Yokohama International Stadium, Yokohama, Japan. Saturday, 26 October 2019
The players make the long walk from the dressing room to the tunnel. The usual echoing sound of studs clattering down a corridor is silenced by the blue carpet underfoot. They walk quietly and steadily, one player following another as they head for the cauldron of heat and noise outside. England are led by Billy Vunipola, who wins his 50th cap today, and soon they stand at the entrance of the tunnel.
The All Blacks, led by Kieran Read, wait alongside them. They say nothing and, like the England players, look stoically ahead, trying to ignore each other in these anxious moments.
Just before six in the evening they get the signal. They walk out into the glare of the flashing cameras and the roaring acclaim of 70,000 spectators inside the stadium, with over a hundred million people watching them on televisions around the world. Dark clouds roll across the sky and add to the sense of a gathering storm about to begin as the Japanese drummers add to the tumult and the drama.
There is a call for a poignant pause before the anthems. We remember again, in silence, the 87 victims of Typhoon Hagibis and the seven people who are still missing. Another 4,000 Japanese people are still living in evacuation shelters. This is real life. We, meanwhile, are just waiting for a game to start.
The seriousness of that game, however, pulses through me after the anthems, as the two teams peel away into their separate halves. We know what is coming and we have prepared.
Our respect for the haka is profound. We understand that the All Blacks, drawing on Maori culture, are laying down a challenge to us. We also know that they respect any opponent who accepts that challenge.
We gather in a V formation because we are not willing to just stand in a humble line. The V starts on our ten-metre line and stretches into New Zealand territory. Four of our players, with two at the tip of each line of the V, are warned by match officials, who try to push us back into our own half.
Joe Marler, at the end of the left-hand fork of the V, is defiant. He has come closest of any England player to the New Zealand ten-metre line and there is no shifting Joe. His hands are on his hips and his magnificent beard and Mohican gleam under the lights. Nigel Owens, the referee, again gestures for him to move back. Joe lifts a questioning eyebrow and does nothing. Billy Vunipola, who heads the other V, also refuses to budge.
The crowd makes a ragged roar as people recognize the nature of our challenge.
TJ Perenara begins the ancient call of the haka. He is in the midst of the black huddle which fans out into an imposing phalanx with Read at the front. Perenara’s voice booms around the stadium, for it has been amplified by television to crank up the theatre both inside the stadium and in sitting rooms and bars around the world.
Tongues stick out as the All Blacks lower themselves into a squatting position and hold their arms parallel to each other in front of their chests. Perenara cries out even more urgently as his fellow warriors flare their nostrils and get ready to launch into their unified chanting and beating of limbs.
At the apex of the V, Owen Farrell catches the unblinking eye of the television cameras. He stares straight at Read, his face creased by a knowing smile. It’s a great moment which is seen up on the big screen. People would describe it later as a smirk but that reduces his reaction to one of disdain or disrespect. This is the opposite of what he and England mean. Rather, his smile is an acknowledgement of the power of the haka as well as our readiness to match the Kiwis with fire and intensity. It is a smile of anticipation rather than apprehension.
The All Blacks slap their forearms and bellow out the first words of the haka before, slowly, they sink down onto their haunches with a hiss. Sonny Bill Williams can be seen on the big screen, his cheeks puffed out as if he is snorting fiercely before he gets set for the next stage.
The lone voice of Perenara rings out again and then, slowly and deliberately, the All Blacks pick up the rolling chant in time to the smacking of hands and arms. They lower themselves again to the ground and then, once more, Perenara calls them to action. The pattern is repeated and then they rise up as one, their hands and heads lifting skywards as they look up and cry out still louder. The rhythm of the haka grows and grows; but we stand resolute in their territory, facing them down.
It ends in a blur and, as the last voices fade away, Read, as the All Black leader, takes a big step in our direction. It is his way of telling us that this is it. The moment is upon us.
England’s players, calmly and methodically, remove their white tracksuit tops. I am pleased to see how unfazed they look – even as one of the commentators on New Zealand television yelps: ‘You want box office? You’ve got it! How about that challenge from England?’
We know New Zealand would not have been expecting our V response and we want to keep them thinking. So we stick to the plan we have for kick-off. To the All Blacks it looks as if George Ford, who starts again at 10 in a sign of our attacking intent, will kick to the right. But he quietly informs the referee that we are doing the opposite.
Ford flips it to Farrell who sends the ball spiralling up into the dark sky to the left. We are ready to shake up the All Blacks. At the first lineout, Lawes climbs high to win the ball. It is soon in the hands of a charging Tuilagi. Curry makes more headway and then down the line it zips, from Youngs to Ford to Daly, who breaks through half a gap and releases Watson flying down the wing. Three defenders eventually bring him down, but Watson is immediately back on his feet as he makes a few more precious metres.
One England phase after another unfolds in a white rush, and New Zealand are forced to defend desperately. A long pass from Daly finds George on the wing. The hooker cuts back inside and brushes off two tackles before he is brought down. In the next two phases Lawes and Sinckler come close and then Lawes goes again. He is stopped just two metres from the line and Curry and Itoje follow up hard to protect the ball. Tuilagi is on their heels and he is unstoppable as he scoops up the ball and crashes over the line for our opening score. New Zealand gather in a dark huddle behind the posts as Farrell kicks the easy conversion: 7–0 after two minutes.
We keep dominating and look to have doubled that lead when Ford feeds Sinckler after 25 minutes. Sincks looks to jink right but he then shimmies to the left and delays his pass until Underhill can take it and smash into clear open space. Underhill bursts away and touches down under the posts. The try is awarded but Owens goes upstairs to the TMO. He wants to check that Curry is not offside. Replay follows replay and the decision is reached. Curry has cut in front of Moody and Whitelock, who both failed to stop Underhill. Crucially, he is also fractionally in front of Underhill. He is just offside and, like last November, an Underhill try is erased from the record books.
Farrell suffers a dead leg when he tackles Goodhue. He limps for a while but makes it clear he is going nowhere. After 30 minutes we have had 61 per cent of possession and our defence has been enormous. New Zealand have not been able to create much and they are making mistakes. But we are still only seven points clear.
Towards the end of the half, the television cameras lock on me. Ben Kay, the 2003 World Cup winner who offers analysis on ITV, suggests that, ‘Eddie Jones will be desperate. With three minutes to go, having had all the possession, he would have wanted more than seven points going into half-time.’
Nick Mullins, the chief commentator, replies. ‘No other coach has got the better of New Zealand more often than Eddie Jones. Those wins include the 2003 World Cup semi-final when he was in charge of Australia.’
Lawrence Dallaglio, another World Cup winner, chips in to say that, ‘This break comes at a good time for England to breathe life back into Owen Farrell because he’s been really struggling with whatever injury he is carrying at the moment.’
I am oblivious to the chatter and concentrate on the match. It is heartening to see how Itoje, Lawes, Curry, Jamie George and Mako Vunipola are using their downtime. They are involved in an animated conversation, with Itoje leading the way, which is just what we wanted; Ric Charlesworth taught us so much about how best to use time when the ball is dead.
New Zealand come again and, with two minutes left on the clock, we have to defend attack after attack. Farrell brings down Savea and, in the fight for the ball, Lawes and Underhill form a white net which chokes the black shirts. Underhill has his hands on the ball and Scott Barrett makes a basic mistake. He is penalized and, at the award of the penalty for England, Itoje lifts his right arm in triumph. Curry smiles broadly and Youngs claps his hands in delight.
England’s pressure is forcing cracks in the black wall. We are 8–3 up in turnover ball and soon 10–0 clear on the scoreboard after Ford curls the penalty between the sticks as the half-time gong sounds.
There is just time for New Zealand to kick off and for us to keep our heads. Lawes leaps high to tap the ball down to Watson who hoofs it into touch.
‘Eddie Jones has spent all week assuring his players and everyone else who might be listening that New Zealand do bleed,’ Mullins tells his television audience as we head for the dressing room. ‘They do drop balls, they do miss tackles, they are still only human. Half-time in the semi-final. England 10, New Zealand 0.’
Three minutes into the second half we look to have scored another try when, after a smart interception, Youngs slashes through space and crosses the whitewash; 15–0 flashes up but, soon, we are back in the world of the TMO as Marius Jonker agonizes over a possible knock-on in the rolling maul that preceded the try. He eventually decides Jamie George had knocked on, even though Mako Vunipola helped keep the ball up. George protests that his hands were always on the ball but Jonker’s decision is final. The try is cancelled and it’s a black scrum.
We remain undaunted and even the New Zealand substitutes feel the pressure. Sam Cane is penalized for tackling Billy Vunipola without the ball. Ford slots it home: 13–0.
Another big moment comes after 55 minutes when Underhill knocks Read off his feet with a devastating tackle. Our intensity remains as high as it has been from the opening whistle.
But a minute later our lineout implodes. The call is muddled and George’s throw sails over Itoje, Kruis and Curry and straight into the arms of Savea, who will never score an easier try.
‘The All Blacks are back in the house!’ Mullins yells.
‘Boy,’ Kay agrees, ‘do we have a finish on our hands now.’
Having worked so hard to keep New Zealand out, we have just offered up the softest of tries. We are about to be tested again.
In the previous 18 months we have let many big leads slip away but not today, not after everything we have learnt and tried so hard to implement. Two minutes after that error, Underhill smashes into Jordie Barrett with another legitimate big hit. That turnover is just one of 19 we will produce in the match.
We also keep the scoreboard ticking over and two more Ford penalties lift our lead to 19–7.
England’s supporters can switch back and forth between singing ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ and ‘Oh . . . Maro Ito . . . je!’ as our supremacy today is obvious. It has been the most commanding England performance against the All Blacks in history and we march into the World Cup final.
At the whistle, it is noticeable that the England players do not really celebrate. It looks as if they knew, all along, that they would win today. Another huge obstacle still looms, against either South Africa or Wales, but we can at least savour a momentous victory.
‘New Zealand are the god of rugby, so we had to take it to them,’ I say after the game. ‘We wanted to try to put them on the back foot as much as we could. They are a great team. They have won two World Cups in a row. They have got a great coach, a great captain, so we had to battle hard. You have got to give so much credit to New Zealand, the way they kept fighting right until the end. We had to dig deep.’
Steve Hansen has to suffer the indignity of some crass questions at his own press conference. Someone is dumb enough to ask him if he thought England had more hunger to win. ‘My players were desperate to win,’ Steve says angrily. ‘Just because I’ve asked them at half-time to get hungrier doesn’t mean they didn’t turn up hungry. There’s a big difference and if you want to spend some time outside, I’ll give you a rugby education on that one. To say that an All Blacks team comes to a semi-final of the Rugby World Cup with our ability and history but lacks hunger? That’s a pretty average question.’
There is generous praise from Steve in saying that we had been the better team and deserved to win. He also mentions the fact that he had spoken to Graham Henry, whom we all call Ted. Henry and Hansen had coached the last All Black team to lose a World Cup match. ‘I had a chat with Ted about 2007,’ Hansen says. ‘We agreed that it’s no different. It’s a gutting feeling. Then Ted and I spoke about how well George Ford had played. Ford put us into positions where we had to really work to try to get out of our own territory. He made us force things.’
I am even more gratified when hearing George’s measured reaction to beating New Zealand: ‘We came into the game with huge belief, thinking we could win. We had to be somewhere near our best to do so. We want to enjoy the win but the feeling now is that we’ve given ourselves an opportunity – that’s literally all it is.’
A World Cup final week is different to anything else in rugby. I was about to begin my third, following 2003 and 2007, and I remembered how the pressure turned Jake White inside out when he was in charge of South Africa in Paris. Sitting in the number two seat is easy. My job as Jake’s adviser was to try and take some of the heat away from him. Now it is my turn to deal with the pressure. I know it’s critically important to our preparation that I stay calm.
From the day of our arrival in Japan I had set out to share my enjoyment and enthusiasm for the World Cup. It was easy because I was having such a good time. What’s not to enjoy about competing in the biggest tournament in our sport, in a country I love, with a group of people who were giving their best effort every day? Rather than being weighed down by pressure I wanted people to see that I was the happiest bloke in Japan. As head coach you are the lightning rod for the team. I knew that my upbeat mood would rub off on the players and staff and would help keep everyone relaxed as we prepared for the massive challenge of facing South Africa – who had beaten Wales in an abrasive and dour semi-final.
Finals can make you do strange things. You can sometimes find yourself jumping at shadows or second-guessing decisions. I’ve been guilty in the past of working the players too hard in the build-up to big matches. But less is usually more when you’re about to play a fourth major southern hemisphere team in five weeks. We had beaten Argentina, Australia and New Zealand in successive games. South Africa are the most brutal opposition, and so it felt right that we gave the players more time to recover from what had been an exhausting few weeks.
There is also a psychological challenge after the kind of big win we achieved against the All Blacks. While we did play well, I thought the analysis was a bit over the top. Everyone was slapping us on the back, saying how fantastic we were, how it was the best ever performance by an England team and the best ever win at a World Cup. The praise was everywhere. The challenge is to bring the players back to reality. Bring them down to then lift them up again. It changes the structure and narrative of the week. In this case we did nothing on the Sunday and Monday before heading back to work on the Tuesday.
Our preparation for the big match was solid. Clearly, it still wasn’t good enough because, ultimately, you judge the preparation by the game’s result. But in terms of the way we trained, behaved and looked forward to the game, it felt good. We also did well to diminish the feverish noise outside. There were reports that tickets for the game had soared to £12,000 and there had been a huge surge in flights booked from the UK to Japan.
‘I think it’s great,’ I said. ‘You want to give the country something to cheer about and, with Brexit at the moment, they probably need something to cheer. The crowds at the World Cup have been fantastic and I thought our supporters on Saturday night were massively instrumental in getting us home. Their singing and general support of the team were fantastic and we urge them to keep doing that. It’s the job of the team to make the country happy – but people are not as happy as they can be because there is still a game to go.’
I was asked about the mood of the team. ‘The great thing for us is we know we’ve done the preparation,’ I said. ‘We’ve spent four years getting ready for this occasion. That’s why the players can be relaxed, that’s why I can be relaxed. But we know South Africa will come hard at us. They’ve got a history of being the most physically intimidating team in the world and they have a massively aggressive forward pack. There are not many Springbok teams that don’t come through the front door. So we’ve got to be ready at the front door and have enough cover at the back door, too. Rassie [Erasmus] is a cunning coach and has done a great job with the Springboks. We’ve prepared for the unexpected as they are going to be difficult to beat.’
I wanted to convey a sense of self-belief and anticipation. ‘We will play with no fear. How fantastic is it for our young guys? Saturday is the biggest sporting event in the world. And our players get to play in a World Cup final. What an exciting opportunity to be themselves, to play with spirit, to play with pride and an English style of play.’
We’d last played South Africa one day short of a year ago. On 3 November 2018, we had beaten them 12–11 at Twickenham. It was, like it always is against the Boks, a very hard day. They pride themselves on handing out beltings. They physically test you in every part of the game. Seven of the Springbok squad also had experience of Premiership Rugby; and Faf de Klerk and Francois Louw spoke of their respective friendships with Tom Curry at Sale and Sam Underhill at Bath. We knew what we were facing and there wasn’t a suggestion of complacency. Our boys have too much respect for them.
Louw set it up nicely. After he had praised Sam, he said: ‘It will be an immense battle on Saturday. We are at the final stage of the ultimate competition in our game. Both groups of players will have to dig really deep and front up, but afterwards I will have a good time with my five Bath colleagues who are in the England squad.’
Early in the week I reacted sharply to a question from the media when asked about Warren Gatland’s comments following Wales’s loss to South Africa when he said, ‘We have seen in previous World Cups that teams sometimes play their best in semi-finals and don’t always turn up for a final. So it will be interesting to see how England perform.’
Gats loves sticking the boot in, as do I. After we had lost to them in the Six Nations earlier in the year, he’d said he always felt that ‘England struggle to win the big games.’ Sensing he was having a dig in Japan, I shot back: ‘Well, guys, can you just send my best wishes to Warren and make sure he enjoys the third/fourth place play-off.’ It was a good line at the time and it got a laugh; but with hindsight maybe there was some truth in Gatland’s comment.
There was an option, as always, to change the team and select with the opposition in mind. I considered bringing in Henry Slade to start – with George Ford moving to the bench. But our game plan against South Africa relied on strong kicking and George is clearly one of our best field kickers. So the only change was Ben Spencer for Willi Heinz. Poor old Willi had injured his hamstring in the final minutes of the semi-final and was ruled out immediately. In the dressing room after the game he was inconsolable. He was a key member of the team and had made a massive contribution on and off the field. His dream was over. You could see the other players thinking it could have been any one of them. It was a sobering time for all of us.
We had just two scrum halves in our squad and so our head of logistics, Charlotte Gibbons, jumped on the phone to Ben Spencer who flew into Tokyo on the Monday. Our team of 31 was now 32 as, happily, Willi wanted to stay on with us. He was brilliant in helping Ben slot easily into the squad. Ben was in great shape, having completed a preseason and played in the Premiership with Saracens. I had repeatedly said that I wanted the players back in England to be ready if they were needed. Ben was ready.
On the Friday, I felt relaxed enough to take a coaching session with one of the local schools. The Japanese people had been such gracious hosts, and I thought it might show England’s gratitude in a small way. With their parents beaming on the sidelines, the kids had the time of their lives. I hope the legacy of this tournament is greater participation in junior rugby in Japan. For me, standing on a field with a whistle in my mouth while ordering people around is my happy place. I love coaching, and to spend even a small amount of time with these kids connected me once again to my love of the game. It was the perfect way to spend the afternoon before a World Cup final.
Yokohama International Stadium, Yokohama, Japan. Saturday, 2 November 2019
We had started like a train against New Zealand but, seven days on, the final is very different. After 38 seconds we concede a penalty when Courtney Lawes tackles Frans Malherbe, South Africa’s beefy loose-head prop, and fails to roll away in time.
Handré Pollard, unusually, misses his kick at goal. But trouble is heading our way.
Just over a minute later a Tom Curry drive is blocked. Ben Youngs, at the base of the ruck, waits and then kicks a high ball into South African territory. It’s gathered by Makazole Mapimpi and the Springbok right wing sets off on a jinking run as Jamie George, Maro Itoje and Kyle Sinckler all rush towards him. There is a sickening collision as Sincks’ head catches Maro’s elbow. He is knocked out. For five long minutes the medical staff assess Sincks’ condition and it’s obvious that his night is over.
A stretcher and then a golf cart arrive on the pitch. Happily, Sincks is eventually able to walk off the field. But in the opening two minutes we have lost our starting tight-head prop and one of our best players. He will spend the rest of the game in a tracksuit. You prepare for these circumstances, hoping they never occur, but this is a genuine setback. It makes our task of winning the final just so much more difficult.
Dan Cole, our replacement tight-head, is 32, and he will have to play 78 minutes of a World Cup final. It’s a huge task for anyone – especially when you consider he will have to battle Tendai ‘The Beast’ Mtawarira, who will then give way to a fresh young loose-head prop in Steven Kitshoff early in the second half.
At the first scrum, the Beast puts the squeeze on Dan. We concede a penalty. De Klerk taps and runs with the ball, moving from Mapimpi to Le Roux, Kolbe and Pollard. Inside the first five minutes, South Africa have run further than they did in the semi-final against Wales.
After six minutes we have another scrum. It collapses and is reset. We win the ball but we’re going backwards. Billy Vunipola gathers the ball from the base and sets off on a run before throwing a pretty average bounce pass to Farrell inside our 22. Farrell scrambles to regather control but he is monstered by Vermeulen and Kolisi. He is penalized for not releasing and Pollard kicks an easy penalty bang in front of the sticks: 3–0, South Africa.
We try something a little different after ten minutes when Farrell stands at the front of the lineout. Lawes soars above him to win the ball. He offloads it to Farrell who finds Youngs. Tuilagi comes storming through to take the pass. He makes good ground before Lood de Jager and Malherbe gather him in. Youngs looks to start the next phase but his pass, intended for Watson, sails into touch. It’s a nervy start.
We have neither the precision nor the power which had been so obvious against the All Blacks. For some unknown reason we’re just not clicking. Some days are just like this and we don’t know the reason. We soon lose a lineout on our own throw – and are penalized again at the next scrum when Mako Vunipola struggles to deal with the force of the Bok pack.
But, slowly, we begin to build a little momentum. After nine phases of controlled play, Kolbe sticks his hands into the ruck and gives up a penalty. Owen makes it 3–3. The match is a hugely physical contest with both sides ripping in. South Africa also have to make a double substitution as Marx replaces the concussed Mbonambi at hooker and the lock Mostert is on for De Jager, whose shoulder has been destroyed. The Boks have a 6–2 split in favour of their forwards on the bench and their pack is now even more formidable than the starting eight.
Two minutes later our scrum struggles again. The Bok pack really hammers us in the set piece and we’re on the back foot. In these big games, when it’s close, South Africa have a decisive advantage. We begin to concede more penalties and leak three points every ten minutes.
Marc dal Maso, the great French prop and my scrummaging coach with Japan, always used to say: ‘No scrum, no life.’
Marc understood rugby. A losing scrum has a trickle-down effect. Everyone gets a bit edgy. The forwards lose confidence and the backs overcompensate and force the play.
We’re 12–6 down at half-time. Despite having played poorly, we’re still in the game. I believe we can turn it around. This team has proved time and again that they can hang in and win tough games. They can do it again. The scrum is at the core of our problems. Neal Hatley, our scrum coach, brings the props and hookers together to find a solution.
I accept that I made two selection mistakes for the final. I should have chosen Joe Marler ahead of Mako and I should have reverted to the Farrell–Tuilagi–Slade midfield we used against Australia. George Ford could have come off the bench when we had got into the game. But you never know until the game starts. You use the best available evidence and rely on your gut. I had been right against Australia and New Zealand but, as it turned out, in the biggest game of our four-year cycle, I got it badly wrong. Hindsight is a wonderful teacher.
Kruis replaces Lawes at half-time and, after five minutes, I bring on Marler for Mako. A minute earlier Kitshoff and Koch, the replacement Bok props, had just forced another scrum penalty. Pollard is in the groove: 15–6, South Africa.
Slade is on for Ford and the introduction of Marler and Kruis has stabilized the scrum. We have our best spell of the match. A Farrell penalty cuts the lead to 15–9 and, after 54 minutes, he has another chance to reduce the deficit to just three. We would have been right back in the game then but his kick drifts agonizingly wide.
The Springboks, meanwhile, are outstanding. They keep pouring into us, playing on the edge of the offside line, making big defensive hits and running with menace. But, still, we hold on. Pollard and Farrell swap penalties and, with just 15 minutes left, South Africa lead 18–12. A converted try would put us in the lead. There’s still hope.
But all the momentum is with the Boks and a sharp backline movement down the left ends in a Mapimpi try. I know now that the dream is over. Kolbe scores another try and the World Cup is out of sight. It’s lost in a green and gold blur.
South Africa 32, England 12.
In the final minutes my mind starts to wander. My first thoughts are for the players. They will be distraught. They have been brilliant, coming together as a powerful, united England team which has done everything asked of it and more. They have played with flair and tenacity and, during a difficult and uncertain time at home, they have given people something to smile about. The subsequent news that the final was watched by the biggest television audience in the UK this year (over 12.5 million), and that supplies of replica jerseys had sold out, proved the boys had made a lasting impact.
I look around at my coaching staff and management. They are gutted. They’ve all put in so much work to get things right for the players. There is nothing more I could have asked of them.
I gaze across the stadium at the masses of white jerseys. That noisy, boisterous white wall has been with us throughout the tournament. I think of the people who have flown in to be at the game and are leaving first thing the next morning. The lazy cliché of our fans is that they are arrogant. It’s bullshit. They love the game and the team, and the team loves them. I understood that they would be disappointed but I knew that, with a little time, they would reflect on everything the boys achieved and be proud. We’re miles away from 2015 and they know it.
A feeling of dread then fills me as I contemplate the time I will have to spend with my friends in the media. Sure as night follows day, those who threw bouquets and went completely over the top in their praise of our win over the All Blacks one short week ago will grab the pitchforks, light the torches and demand immediate answers. They will talk of ‘failure’ and rail against my selections and the game plan that didn’t work. It’s a necessary and important part of the job but, trust me, it’s exhausting. True to form one of them suggested later we choked, and I snapped. I was having none of it. Our players didn’t choke. We were beaten by a better team on the night. I often wonder who marks their homework.
Having shuffled up to get my silver medal, I stand with the boys as we watch the Boks and consider what might have been. There is nothing you can say. We just have to live with the fact that, despite our best efforts, we have come up short. Most of the boys gaze into the crowd with faraway stares. They aren’t thinking much; but they feel a lot of hurt.
In our misery we watch the World Cup being presented to the Springbok captain, Siya Kolisi. I’d caught some of what he said after the match over the public address system. I heard him speak of the example this victory could set his country. Here is a symbol of what can be achieved when people work together. South Africa’s first black captain, a young man from the townships, who had little food to eat as a boy and who had sat in a shebeen to watch our World Cup victory in 2007, now holds up the greatest prize in rugby. It’s a powerful symbol of progress for South Africa. A part of me is pleased for Siya and for South Africa. I sincerely hope it makes a difference.
I offer my congratulations to Rassie and we share a minute together. It’s a quick chat. The winning coach doesn’t want to talk much to the losing coach, because he feels like he’s being patronizing and you, in turn, haven’t got much to say to him beyond ‘well done’ and ‘well played’. As Bobby Robson used to say after a game, ‘There’s one happy dressing room and one unhappy dressing room.’
We’re in the sad place without any champagne or noise. I know the happy place far better because, over the years, I’ve won more than I’ve lost. But, right now, there is no escape. We lost a dream tonight.
The hours pass on World Cup night and the gloom lifts. Of course I know that when I wake in the morning there will be a dull ache as soon as I remember the game. The hurt will be there on Monday morning, and Tuesday, and every day for weeks to come. In some ways, it never goes away. This is familiar territory. I’ve won a World Cup final, with South Africa, but I’ve now lost two. The pain of 2003, and Australia losing to England at home in extra time, ran so deep that it really did take me a couple of years to get over it. This feels different. It feels nowhere near as bad. I feel all right because I know we have done everything possible in our power to win the game. The players have been magnificent. They gave their all.
My eyes are clear and my heart lifts just a little on a clear night in Tokyo. Age teaches you a better and calmer understanding. I am not going to call it wisdom because I don’t feel very wise tonight. I made a few mistakes, but the honest truth is that I really don’t know why we failed to produce the kind of performance we found within ourselves a week ago in this very stadium. I haven’t got all the answers; but at least I know enough now not to hang on to this disappointment like I did after 2003. I will go through a grieving period, because the loss of a World Cup final cuts that hard. But experience has taught me to let it go.
If we had won I would not have allowed myself to linger over victory for months and years on end. I would have enjoyed it for a week and then I would have started planning for the next challenge and the next adventure. If I can keep a win in perspective, it’s not such a leap to do the same when confronted by defeat.
We played six games in Japan and we won five. South Africa did the same, as they lost their opening pool game to New Zealand. No other team had won the World Cup after losing in the pool stages, but South Africa have proved that history is always there to be made. Out of the five games we won I will always remember two with affection. Australia were desperate to beat us but we were too good. And our semi-final against New Zealand was special. Martin Johnson, England’s only World Cup-winning captain, was generous. He said it was the best World Cup performance he had seen from England.
For me it goes down in a quartet of particularly memorable games I’ve coached. It belongs with the Brumbies defeat of the Sharks in the 2001 Super 12 final, the Wallabies beating the All Blacks in the 2003 World Cup semi-final, and Japan’s victory over South Africa in 2015. Each one means so much to me. I would never pick one over the other because, seen in unison, they show my capacity to successfully coach different teams, who play diverse styles of rugby, in all kinds of conditions and countries. I have had so much joy, through rugby, in Australia, Japan and England. South Africa and New Zealand have rarely been far from the heart of these stories. Memories of all these encounters wash away some of the sorrow.
The art of good coaching is turning an idea in your head into reality on the field. I would love to play running rugby all the time, because that was my background at Matraville High and with Randwick in Sydney, but the reality is that sometimes the players you’re coaching need to play the game in different ways to match their culture and identity.
It was special to see Bob Dwyer after we beat New Zealand in Yokohama. Bob, who loves the Randwick Way, was thrilled with our English-style rugby. Australians always enjoy seeing the All Blacks lose but, beyond that basic national instinct, he appreciated the way we played. During my time with England I’ve taken most pleasure from the fact that we’ve been able to generate our own power style of rugby which matches our players and delights our fans.
We’ve taken a side that couldn’t get out of the group stages in a home World Cup to being the second-best team in the world. We aimed to be first, but we ended up second. There was one team ahead of us, and 18 behind us.
I am definitely staying as England’s coach for another two years. My contract runs until 2021. I’m excited by what our young team can achieve. It won’t be the exact same team for lots of reasons. Some players will lose their hunger or form, or succumb to injury. Younger and better players, motivated by what they have seen in Japan, will emerge. But the core of this 2019 team will grow and improve. They are the youngest team ever to play a World Cup final, with an average age of 27. The potential is massive. Not only are they great rugby players but they are better people with outstanding character. I believe I can keep making a difference with them over the next two years. We can and we will improve. We want to become the powerhouse of world rugby. After that? We’ll see. It’s too early to know and, right now, I am happy to just hit the pause button.
At the end of such a long and arduous World Cup campaign in Japan, a country which has helped shape my family alongside my native Australia, it is time to reflect. Hiroko has been with me for all our games and Chelsea, who works for the Wallabies, only left after England beat Australia. She had to keep working while watching us on television. My dear old mum, the mighty Nell, also watched every game on TV while my sister Diane travelled to the final.
The tournament has been a wonderful showcase for the game I love – and to see the whole of Japan consumed by rugby has touched me deeply. When I returned to Japan in 2009, this country really was a rugby backwater. People told me that I would ruin my career by coaching in Japan. My gut told me something different. My gut told me that I needed to come to Japan to try and make a difference.
Someone had to believe in Japanese rugby. Someone had to try and shake up the culture of a rugby country that used to accept defeat meekly. Christopher Columbus said you can never discover anything new unless you leave the shore. I left the shore and sailed to Japan. I helped start the change and then other people have taken it on. Japan were magnificent, beating Ireland and Scotland, reaching the quarter-finals before losing to South Africa.
I know the clock is ticking on my time at the top of international coaching. But I know I will become a better coach with England. In another two years we will see where I am and which way I move forward. I feel privileged to coach England and, for however long that lasts, I will continue to give my best effort every day.
In the days and years ahead, wherever I am, either on a muddy or a sunlit field, I will always want to make a difference. I remember how Cyril Towers used to wander down to Matraville High every afternoon to share his sheer joy and passion for our game. Maybe, like Cyril, I will find a high-school team that will have me. Wouldn’t that be great?