The Hardest Test (4 page)

Chapter Ten

The 1997 British and Irish Lions tour was the major reason I left rugby league.

I was still at Richmond when I got my chance to go on the South Africa tour. Allan Bateman and myself both got called up to the squad. I'll never forget the day we received the letters. It was 2 April, my daughter Samantha's birthday. The kiddies party we'd arranged turned into a massive celebration. I remember the bouncy castle we'd hired being taken over by the adults after the kids gone to bed. A great time was had by all.

It's difficult to express what a Lions call-up means to a player. Growing up, I had my goals, to play for Llanelli and to play for Wales. I didn't really look beyond that. But the Lions is something else. As an international, you get used to playing against the other home nations but to come together as British Lions is magnificent. I'd left rugby league for this opportunity, and when it came it exceeded all my dreams.

We had a week's preparation in London under the management team of Ian McGeechan and Jim Telfer. The camaraderie was instant. Despite our wide range of personalities, we knew we were all in it for the same thing and it was bigger than all of us. Though it was odd at first to be playing alongside people you'd usually be in violent opposition to on the field!

There was one anxiety. I'd been suffering with a double hernia in the build-up to the tour. But I received two cortisone injections and it was decided that these, coupled with a dose of strong painkillers, would see me through.

My tour started very well, with me scoring two tries in the first game against an Eastern Province Invitational side.

But four weeks in, with the tour going from strength to strength, I began to struggle. I knew my hernias weren't going to last out.

I recall one key moment. We had a rest day and Allan Bateman, Barry Williams and I decided to go to the cinema to catch a film. As we crossed a busy road, a car sped around the corner and forced us into an easy jog to the other pavement. The pain in my groin was intense. I knew there and then my tour was over.

It was the hardest decision I've ever had to make. But there I was facing McGeechan and the tour party, knowing I was only running on about 70%. I'd left a promising league career for this, only to see my Lions dream fall short two weeks before the first test. But I knew I couldn't give my all and I've never been one to sell myself or others short. I had to tell them I couldn't continue.

I found myself back home for the remainder of the tour. It was heartbreaking, being once again a spectator, a role I'm useless at. I locked myself in the front room with the TV to cheer the boys on between shouting the plays and set pieces at the screen; the things we'd gone over and over together in training.

Ask any sportsperson – watching your colleagues out there on the field is the hardest thing ever. It was like being back at Llanelli again and watching my pals beat Australia. I felt the elation when the series was won, but the personal disappointment of falling just short of a test cap was intense.

I vowed then that my sole aim for the next four years was to get that Lions cap in 2001.

Chapter Eleven

New Zealander Graham Henry, “The Great Redeemer”, had taken over as Welsh national coach and I was more than happy to feature in his plans for the upcoming internationals against South Africa and Argentina.

Once again there was a slight problem. I had brought home with me an unwanted souvenir from Richmond. In one of my last appearances against Wasps I'd been sent off for a late tackle on Lawrence Dallaglio. (I'd told the ref that I'd got there as soon as I could but he didn't see the funny side.) In my defence, Richmond went on to claim the tackle was barely a third of a second late. I'll call a “no comment” on that one!

But the RFU imposed a 14-day ban, sufficient to see me have to sit out the clash with South Africa.

I did what any law-abiding player would do in the circumstance – I lodged an appeal.

The hearing was due on the Thursday before the South Africa match on the Saturday.

The thing is, we'd brought home another souvenir from London, one which was far more welcome. Nicola was expecting our third child.

The birth was due to be another caesarean. Fate determined that Steele was set to be born on the very same Thursday as the appeal hearing was due. I was duly granted compassionate leave, which postponed the hearing a week. This meant I could now play against South Africa!

In a press conference earlier that week, Graham Henry had been asked about my inclusion in the team. To the journalists it didn't make sense to have me down, as they were sure the ban would be upheld. A wily Henry (who had already been prepped about Steele's forthcoming arrival) told the press that it would all be fine, that he'd had a chat with “the man upstairs”.

So Steele, bless him, like Lucy before him, was involved in the politics of his father's rugby career before he'd even had a chance to open his eyes!

The South Africa match was to be another at our new adopted home, Wembley. Cardiff Arms Park was in the process of being transformed into the Millennium Stadium. It was a wonderful feeling to run out on the pitch that I'd seen my beloved Liverpool F.C. victorious on in so many finals on TV. We went on to lose the game 28–20 on the unfamiliar Wembley turf, but our heroics that day were a sure sign of things to come under Graham Henry.

His era as Wales coach saw the dragon develop a new lease of life. His appointment had meant a clean slate for Wales and had been an opportunity for different faces to play their way into the squad. He had arrived with few preconceptions about players and knowing little about the club game in Wales.

Although he had experienced pressure, pride and no little success as coach of Auckland, he was yet to understand the Welsh psyche. But by the end of his first Five Nations match up at Murrayfield, where he witnessed 15,000 Welsh fans travel up, I think he was beginning to get an idea of what he'd taken on!

By October 1998 we were back home in Llanelli. I took a big pay cut to return to Wales but, after the misery of London, being home was more than worth it. I guess you have to go away to really appreciate what you have. When we left, four years previously, I never expected to be playing in that Scarlet jersey ever again.

Ironically, my first game back at Stradey Park was not in the scarlet of Llanelli, but in the red of Wales as we ran out 43–30 winners. It was the first of a series of hard-nosed battles against the ever-emerging Pumas that would be played over the next year or so.

Being back in Llanelli was wonderful for the family as a whole. We had left as three and returned as five. Our old friends were still around and we settled back in instantly. What I love about the town is the fact that it really doesn't change. We set up our new home back in Five Roads. We'd come full circle but it also felt like we'd never left.

Returning to Stradey Park was such an emotional experience. After the lows of Richmond it was great to be back. I felt at home though also strangely restless. I felt deep down that I owed this club. They hadn't had the best of me.

Few clubs inspire the pride and passion of the Llanelli Scarlets. They are up there with Munster, Leicester and Toulouse. When you pull on the scarlet jersey it's a feeling you carry with you forever. The late Ray Gravell, a former president and player at the club, was one figure who embodied that spirit. If you can get close to emulating him, you are getting nearer to the magic. His sudden death has been a sad loss.

I was keen to get cracking with my new career back at Llanelli. I knew there was some way to go if I was to achieve that goal of making the Lions again.

I was quickly back into the swing of things, as were the club. That first season we made the cup final against Swansea at the Vetch. 1998/99 had been Swansea and Cardiff's rebel season. They'd fallen out with the Welsh Rugby Union and opted out of the Welsh league to play friendly matches instead against English Premiership sides.

Being a Llanelli boy through and through, you rarely need motivation to take on the Jacks, especially in their own back yard. But expectations were high for that final. We had the pride of the remaining Welsh clubs to fight for against a Swansea side who had (temporarily) turned their backs on Wales.

It turned out to be the worst final I ever played in. Colin Charvis, carrying a broken cheekbone, scored two tries in a 37–10 demolition.

I'll never forget Scott Gibbs's comment after the match that the game had been “men against boys”. His superior tone really hurt. It's something which stayed with me. I would never allow myself to be outclassed that way again.

Chapter Twelve

The highlight of the 1999 Five Nations was the match against England on that sunny day at Wembley.

I don't think I've ever had as many phone calls from well-wishers before a match as I did that morning, and I remember the ground being packed and joking that Wales must have been deserted that day.

I recall we just about kept ourselves in the game and were awarded a penalty near the end of the match. We kicked for the corner and hoped for a successful line-out. The move from the throw-in was definitely one we hadn't tried before as it involved me passing the ball. I didn't do that often! I remember almost knocking on before shuffling the ball on to Scott Gibbs. He broke away and only had Matt Perry to beat. I shouted, “Run over him, Gibbsy!” But he did something I'd not seen him do often. In inspired fashion he skipped off his left on to his right, and with one arm in the air, was over the try line.

The Welsh contingent at Wembley went crazy but Neil Jenkins still had to convert the try to win us the match.

I've played on the same side as some of the best kickers in the game: Frano Botica, Jonny Wilkinson and Stephen Jones. But when it comes to the crunch Neil Jenkins would be my choice every time. Jinx, The Ginger Monster – what a magnificent servant to Welsh rugby he has been. That said, I still turned my back on the kick and hoped for the best. The roar of the crowd told me he had done it.

More joy was to follow. We went over to Argentina and won a series which was certainly not one for the faint-hearted, and came home to famously beat South Africa in the first match in a not yet completed Millennium Stadium.

So, going into the 1999 World Cup, we were on an eight-match winning run. It was a matter of great pride for the Welsh nation to host the World Cup. And as always in Wales, expectations were high.

The opening game at the Millennium Stadium was us against Argentina. I don't think I was the only one who was getting pretty sick of seeing them! It proved to be yet another physical encounter but we managed to come out of it with a win.

We then went on to overcome Japan in the second game.

Third up were Western Samoa. This match will go down as one of the worst games I've played in a red jersey. Trevor Leota seemed to follow me around the pitch all game. When I got the ball there was no way round him and certainly no way over him!

I gifted them a first-half try with an intercepted pass. It eventually went on to help them to a 38–31 victory. But believe me, it was more than our egos which were left bruised and battered after that result.

Despite that shocker, we'd done enough to progress to the quarter finals to face the 1991 champions and eventual winners, Australia. This was a highly emotional and passionate encounter. Looking back, we played so well we really could have won. I think referee Colin Hawke awarded some dubious decisions Australia's way, including their first try which was clearly a knock-on. They went on to win 24–9.

I remember sitting at the dinner that night, pondering over an opportunity lost. The result was disappointing, even if the performance was one we could be proud of.

It was the only World Cup I got to play in, and on home soil too. It goes down as my biggest disappointment in rugby.

Llanelli is renowned for its reputation as a cup side. Their record in the Welsh Cup is second to none. But it was the Heineken Cup which we coveted most of all. It's a competition which to this day brings out the best in us.

I was fortunate on my return to Llanelli to be a part of what became quite an adventure in that competition over the next few years. Two matches stand out for me, one for all the right reasons and one for all the wrong ones.

London Wasps were the visitors to Stradey Park in January 2000. To book ourselves a vital home draw in the semi-finals we had to beat Wasps and win by 10 points.

It was one of those massive cup occasions at totally full Stradey Park. We started at a blistering pace, forcing the Londoners to play to our strengths. We went in 10–0 ahead at half time.

Ian Boobyer was superb that day. The guy was everywhere, really in the faces of the opposition. Even Lawrence Dallaglio, renowned for his chat during matches, began pleading to the ref to shut Boobs up. During one team huddle I was talking to the players and looked around only to find Boobyer missing. I turned to find him on the edge of the Wasps huddle, cheekily advising them what he thought they should be doing! I'd love to repeat his words of advice here, but they are totally unprintable!

We eventually went on to win the match 25–15, with Craig Gillies running thirty yards up the right to touch down to secure the 10 point margin. It was one of our greatest ever Heineken Cup wins.

No prizes for guessing my Heineken Cup low point, though I guess it's the worst of three I could have chosen.

It was at Nottingham's City Ground, which hosted a nail-biter of a semi-final between ourselves and Leicester. In the run-up, Leicester captain Martin Johnson had labelled the fixture “The Battle of Britain”. Although it never lived up to its billing, it's a game no Llanelli player or fan will ever forget, however hard they try.

In front of a capacity 29,500 crowd we entered the last quarter 12–10 up. As time ticked by I think even Leicester began to think that their reign as kings of Europe was coming to an end.

After what seemed like an eternity of stubborn defensive play from us, Leicester were awarded a penalty 25 metres out. Their kicker Tim Stimpson was pretty reliable but I recall feeling that with the angle, this was just about on his limit. I noticed he pinched a few more yards when placing the ball and I went up to the ref David McHugh and insisted he take the kick from the right spot. McHugh just waved me away. Stimpson gave the ball a mighty whack and, just as it looked as if it was falling short, it hit the bar, hit the post, hit the bar and heartbreakingly popped over. The ref turned and ran. It was an indication to me that he knew he'd made a mistake. The final whistle went, and Leicester were victorious 13–12.

The manner of defeat really killed me. To play so well and to lose in that way was criminal. I felt so sorry for the huge number of Llanelli fans who'd travelled all that way. I'm told someone had put a sign on the entrance to the M4 at Hendy: “Would the last person to leave Llanelli please put out the light.” That sums up the humour and commitment of the Llanelli faithful.