11
The All Blacks Falter and Recover

I arrived back from Perpignan into an awkward part of the season. Super Rugby was just reaching its climax, but I was still rehabbing, and didn’t want to distract the Canterbury side from their focus. But the Air New Zealand Cup was in pre-season, still a while away from the campaign proper. That left club rugby, which was probably about the right level for a guy like me, returning from a serious injury.

Despite being Southbridge born and bred, at that point I’d never played a game of senior club rugby for them. Midgets and junior grades, sure, but then I played colts and senior grade for High School Old Boys. This meant I was about to play my first game of senior club rugby for Southbridge at the ripe old age of 27. And while I loved my time at High School Old Boys, the chance to play for Southbridge was one I thought might never come again. The club has so much meaning for my family and me that it was never in doubt: I would turn out for Southbridge Seniors. Finally.

My debut was against Hornby. The suburb is the first set of traffic lights when you hit Christchurch — so what were they doing in the Ellesmere competition? It’s actually a big rugby league community, which takes a lot of their young talent, so the Hornby side struggled in the Christchurch club scene. They transferred to Ellesmere to get a break. It was an away game for Southbridge, and despite the club’s administrator’s trying hard to negotiate its return to our town, Hornby refused to budge. Good move, too — they did their best bar takings in years that night.

I trained with the Southbridge boys Tuesday and Thursday, as club footy demands, and was given my Southbridge kit. This was a very meaningful moment, knowing that Dad and so many other family members had worn it over the years. But it was also a little daunting. Club rugby’s no joke, and I was very early in my comeback. I’d done some speed work, but didn’t have my acceleration back, so was a little apprehensive about what I’d find in the heat of the game.

After the whistle blew it didn’t take long to realise I was a target. I’d pass the ball and have to sidestep the next two tacklers flying by late. It would make a club rugby guy’s career if he could tell his mates that he smashed me. In truth I’d been half expecting it.

Despite the uncertainty over my fitness, one thing I thought I could rely on was my boot. I’d even gone the extra mile to make sure kicking the ball was as familiar as possible. With club rugby you use whatever ball is available, but ahead of the game I’d gone past Canterbury to get a set of four new Gilbert balls. What could go wrong?

A lot, it turned out. The first kick of the game was just to the side of the posts — a sitter. I was sure I’d nailed it, but with the short club posts it was hard to tell. Either way, the touch judge’s flags stayed down. Things fell apart from there — I ended up missing my first four kicks! I was in danger of going through the whole game without scoring, until I snuck through for a try near the end. I sprinted extra hard to make sure I scored under the posts, as by that time my kicking had become a running joke. After I made the conversion I got a sarcastic standing ovation from the crowd on my jog back to the half.

It took me a long time to live it down. Even when I played again for Southbridge in 2014, during another post-sabbatical rehab, they kept reminding me of my performance. ‘Hold on, I know your kicking stats for Southbridge, mate. I think I’ll take the kicks this week.’ I had to beg to take them, and felt real pressure after the debacle at Hornby.

After the Hornby match there was one more ritual to be completed. I had played about 60 tests for the All Blacks by then, but I was still a rookie in Southbridge’s eyes. I had to go through the traditional club rugby initiation. Hard work — but afterwards I was finally a true Southbridge clubman.

I didn’t have long to enjoy the club rugby lifestyle. The following week I turned out for Canterbury, and not long after found myself in Sydney, lining up a penalty in the Bledisloe Cup. Two minutes to go and two points adrift of the Wallabies. I struck it well, and we won the game. It was such an incredible feeling, especially in my first All Blacks game in almost a year.

I couldn’t help but reflect on the contrast — a few weeks earlier I’d been spraying the ball all over the park on a suburban ground in Hornby. Now I had nailed a match-winning kick in front of a packed house in Sydney. It reminded me how much I loved the All Blacks environment, and had missed the pressure of those moments.

As good as the Australia game was, it didn’t reflect reality for the All Blacks at the time. South Africa were in dominating form, and had twice convincingly beaten us in the lead-up. After the Australia game we played the Boks one more time, on a cool, clear night in Hamilton. Same result — a close but still decisive loss. Losing three times in a single year to the same opponent wasn’t something I’d ever experienced previously, and prompted a lot of soul searching within the team.

As a leadership group we discussed the losses extensively ahead of the northern tour that year. We were concerned that we’d become too tight, too fixated on the coach’s instructions, to the detriment of our ability to think and respond freely within the flow of the game. We lost our number-one ranking. This was shocking to us at the time, but helped galvanise the team ahead of the tour, which ended up being one of the most satisfying we’d had in a long while. The best game came in Marseille. We played in white and took apart a very good French side 39–12. I felt back to my best, and the team reinvigorated as we headed into 2010.

The year prior to a World Cup can be difficult. Your mind is so focused on what’s to come that it’s easy to find yourself less than enthusiastic about the routine of the year. Familiarity can breed, if not contempt, then a certain amount of boredom. In 2010 it was different, at least at a Super Rugby level, because it was my first year under Todd Blackadder as coach. I’d only ever played for Robbie at Super level prior to that. He’d been part of the All Blacks coaching set-up as well, so the prospect of experiencing an entirely different staff with their own ideas and processes was exciting. And he was incredibly respected within Canterbury.

When you think of the Crusaders, and Crusaders men, three key people spring to mind: Reuben Thorne, Richie McCaw and Todd Blackadder; and Todd was the first — the guy that created the Crusaders culture from the very beginnings of the team. To play for him, a new coach and legendary figure, was just the kind of fresh challenge I’ve always sought in my career.

The season went well enough, and we flew to South Africa to face the Bulls in the semi-finals. But because the soccer World Cup was on, we were displaced from many of the traditional rugby stadiums over there. So instead of playing at Loftus, we were in Soweto. I’d only been once before, during that ill-fated Colts trip a decade earlier, and had found it a very affecting place. Very run-down, with the effects of poverty and homelessness everywhere you looked.

I thought it would be an interesting place to play. Many of the locals have really got in behind the Crusaders and New Zealand rugby in the past. So in the back of my mind I wondered whether it might play to our advantage. As soon as kick-off came I realised I was dead wrong. Nothing was going to stop the Bulls that day. They got that big South African pack rolling, and seemed completely unbeatable. Everything we tried fell apart in the face of their dominance. We were never in the game, and lost by 15 points.

Heading into the All Blacks environment, there was an edge to the Tri-Nations. Losing three consecutive games — and the world number-one ranking — to South Africa was not sitting well with any of us. We won our opening trio of games handily, over Ireland and Wales, before steeling ourselves to face South Africa again at Eden Park.

We came out like men possessed. We wanted that number-one ranking back, and to show them we wouldn’t be intimidated. Our forwards were as punishing as I’ve ever seen them, inflicting some viciously dominant tackles. South Africa pride themselves on their physicality, and rightly so. But on that night we were on another level.

After a number of years of emphasising other competitions or milestones over the Tri-Nations, we had a renewed focus on that competition in 2010. That went doubly so for me. Despite my achievements across my career to that point, I had never felt I’d been able to truly leave an imprint upon an entire Tri-Nations. I had a number of conversations with Gilbert Enoka, and we came up with an aspiration to be the best first-five in the competition. Having those kinds of specific and contained goals helps focus my mind.

One game in particular showed a real hardness from the All Blacks. We were playing at the new soccer stadium in Soweto, and South Africa were leading in the closing minutes of a game which had real meaning for them, thanks to it being John Smit’s 100th as a Springbok. Towards the end of the game, he had a hold of Ma’a by his boot. Ma’a slipped it off, made a break and set up Izzy Dagg to score and steal the game. I felt terrible for John, missing a tackle in front of a packed stadium to lose the game. But it was a brilliant, hold-your-nerve win, one of a number we’d complete over the coming years, in what would start to become a signature of this current All Blacks team. Following that, we went through the competition unbeaten, which was hugely validating after the doubts and losses of the previous year.

After the Tri-Nations there was a clear month or so before we headed away on the end-of-year tour, and I had something big planned. After the final game in South Africa, I’d woken up in my hotel room and thought: I want to marry Honor. As soon as the thought had taken hold, it just seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I couldn’t understand why I’d taken so long — she was the person I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. So I set about preparing to propose.

As usual, rugby got in the way. Before I could start, I needed surgery on my ankle, a clear-out of bone fragments. I flew straight to Christchurch to have the surgery, thus missing the Bledisloe Cup game in Sydney. The timeframe was tight if I wanted to be ready for the end-of-year tour. I was scheduled to fly back to Auckland the following day, but made a detour through Blenheim without Honor knowing, so I could ask her father Jimma for his approval.

He picked me up from the airport, and we went out to lunch. I was incredibly nervous, and he probably wondered what the hell I was doing there, alone, making this unscheduled visit. Eventually I got around to asking the question, and soon we were drinking champagne to toast the occasion.

Having gained her father’s approval, I set about trying to find the opportunity to propose. Between her hockey career and full-time marketing role and my rugby commitments it can be hard to try to schedule any decent period of time for us together. It was about a month until our schedules matched up, and I was able to book a weekend in Queenstown. But once I had that locked in, I still had one more thing to accomplish — getting Honor’s mother’s permission. She’d come up for a hockey tournament, and had been staying with us, but I’d kept putting it off and missing opportunities. I was seriously nervous, and running out of time.

One night her mother Maling and I were having dinner together, just the two of us. It was the perfect opportunity, but I couldn’t get the words out. In time she headed up the stairs to bed, and I blurted out, ‘I’ve got something to ask you.’ She turned, looking worried, and asked what she’d done. I spilled my plans, and she was first relieved, then very happy.

With the parents on side, my next task was to get Honor to Queenstown without her knowing what I had planned. I cooked up a story about needing to go down there for a Rexona sponsorship commitment with some prize winners. That kind of thing happened all the time, so it was the perfect cover. I told her that they’d offered to fly her down for the weekend too, which seemed plausible, so we flew down in early October.

I had a friend down there helping me plan it all. I wanted to fly her to a secluded lake in a helicopter and propose there, but had a back-up plan in case the weather fell apart.

The day came, 9 October 2010. I woke up early, and looked out at a grey and drizzly sky. This wasn’t what I wanted. I had a good plan B, but was desperate to do the deed by the lake. All morning I furtively looked out at the clouds, and was relieved to see the sky finally clear in time. I snuck away and spoke to the pilot, who gave me the all clear. It was time for the second part of my subterfuge. I pretended to get another phone call from Rexona, saying that the chopper they had for prize winners was free for an hour ahead of the meet-and-greet. Did we want to use it, I asked Honor, trying desperately to appear casual.

‘Nah, not really,’ came her reply. Disaster! I played it cool and we went for coffee, where I managed to persuade her to go along. We arrived at the helicopter, and the pilot was a family friend of hers — Louisa ‘Choppy’ Patterson — which I used as cover to justify why I’d been so keen to get her along. We tiki-toured around the district, before eventually arriving at Lake Luna, a private lake on a farm, with a fishing hut alongside it. Choppy dropped us there, with a picnic basket, then said she’d leave us alone to eat. Only Honor wouldn’t let her leave! She insisted on her staying and enjoying a meal with us. I was standing behind Honor with eyes like saucers, mouthing at Choppy to make an excuse. Luckily, she thought on her feet, and said she needed to find the farmer and ensure we had permission to land there. Honor bought it, and let her go.

As the helicopter flew off and finally left us alone, I realised that despite all this planning, I had no idea what I was going to say. Any thoughts I had about taking my time to come up with a speech were dashed when Honor opened the picnic hamper and saw a bottle of champagne. She turned to me and said, ‘Wow — champagne at 11 in the morning?’ I got a sinking feeling, certain she would guess, and proceeded to make a complete hash of the moment.

I grabbed the ring from my jacket pocket and threw it towards her to catch. Then I tried to get down on one knee, but discovered my jeans were too tight. I was stuttering and mumbling my way through, inverting her surname and middle name. It was an absolute shocker — I’d planned everything perfectly, but somehow neglected to think about what I’d do and say to actually verbally propose. When the moment came I choked more comprehensively than I ever had on a sports field. Thankfully, she said yes, which was a huge relief. But a couple of minutes later she made me do it again — properly this time.

Presently Choppy turned up and whisked us back to the hotel, where Honor’s parents and mine were waiting — I’d organised for them to be flown in while we were away — and we ended up having a fantastic weekend. I’m still proud of all the intricate plotting I did to get her to that location. But I’d advise those planning their own proposals to practise the speech itself with as much attention to detail as organising the actual occasion.

Soon enough we were headed back to Auckland, and not long after I was flying off on tour, leaving Honor to plan our wedding. It felt so great to have that period over with — as much fun as it had been, I’d never been so nervous in my life. Playing rugby in packed stadiums again felt like a relief.

The end-of-year tour began with a strange game against Australia in Hong Kong. It was a Bledisloe game, but we’d already secured the Cup by then, so it felt like a festival event: in this unfamiliar location, with nothing really riding on it. Playing in a part of the world where rugby isn’t so important somehow made it feel less genuine. We lost the game, and with it the opportunity to challenge the record for consecutive test wins by a tier-one nation. Stalled again on 15 — three short of the magical 18. We got close three times throughout my career, and each time we’ve dropped it near the line. I played the first hour, then Beaver came on for the last 20 minutes. They snuck a win at the end, with James O’Connor converting to get them across the line, which was frustrating. But my main memory was of watching the way they celebrated afterwards — like they’d just won the World Cup. We would use their reaction as motivation whenever we met them the following year.

After the game Richie gave us a bit of a rev-up. He talked about how much this tour meant, given what was coming the following year. He gathered the team and told us we were all staying in that night. That might not seem that big a deal, but we were in Hong Kong, a city we never visit, and a few guys were pretty disappointed. Richie didn’t care — the decision set the tone for the tour. We were there to do a job, not have a holiday, and had to take it seriously.

That mentality steeled us for the games to come — the third grand slam of my career. It was a fitting end to the year, with only a single loss blotting an otherwise perfect preparation for 2011, the home World Cup which loomed as the most important of any of our lives. But before we got there, nature would intervene in the most cataclysmic way.