’s Lawrence Dallaglio here, hopefully you can help me with a project I’m involved with. Is there any chance of getting a few World Cup memories from you, mate?’

  ‘Hi, Lol, I’m fine, thanks for asking! No problem, I could talk about Rugby World Cups for three days without drawing breath. Tragically, during the entire three days I couldn’t tell you what it’s like to win a World Cup.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Mehrts, I’ve got that angle well and truly covered by a few of the England lads. Perhaps you can tell me what it’s like to be a favourite every four years and then spectacularly fail to deliver!’

  ‘Twat.’

  The line goes dead. I’ve cut the ‘gloating knob’ off.

  I do have a host of World Cup recollections and perhaps it would be useful to tell you a bit about ‘setting goals’ and the relevance of this approach to my World Cup experience. Throughout my career I have always set myself targets and worked as hard as I possibly could to achieve them. Long before I became an All Black, when playing my rugby for Canterbury I would stay on after training sessions and practise my goal kicking. On practically every occasion I would set myself a challenge. For instance I would need to successfully convert twenty consecutive kicks at goal from set places on the field before I could allow myself to go and get showered. Let me tell you, it’s a real pain in the arse when you miss your eighteenth kick and have to start over again. However, establishing targets like this improved my performance and ultimately led to my selection for New Zealand.

  My first experience of the World Cup as a player was in 1995 aged twenty-two. I was part of a squad including All Black legends Sean Fitzpatrick, Zinzan Brooke and Frank Bunce as well as a little-known player by the name of Jonah Lomu. Like every New Zealand team before, we only had one objective, to win the next match. It’s a simple philosophy which throughout the history of All Blacks rugby has served us well, until the arrival of the World Cup.

  Following the semi-final victory over England when Jonah ran in four tries (I’ll repeat that, Lol, just in case it hasn’t been mentioned previously). Following the semi-final victory over England when Jonah ran in four tries, we experienced the devastation of losing the final a week later against hosts South Africa, a 12–15 defeat after extra-time. Even though I was born in Durban, South Africa, and I appreciate the significance of that victory to the country and the creation of the Rainbow Nation, it does nothing to alleviate the pain of losing. To give you an indication of how deeply I felt the defeat, I changed the PIN code on my credit card to 1215 just to remind me of the hurt I felt when the final whistle was blown by referee Ed Morrison (before you even think about it, I changed my number again when I finished playing). Soon after the match I set myself a goal: ‘I am never again going to be involved in a team which loses a World Cup final.’

  Ask yourself this, is it possible to set a goal, do all you can to achieve it, realise the goal and then know you have failed in your objective? This sounds slightly confusing but if you read it slowly it will make sense.

  The answer is yes, it is possible. So from 1995 through to 1999 I did all I could to improve my own performance and to assist the All Blacks in their desire to win the World Cup in the United Kingdom.

  The tournament arrived and on 3 October 1999 we took our first step towards winning the trophy with a convincing 45–9 victory over Tonga in the pool stage. Twenty-eight days later on 31 October I achieved my goal of not being involved in a team which lost a World Cup final, when New Zealand lost 31–43 to France at Twickenham in the semi-finals! Having been 24–10 up courtesy of a couple of tries from Jonah we appeared to be cruising towards the final, when France, as only France can, suddenly turned on the style and scored thirty-three unanswered points before our winger Jeff Wilson got over the line for a consolation at the death. As the French revival grew I remember seeing and hearing thousands of English fans join with their French counterparts in singing ‘Allez Les Bleus’ (and I thought it was the Aussies the Pommies despised).

  As you can see I achieved my goal without achieving any success. I needed to rethink in order to rule out any possibility of defeat. Before long I had it. My new goal was set. ‘Never to be part of a team that loses a World Cup match.’

  Once again I spent a four-year period training and practising even harder to realise my goal. And four years later the Rugby World Cup arrived in Australia and I finally succeeded in achieving my goal. I was not involved in a team that lost a World Cup match, because I was not involved in the World Cup. The All Blacks had decided to drop me
for the 2003 season only to recall me again in 2004. Once again I achieved my goal whilst failing to reach my objective.

  Still, we are on home soil later this year and even though I will be sat in an armchair watching the matches, my hope will be the All Blacks have set themselves a goal – To WIN the World Cup. No ambiguity there.

  2003

  The Rugby World Cup organisers tinkered once again with the qualification and group stage structure in 2003. All teams reaching the quarter-final stage of the 1999 tournament were rewarded with automatic entry to the 2003 competition. This left twelve remaining places which were sought after by eighty-one nations from five continents, who fought it out in a qualification process which started three years before the opening game. For this tournament it was decided to have four groups of five teams competing in the pool stages, with the top two in each group progressing to the knockout stages. There was also the opportunity to earn a bonus point if a team scored more than four tries in a match or if a losing team was within seven points of the opposition at the final whistle.

  Many people forget the 2003 RWC was originally awarded to Australia and New Zealand. However, a contractual dispute over ground advertising signage between the New Zealand Rugby Football Union and Rugby World Cup Limited meant Australia were gifted the sole right to host the event. Apparently RWC Ltd wanted completely clean stadia so they could display RWC sponsors exclusively. The New Zealand RFU declared they could not comply with these wishes as they had pre-existing contracts with non-World Cup sponsors, a stance which eventually resulted in the tournament being taken away from New Zealand. I think it fair to assume RWC Ltd flexed their muscles over this, and in so doing left all future bidding countries well aware of the sponsorship requirements.

  England were favourites with the bookmakers having consistently defeated South Africa, Australia and New Zealand during the previous eighteen months, home and away. Even so it was hardly plain sailing. The quarter-final against Wales saw us go into the changing rooms at half time 10–3 down and very much on the back foot. The introduction of Mike Catt in the second half took the pressure off Jonny Wilkinson and seemed to reinvigorate the backline, producing a much more confident performance that saw England progress to the semi-finals with a 28–17 victory.

  Australia had little trouble reaching the same stage, but a semi-final against rivals and neighbours New Zealand was always going to be their sternest test. A 22–10 victory, during which they were never behind, proved they were up for the challenge and with home advantage many people started to believe they could win the World Cup for a third time in four tournaments. The other semi guaranteed a northern hemisphere side in the final as England took on France. Rain fell all day and by the time the match kicked off it had reached almost monsoon proportions. With France there is always the chance they can turn on the style and devastate you, but at the same time they are often accused of not being the best travellers. Finding themselves on the other side of the world in torrential rain was unlikely to suit their style of play, and so it turned out. England secured their place in the final with a 24–7 victory, with all their points coming from Wilkinson’s boot.

  It goes without saying the 22 November 2003 will be a date and a moment etched in my brain for ever. The England side had a huge amount of confidence and probably felt as though things were going according to plan when we found ourselves leading 14–5 at half-time. As all followers of rugby will know, the second half was very tense, ending in the eightieth minute with Elton Flatley kicking a penalty to level the scores at 14–14. Having spoken to numerous supporters back in England who watched the game on television, the impression I have is the majority of them could hardly bear to watch the two periods of extra-time. I have to tell you, from a player’s perspective we were calm, genuinely calm. Martin Johnson and Clive Woodward said a few words and one or two of the senior players chipped in with a bit of advice and motivation, and that was it. We didn’t need anything more. I can honestly say the thought we might lose never entered my head and I know this was the same for the rest of the team. We weren’t arrogant, but we did have absolute belief in each other. We knew how hard we’d all worked to reach that stage of the tournament. To lose was not an option. So ironically, the calmest place to be was on the pitch, until Jonny’s drop goal and the final whistle and then . . . it all went crazy.

  Unforgettable

  The 2003 World Cup has been well documented, but here are some interesting and amusing behind-the-scenes stories which I hope are of interest.

  Going into 2003 we were the No. 1 ranked team in the world and confidence was high. Clive had looked at every facet of the game. Our training, preparation, recovery, even transport and accommodation, everything, had been designed to give the team the best opportunity to achieve our goal of lifting the World Cup. Anything which could potentially provide us with an advantage was considered. The design of our kit was revolutionary, we had an ‘eye coach’ to improve peripheral vision, and somewhere along the way some bright spark had decided the most efficient way for the human body to recover from strenuous exercise was to sit in an ice bath for fifteen minutes (gee, thanks). It’s a cliché, but no stone had been left unturned. We would only have ourselves to blame if we failed.

  Unlike the situation discussed in a number of the 1987 stories, when teams arrived only a few days before the start of the tournament, in 2003 we arrived nearly four weeks in advance of the opening ceremony. In addition, we had actually visited Perth, where our campaign began, four months earlier. We had been on tour in the southern hemisphere and following the final match, a victory against Australia, Clive decided we were going to spend a few days there in order to acclimatise to the hotel, training facilities and surrounding area. Most people just wanted to get home but it was not negotiable. Would we have won the World Cup without the advance visit? No one can say, but it illustrates Clive’s thorough approach and his desire for England to be the best-prepared team in the tournament.

  Talking of Clive, it became obvious to all the players, particularly when we reached the knockout stage, that he always liked to be the final person to board the team bus. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of supporters used to converge on the team hotel and form a funnel from the hotel entrance to the bus which would be taking us to training or matches. Once we’d picked up on this fact one or two of us (okay, Leonard and myself) decided to do our best to mess up his routine. I’m sure his actions had nothing to do with adulation, and so I only mention in passing that when Clive was the last member of the England staff to leave the hotel all the cheers and applause from the gathered crowd were naturally directed solely at him.

  It was Jason who came up with the plan. Before most training sessions and every match, the squad and coaching staff would have a private meeting in the hotel to clarify our aims and objectives for the day. After one such meeting Clive, Jason and I were the last three people to leave the room and as we walked down stairs towards the foyer, Jason theatrically clasped his forehead with his hand and gasped, ‘Oh bollocks! I’ve only gone and left my boots in the meeting room.’ He then looked at Clive and said, ‘I’ll run back and get them, you two go on ahead. I’ll see you on the bus.’ Clive and I continued down the stairs and had just reached the ground floor when, incredibly, Clive suddenly remembered something he needed to organise with the hotel reception. Who’d have thought? ‘You go on ahead, Lol, I’ll be there in a minute.’

  I carried on to the bus and waited to see which of the other two would be the next to arrive. It was Jason and as he boarded he looked at me with a cheeky schoolboy grin. ‘Is he on yet? Have we f***** him up?’ I had to tell him what had happened in reception and then explained to the rest of the boys what we’d tried to do. A couple of minutes later Clive emerged, complete with a brilliant ‘royal wave’ as the England fans cheered his every step. He must have wondered what the hell was going on as he took his seat at the front, still waving to the adoring fans, with the rest of the bus pissing themselves with laughter. />
  I mentioned this to Clive a couple of years ago. ‘Most members of the squad tried at some point or another to be the last person on the bus and you always managed to defeat us. It was a standing joke virtually every day for three weeks. It can’t have been a coincidence.’ To this he replied, ‘Well, if it helped team morale all well and good, but I can assure you it was not intentional on my part.’ My response to that? ‘Bollocks.’

  Closing in on fulfilling an ambition affects people in different ways. For example, as we progressed through the tournament there was no noticeable change in the demeanour of Martin Johnson. He was as bright, cheery and frivolous as ever. Conversely, you could tell Clive was getting increasingly animated the deeper into the competition we progressed. This was perhaps most notable following our 24–7 semi-final victory over France. Clive had organised a meeting for every playing member of the squad, which we assumed would involve some kind of debrief, looking at all the positives and identifying weaknesses we could work on in the coming days. Nothing strange in that, except for the fact that such meetings normally took place the day after a match. On this occasion Clive had called us together immediately and as the French game had been an evening kick-off, this meant we were gathering in the hotel sometime after midnight.

  Clive launched straight into it. ‘You are all on the verge of greatness. We’ve come through so much in the past few years I don’t want us to mess it up so close to the finishing line. This means I don’t want to see anyone discussing any of these commercial deals I keep hearing about. No book, no columns, nothing. I need you all to focus fully on the task in hand.’ He continued in a similar vein for several minutes, and whilst I understood where he was coming from and what he was saying, I couldn’t help thinking that surely there is a time and a place for this, and it isn’t now. Clive, I said to myself, we’ve just beaten France, how about a couple of hours off, a decent sleep and get on with the job tomorrow? Albeit briefly, I honestly think Clive had lost the plot.