Jonny: My Autobiography (52 page)

Every day, I notice the differences here. Our first official training session of the pre-season is open to the public and 5,000 people turn up – that’s almost as many as an average Newcastle home gate.

One of the traditions of Toulon’s pre-season is to spend two days in the Alps. Sleeping under the stars around a campfire is a good way to get to know your teammates, even if it does mean staying up all night listening to Kris Chesney, the ex-Saracens lock, snoring. However, it isn’t particularly good preparation for next day’s long walk, another tradition, especially as the temperature is 27 degrees. I decide to set the pace again, flick the old Tunnel Vision switch, put my head down and set off at the front. A few of the younger players stay with me, but drop off one by one. It is like running with Liam Botham.

When we finally arrive at our destination, a small outbuilding in the middle of the mountains, the guys collapse, but we are pointed towards a stupidly steep uphill slope. That’s where we are going next. Groans all round. I flick the switch again and hammer on harder than before, just to make a point.

Among my new teammates, I’m so grateful for the warmth of my welcome. I think it’s fairly obvious that I’m here to give my all for the cause, but there is no sense of you’re the new boy, you’ve got to fit in.

My first encounter with Tana Umaga was in the 1999 World Cup game where I hit him with a bit of a cheap-shot late tackle. I remember him also from the 2005 Lions, when he got me with one back. But there is no mention of that here, just a quickly formed mutual respect. His competitive personality and meticulous approach to preparation aren’t far off my own, but it’s fascinating to see him when he steps away from being a coach and joins in the drills. His decision-making, his spatial awareness – sometimes it seems the best back in the club isn’t even playing.

I also have history with Joe Van Niekerk, the big South African back-row forward, in some old battles with the Springboks, but he seems a massively good professional and a really genuine bloke. My old Newcastle teammate, Tom May, is new here, too, which helps, and I quickly build an affinity for the
two enormously talented Argentinians, Felipe Contepomi and Juan Martin Fernandez Lobbe. Felipe’s decision-making and speed of hand are as good as I’ve seen, but he keeps asking how I am. It seems he really cares. It’s like finding an Argentinian Mike Catt.

I really like it here.

Pre-season starts early. My first game for my new club is in 35 degree July heat, and I have come all this way to find my great friend Jamie Noon on the same pitch. He has joined Brive and they are our visitors. When a big fight breaks out near our line, Noonie runs up and grabs me from behind, holding me in a kind of head-lock, muttering in my ear all kinds of threats about how he is going to beat me up.

This is all quite amusing until the Toulon flanker, Thomas Sourice, decides he needs to jump to my rescue. He charges over and is on the brink of battering Noonie before I eventually produce my best French and explain that he is my mate and this is a joke. Thomas then finds this funny, too.

My competitive debut in the League is not such fun. When Toulon had their relegation issues last season, it was felt they needed more reliability with their goalkicking. That, clearly, is one of the reasons why I am here.

But here we are, going into this big, big game for me, a night match against Stade Français, with everyone, and me in particular, desperate to get off to a good start, yet on the pitch in the warm-up, something is definitely not quite right with my kicking. The ball is flying a bit funny, swinging from right to left, yet there’s no real wind to speak of.

All the crisis management and panic lights are suddenly flashing in my head. I have to sort this out quickly because I can’t tell if the ball is moving
on its own or if it’s my fault, and right now I don’t know where the hell to aim. I’m trying everything, but nothing’s working. I hate it that this has come about right now, right at this moment. It’s exactly like the Samoa game in the 2003 World Cup. During the team talk, I’m only half there; the other half is still trying to work out what’s going on.

My first penalty attempt is from wide left, a reasonable distance away. I need this; just get this right. And I do. It goes right where I want it to go.

In fact, I get all the kicks that are within a reasonable distance. Anything longer, though, and I’m miles away. I’ve not even had a chance to look up and the crowd are telling me all about it. So I’m playing a game with regrets already rifling through my head. It’s really frustrating. I miss three kicks and I want them all back again. I want to prove myself here. I so don’t want to be kicking like this in front of my new team.

The game is close. The scores go up in threes. I could just do with a few more of them. So finally, I take a 45 metre snap-shot at a drop goal, which I get. We are three points up with five minutes to go. I want it to end here, but they work a drop goal move of their own to level the scores, and suddenly the game is over. A camera is thrust in my face on the field and I’m being interviewed in French. I do my best to explain. It’s great to be out here with the team, but I’m very disappointed about the three chances I should have got.

Deep down, I’m finding this difficult. There is no explaining just how challenging it is to perform normally when the confidence and surety have been stripped away.

When this happens, I would rather be anywhere other than on a rugby pitch in front of thousands of people. So in one sense, I am kind of proud of myself. I guess I could have feigned an injury to get off the field or turned down the goal kicks and gone for touch instead. On the
other hand, I’m severely disappointed about the game, because I know I could and should have done so much better and a great chance went begging. Either way, I know for sure that I’ll be out on the Stade Mayol pitch early in the morning, kicking my life back into shape again.

It’s not just a case of getting out here and playing my best. There are other issues. I have to manage the move here with Shelley, I have to manage recovering my car, having had it towed away on my second night here because I didn’t understand the parking regulations, and I have to manage my knee.

At times, the pain behind the back of the kneecap returns. It doesn’t get quite as bad as it used to be. Some days we have two rugby sessions and in the afternoon I’m running with a very pronounced limp. And sometimes I can’t kick at all off my right foot because I can’t support myself on my left leg. So I’m having to adapt to the way my body has changed and compromise my old habits, especially in the way I train.

I warm to my new environment, though. Martin Johnson, now the manager of the England team, and Brian Smith, his backs coach, visit me, and I take them down to the Toulon waterfront. They’re interested in me being a part of the autumn internationals.

A few weeks later, I’m down at the port again with my mum and dad. Toulon have just beaten Bourgoin and I have scored my first try for them. I managed to pick up my own grubber-kick and step the full-back to score. I don’t make a habit of scoring, and so I’m happy with that. Now I can relax in the open air in a restaurant by the sea. It feels good to be here.

For the first time in over a year and a half, I am an England player again. I’m back at Pennyhill, and it doesn’t take long to get used to the game plan that Johnno and Brian Smith have put in place. I like it. It gives width and options, and it allows me the chance to roam a bit.

And it feels great to be back at Twickenham. The atmosphere is terrific. We kick off the autumn season against Australia, who have pretty good team. The speed of their ball makes them difficult to defend, but I enjoy the game. I feel very comfortable at the level of international rugby, even with my new knee, and I enjoy being able to play what I see in front of me. I feel the instinctive side coming back into my game. I like that.

Our game plan is to attack certain areas of the field and, in order to ensure the ball gets there, I can’t afford to be caught with it. So at times I have to play a little bit deeper than usual, flatter when I want to do the attacking. At other times, the framework requires something else.

None of this is remotely understood by the media, and after we have been beaten, 19–8, a great deal is suddenly made of playing flat or deep. That is the tone of the questions that are put to me afterwards. That’s all I’m asked about – are you playing too deep?

‘Playing deep’ seem to be buzz words. I’m told the TV makes a thing of it, too. Even Bilks, on the phone later, says I see they are talking loads about you playing deep.

I can’t explain to the media what I’m doing because I’m not going to give away anything tactical. All I can do in my defence is tell people they are misunderstanding and oversimplifying the situation.

Yet after twenty months away from the England scene, I feel I’ve got back into it. Lewis and I have done our jobs as leaders, and defensively, I
really feel I’ve made an impact. Yet once again, the storyline seems to centre around me. Generally, people feel that I did well, but no one can just leave it at that. There has to be something and this time, randomly, it’s depth.

We play Argentina next and our victory is hard-fought against good defending, but for the subsequent game against New Zealand, a decision is taken to change what we are doing. We want to hit them with something they aren’t expecting, play more direct with more use of forwards around the breakdown and ten channel, a game plan favoured by Wasps and the Lions of the previous summer.

I’m not familiar with this. It’s very structured. I feel I’m filling a role instead of roaming and making decisions. At the beginning, it has to be prescribed in order for us to understand it fully, but, afraid of getting it wrong or getting in the way, I find myself constantly asking Simon Shaw am I doing this right? What else should I be doing? And when you have played seventy-odd games for England, that seems a little bizarre.

We lose to New Zealand, but respectably. When I return to France, I feel I have developed as a player. I remain uncertain about this new game plan, but overall, I’m actually pleased. I’m also particularly excited to be back in an environment created by Johnno. Like 2003, the ethos is one of respect and supporting the players.