14
Marriage, a Peak and a Body Breaking Down

The final had finished just 24 hours before, a huge tournament involving hundreds of players and many millions of dollars, chasing this one object: the Webb Ellis Cup. And somehow I’d ended up alone with it, in the back of a cab, on the way to a team function in the Viaduct. I cradled it, soaking in the satisfaction of having wrestled this thing back into our possession after so many years of trying.

As we approached downtown I realised we would drive right past a bar where a number of my best friends had gathered, out celebrating the win along with most of the rest of the country. It seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. I asked the driver to pull over and wait, then snuck into the bar, with the trophy under my jacket, and found my friends. The awe on their faces when they saw me with the trophy was outstanding. I waited long enough for us to fill it up and have a quick drink from it, before I headed along to the team event, acting like nothing had happened. The guys in that bar went home with a pretty good story to tell.

The next few days were some of the happiest I’ve ever spent as an All Black. We went around the main centres, showing off the Cup and experiencing an incredible level of adulation and support. It became a blur of different parades, each one with its own distinctive character. The most important and emotional by far was in Christchurch. We’d been deprived of the opportunity to play in the heart of New Zealand rugby by seismic events beyond anyone’s control. It felt so cruel, yet all the anguish of the quakes seemed to disappear, if only for a day, when we took the Cup into the city. No one there will ever forget those scenes, and the whole team, particularly the Crusaders guys, was deeply moved by the moment, and its symbolism.

After a triumph like that it’s sometimes hard coming down. Luckily I had something pretty big on the horizon demanding my focus: our wedding, which was less than two months away. Some 180 guests were flying in to Blenheim, and it was a huge event to organise. Somehow we’d managed to keep it under wraps from the media, which was something of a shock, given the scale of the thing. They knew we were engaged, but had no idea where or when we’d be getting married. Unfortunately I blew it by having a stag do. Ahead of it Honor had said, ‘Have fun, do whatever you like — just make sure it doesn’t end up in the papers.’ So that was the briefing I gave my groomsmen. How hard could that be?

We decided on a bus trip, starting at my place in Christchurch, ending in Queenstown. The bus picked us up at 10.30 on a Friday morning. We must have looked a picture — wearing Morphsuits. I’ve always liked dressing up, and this had the added advantage of letting us play up in public without any of our identities being revealed. We got into Queenstown 10 hours later, having stopped at various bars and completed a few activities on the way down.

We’d hired a house for the weekend, and just stayed in and had a few beers that night. So far, no media reports — we were in the clear. The following morning we were scheduled to play golf, but the hangovers were a bit heavy, so we cancelled that and headed into town for some lunch. Later that afternoon we holed up at a bar in the city which we’d hired for the night. There were a dozen or so of us, and we partied pretty hard. The Morphsuits were long gone, when at midnight it opened to the public. By then we weren’t thinking too hard about who might be watching, and chased the night to a few bars afterwards, finishing up at around dawn. That afternoon we all flew home, hung over but happy, and I poured myself into bed in Auckland, thinking all had gone smoothly, that we’d gotten away with it.

The following morning I woke up to Honor, extremely unimpressed, holding the Herald. Obviously someone in Queenstown had spilled, and there it was, splashed across the front page: ‘Dan’s Stag Do’. Her one request. It didn’t seem too much to ask. But I’d blown it, and now the media knew the wedding was just around the corner — oops.

We were a few weeks away from the wedding at that stage, and knowing that the wedding was out there in the public made us reassess our ideas about magazine deals. We’ve never done them before or since, but at that point we made the decision to go ahead, due to the security it provided. When you make a deal, obviously it’s in the magazine’s best interest to have it exclusively, so they really ramp it up.

It seemed like the right decision at the time. We didn’t want to be getting married and to be constantly looking over our shoulders to see if there were photographers around. Even though the location of the wedding — Timara Lodge, a beautiful lakefront property near Blenheim — was private and secluded, we still wanted the extra support of ensuring that it stayed between us and our guests. We went to great lengths on that front. Invitees weren’t told where it was — just that a bus would take them to the location. Catering and infrastructure was all ordered under a different name. We thought we’d done a pretty good job — but obviously it wasn’t good enough, as there were paparazzi waiting at the airport when the guests flew in. You don’t often see that in Blenheim, so we knew the game was up.

Despite the scrutiny, we had the most amazing time. We’d booked four bedrooms at the lodge so our parents could stay along with us. The night before we had a cocktail event for our families, the bridesmaids and groomsmen, put on by my brother-in-law Jonty Edgar. It was his present to us, and an opportunity for the two families to meet. Afterwards I left Honor for the night and went to a hotel with my groomsmen. They’d flown in from Europe and Melbourne. It was great to spend time with them before the chaos of the wedding began.

The wedding didn’t start until 4 pm, so to fill the day we went to my other brother-in-law Pete Wells’ house to shoot clay birds. He’s got a full circuit set up, and I’ve shot before — but I was hopeless on that morning. I was literally shaking with nerves, knowing what was to come. We went to Herzog Estate winery for lunch, just the groomsmen. A glass of rosé helped take the edge off my jitters, and it turned into a beautiful day. From there we returned to the hotel. Crane Brothers had kitted us all out in traditional morning suits, and had flown down Carl, one of their people, to ensure we were all properly presented. It was a very traditional wedding, in many respects, and I enjoyed the process of dressing for such a serious occasion.

We drove towards the venue, and pulled over a kilometre out from the perimeter to chat with security. They said that things had gotten pretty feverish overnight. They’d found a number of photographers who’d snuck in and hidden in the gardens in the middle of the night. We knew then that the venue had been rumbled. On we drove to the gate, and it was a circus — photographers and cameras everywhere. It was annoying, having to deal with that kind of thing on your wedding day, but I had confidence in the security team that they had it under control.

Once we got in the venue a lot of the tension dissipated. You could tell it was clean, that no one had made it inside who wasn’t meant to be there. I relaxed a little, but Ben Jones, my best man, was really starting to feel it. You could see him sweating his speech, writing it down on cue cards, just not at all comfortable. He hates public speaking, and the idea of talking to a crowd of 180 people clearly had him shaken. I was more worried about the weather. We’d had to make a call whether to erect a marquee 24 hours out, and had decided to trust our instincts and the forecast. The day had been overcast with rain threatening throughout. Then, an hour out from the ceremony, it cleared. We were set.

The ceremony seemed to come around quickly after that. Family and friends poured in, and soon we were being ushered to our places. That was when my nerves returned with a vengeance. I stood on the lakeside, waiting for my bride to arrive. Hayley Westenra was singing for us, and as soon as I heard her voice I knew Honor couldn’t be far away. The bridesmaids appeared, and then my beautiful bride. I was determined to keep from tearing up, but couldn’t help it in the end. It was a very special feeling, surrounded by our loved ones, watching her walk down the aisle.

After our vows and the ceremony had finished came an event which was something of a masterstroke. My late father-in-law Jimma was a pilot, and he’d spoken with friends at the local aero club to arrange an old Nanchang plane to put on a show for the guests. It was a spectacular scene in itself, but the real genius of it was that it meant that the airspace was closed off for the duration of the wedding. This meant any rogue helicopter toting paparazzi was out of luck, and couldn’t get clearance to come near the venue. We heard later that three choppers had been booked for the day, but Jimma’s plan thwarted them all. I’m so grateful, because to have helicopters buzzing low overhead, drowning us out as we tried to exchange vows, would have ruined everything.

An hour later they had to reopen the airspace, at which point a couple of helicopters came in — but by then the big events of the day were over. We just put up umbrellas to shield ourselves. It was a bit frustrating, but outweighed by the satisfaction of knowing we’d outwitted them.

We had the reception in a marquee on tennis courts. Everyone spoke brilliantly, particularly Jimma and Jonty. I was next to last, and started pretty poorly. I just couldn’t get the words out. Then I abandoned my cue cards and spoke from the heart, at which point it picked up. Next it was Ben’s turn. Everyone knew he was incredibly nervous, and I think we were expecting something a bit shambolic. But he was brilliant, truly exceptional.

Later we took the guests down to the lake while the tables were cleared, before the last seriously nerve-wracking event of the night — the first dance. We chose ‘Let Your Love Flow’, a ’70s pop-country single by the Bellamy Brothers that we both loved. We’d practised for a couple of weeks, and had a glass of champagne for Dutch courage — but were still pretty hopeless, and encouraging our friends on to the floor in no time. But it was a perfect day and night, the stuff of dreams.

The following day we returned to the venue to hit golf balls into the lake, take kayaks out and had DJs — good friends Clarke Gayford and Devin Abrams — playing throughout. In some ways I enjoyed it more, because there was no pressure, and the whole atmosphere was that much more relaxed. It was the culmination of a crazy few months for both of us, with the World Cup and injury for me, and the huge amount of planning the wedding required for Honor. Afterwards we both badly needed a break, and flew to Fiji for a week to honeymoon. It’s a place we’ve spent a lot of time in over the years, and we love the people, the culture and climate. There was never anywhere else we’d have gone.

We returned home for Christmas and New Year, but only briefly, as we had plans to travel some more. I’d been given the first three games of Super Rugby off to allow my groin to heal, so we planned a huge trip overseas. Both of us had travelled quite extensively through Europe and Asia, but had barely spent any time in the Americas. The next two months would remedy that.

We started in LA, then travelled to Big Sur, the Napa Valley, Yosemite, San Francisco, before heading south for a couple of nights in Las Vegas. From there we flew to New York for a week, before travelling on to Buenos Aires. We had an incredible few days on the Galapagos Islands, then went to Machu Picchu, though we took the train rather than walking the trail, I’m ashamed to say. Finally, we took a cruise from Buenos Aires around to Rio in time for Carnival, which was absolutely mad, and incredible fun.

While I was in Brazil, I happened to catch a game of Super Rugby on satellite TV. I realised I’d be playing in just three weeks, and found myself wincing at the prospect. While my groin was feeling better, I had only been training at hotel gyms, and hadn’t kicked a rugby ball since the injury all those months ago. I knew it was time to head home, get my head out of the clouds and return to rugby.

No sooner had we landed in Auckland than I was on a plane to Christchurch, ready to rejoin the Crusaders. After going through my medicals and working with the physio team, the day came when it was time to kick a rugby ball. I still clearly recall the first time I stood at the back of my run-up, staring at the ball and feeling utterly tormented. The memory of what had happened at the World Cup had mentally scarred me, to the point where I’d have done anything to avoid taking the kick. I had no clue whether my groin would hold up through the kicking motion, and was in no hurry to find out.

Eventually I could wait no longer. I ran in, and completed a truly awful kick. My groin was still a bit sensitive. But I’d done no damage, and was back on the road to playing. I was helped by having Tom Taylor in the side. He handled the kicking while I rounded back into form. It ended up taking six months before I truly regained my kicking confidence, and throughout that period I was often in knots about the process. Kicking had always been something I’d loved, and had come easily. Now every time I stood looking at a ball on a tee, I had to fight to get away from the memory of that afternoon in Wellington, and it was a long time before I could finally rely on my groin, and stop worrying that I would break down with every place-kick.

Away from the field, the big change was a new All Blacks coach. My first contact with him came with the leadership group meetings, during the Super Rugby season. Steve Hansen was now in charge. He’d been on the coaching staff since 2004, and I knew him well. But I hadn’t really been coached by him a lot, because the majority of that time he looked after the forwards, the breakdown and areas we’re less involved in as backs. When he was appointed I wasn’t sure how he was going to go. We had just won the World Cup, had been through a period of incredible success. To be perfectly honest, I had my doubts.

But as soon as we had those first leadership group meetings and I saw the vision that he had for the team, I knew he was going to do something special with this team. When we first heard him articulate his plan, it was somewhat daunting. He wanted us to try to attempt challenges which had never been achieved before. Your first instinct is to doubt and deny. But there was also the competitive part of you which wanted to embrace the challenge. It was ample motivation for me and the rest of the leadership group as we worked through the Super Rugby campaign.

The Crusaders’ season went well enough. I was extremely focused on my rugby, as I am every year following a serious injury. It seems to instil in me a desire to reaffirm to myself and the world my quality as a player. We had a strong Crusaders team, but ran into a Chiefs side which was on another level that year. Nothing was keeping them from the title.

I had expected it, in a way. When I heard Wayne Smith was leaving the All Blacks set-up to go and assist at the Chiefs, I was gutted. I knew that he was going to have a huge effect on that team. I could immediately see that influence, the detail with which they approached games and the hunger that they had, especially on defence. It was obvious they were a new side, and a force to be reckoned with. They had an outstanding year and were deserved winners.

I knew, too, they weren’t going to be a one-year wonder. It was clear they were building something solid and lasting. It is instructive when outsiders know that you’ve got a really good set-up and culture by the way you are playing. Sometimes that’s how you’re best judged — by people who aren’t involved in the environment. You could just sense their passion and how much each game meant to them in the way that they were playing for one another. You need that if you are going to win titles, and it was no surprise to anyone in New Zealand rugby when that started to happen for them.

Our All Blacks season started with a trio of tests against Ireland. I felt great about my form through the series. It was comfortable, apart from the second game, in Christchurch, which was so brutally cold that we never seemed to get into our game. I ended up having to kick a dropped goal at the end to sneak a win. It wobbled over unconvincingly, but was enough to take the game. Then the boys ran rampant in Hamilton, which felt like a reaction to how ordinary we’d been the week before. I missed the game after straining my calf muscle during the week. I played the opening two matches of the Rugby Championship, but injuries kept me out of the next two.

It was the first year of the Rugby Championship, the competition which replaced the Tri-Nations. It came along at the right time — I was so over the Tri-Nations by that point. You’d just finish playing against South Africa and Australia at Super Rugby level, then have to turn around and do it all over again. The same players, in the same stadiums. Different jerseys, sure, but it was hard to stay motivated when you’ve been doing it for so long. Argentina provided that in spades. Particularly playing over in Buenos Aires — it refreshed the whole calendar.

We went through the Rugby Championship undefeated, thanks largely to Steve providing a framework to focus us for the year. The first thing that he had pointed out in those early leadership group meetings was that every single team that has won a World Cup had been awful the following year. So that became our goal — a World Cup-winning team trying to better itself. We didn’t want to have a World Cup hangover, so our main focus in 2012 was to avoid conforming to the historical trend. That was a real driving force for us, and in striving to achieve that we had an almost perfect year.

When we approached the end-of-year tour, I started to become aware that I was approaching a personal milestone. I was in the 90s for All Blacks games played, and in my head I had worked out that my hundredth could well be at home in Hamilton — where my test career had begun. I thought that was pretty cool, enjoying the symmetry of it, and the idea of it happening in New Zealand. I played the first game in Europe, against Scotland, which kept me on schedule. The next game was against Italy. I was named on the bench, and thought I’d get 10 minutes or so at the end of the game to keep myself on track for Hamilton.

Towards the end we were beating them comfortably. Steve had really wanted to give Aaron Cruden a go in that test, to get his confidence up, and to his credit he’d had a great game. But we were up over 30-odd points, and I selfishly thought I might get on for a few minutes and get an extra cap. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking that way, but couldn’t help myself.

As the minutes ticked down, I started realising that I might not get on at all. For some reason it really made me angry, and for the last part of the game I waited on the side of the pitch, ready to get on. There was a bike there, so I warmed up, without being instructed, and I kept looking up at the coaches. ‘Put me on,’ I thought. ‘We’re killing them out here.’ They didn’t put me in, and I ended the game seriously, irrationally angry.

We did a fitness session afterwards, and played a bunch of anaerobic games — touch and other sprint-focused sports. I was still steamed from the game, and so thrashed myself throughout. I probably pushed myself too hard, and my right Achilles — not the left one I’d done in France — started getting a bit tight.

Normally I’d ease back in a situation like that, but I was so angry I thought I’d run through the aggression. I’ve never been very good at telling the coaches what I’m thinking, and that inability to articulate my anger just made me push even harder.

The next day I was talking to Steve Hansen and I asked him why he didn’t put me in the game. He explained his thoughts around giving Crudes some extra game time. I told him that I had been keen to get on in that game, so that my hundredth test would be at home. He’d had no idea — and why would he? It just made it clear to me that I needed to be more open with my thoughts to coaches.

I moved on and we went to Wales for the next game. The training field was awful — worse than a club field. It had been raining for days, and was just so heavy. As I warmed up my Achilles got more and more sore. I pulled out of training, then we didn’t train again until Thursday.

By Thursday it had failed to improve. I was limping around and had to pull out of the weekend’s game. So here I was having missed Italy, and now the following week’s test because I’d tweaked my Achilles running around like a fool. The final game of the tour was against England and I couldn’t train all week because of my Achilles, but I really wanted to play.

I was hobbling still, but the whole team was in trouble come Tuesday, when nearly everyone in the camp came down with a vicious virus. No one could get away from the bathroom, which tore apart our schedule for the week.

Even at the Thursday training there were a few guys who couldn’t train — they simply couldn’t get out of bed. I was one of the handful of players who didn’t get hit. The energy of the team was really sapped, which would have been hard at any time, but was particularly difficult at the end of a gruelling season. We didn’t want to let that be an excuse, and still prepared as well as we could have.

I had extra motivation to play, as it turned out. Before the game, I had heard that I was narrowly ahead of Richie for IRB Player of the Year going into the last game of the year. We’re both pretty competitive people, and I wanted to keep him out. The top three players from each game are awarded points, so any result was possible. As it turned out, my Achilles gave way early in the game. I was out. Luckily for me, Richie had a very rare off game, so the results stayed unchanged. We lost the game, 38–21, and with it our shot at an unbeaten season. But while I was gutted to lose the game, I was proud of our bounce-back year after the World Cup, and couldn’t help but feel elated at winning the IRB award for a second time. Particularly after the disappointment of the previous year, it felt like a kind of vindication.

The only disappointing part was that when I won, nothing was announced. I think my manager told me on the Sunday afterwards. There was a low-key IRB dinner on a Sunday night — one which I didn’t really know anything about. I think Steve Hansen and Richie went along, and Steve accepted my award on my behalf. I was away in Germany doing promotional work. It was just all a real anticlimax, particularly for something that should be such a big occasion.

Worse was to come at the Steinlager Awards. After winning the IRB award, and playing the way I had throughout the year, I felt I had a reasonable shot at doing well there. But I wasn’t even nominated for player of the year. It left a sour taste in my mouth. I don’t play for the awards, but if I was good enough to win the IRB award, it felt like I should at least be nominated in my own country.

So despite being more than satisfied with my work for the year on the whole, I ended up in a somewhat negative frame of mind. The awards were one thing, but the Achilles injury began to really play on my mind, and started a spiral of negative thinking towards rugby which would peak with a long, low period the likes of which I’d never before experienced in the game.

FINAL YEAR DIARY: Wellington, 30 August 2015

Recorded via telephone in Wellington at the Intercontinental Hotel ahead of the naming of the squad for the World Cup.

I remember being really tired in Sydney. We’d been getting so much content, so many new moves. At the same time we were learning new combinations and assimilating a very different team to the one which had played the earlier tests. So while we were very up for the game, with hindsight I wasn’t surprised when we lost.

I don’t blame the unfamiliarity between players or with the game plan, though. Sometimes you just don’t front up as a team, and that was what happened in Sydney. We had a strong side, probably the best of the year to date. We walked in confidently and we got smoked.

Ahead of the test the new strategies seemed to make sense. We had quite an open game plan, involving moving the ball wide to get it to the edges. We thought Australia might be more vulnerable there — and we were wrong.

That flowed into the big change from the first Bledisloe Cup match into the second. We stripped all that noise out, and played a game which was really simple and direct. We felt like we had to go through them first, and then get the ball into the space.

That was something the leadership group really drove. This team functions so much better when the leaders and the players are driving the game plan and the messages. It was only a couple of little changes, really, but it just made such a big difference to the result and the mindset of the players.

During the week leading up to the Eden Park game I spent a lot of time with Ian Foster. He really drove into me: ‘This is your team, I need you to drive the team, I want you to direct the guys around the field. You’ve got this game plan, but if you want to change something — it’s your team — you just go out there and own it.’

The conversations gave me a real sense of responsibility — and I loved it. It might seem strange, given the length of my career, but because I’ve been in and out of the team for so long lately, I haven’t been able to own the team in the same way I once did.

Fozzie pushed me on that, and I felt like I responded well. One example which stood out was our lineout calls. We had a sequence which should have dictated our plan for the lineouts in a particular order. But during the game, I began changing the sequence to reflect what I was sensing, and calling what I felt appropriate at the time. It worked really well. Coming away from the game, it’s elements like that which give me more satisfaction than anything else.

The week was special for a number of reasons: our last home game of the year, the last of our careers for a number of us, and a record-breaker for Richie. But the most memorable moment came in the build-up. Our defence this year is named Wiremu, after Willy Apiata. Wayne Smith, our defensive coach, has done a few presentations about him and relates our defence to Willy.

On the Thursday before the game, Willy was there in the room. He wasn’t planning to speak, but at the end of the meeting he decided to say a few words. It was incredible — he’s probably one of the best and most motivating speakers I’ve ever witnessed.

Everyone walked out of that meeting room so fired up and pumped. I believe it was a big part of why we stepped up and performed the way we did at Eden Park.

I had felt a bit of pressure going in. A part of me wanted to play well for selfish reasons, after copping some criticism following the previous tests. But mostly I just wanted to retain that Bledisloe Cup. I can’t emphasise enough how much I love the Bledisloe. I’ve never lost it, and desperately wanted to keep that record intact. It was also a rare playoff-style game. You don’t get a lot of those do-or-die scenarios in New Zealand rugby. The game had that intensity, and it was an immense relief that my final game in New Zealand was a win, and a pretty emphatic one.

The week after was fairly quiet. The group which weren’t returning to the ITM Cup assembled in Tauranga for camp. We mainly focused on conditioning, so Pete Gallagher and Nic Gill thrashed us pretty hard. Afterwards I flew back to Auckland for a night at Vector Arena. Richie and I hosted an event for our charity iSport, formerly known as For Everyone. I think we got close to $200,000 out of the night, which is just incredible. Ali flew in and made a very funny speech, Richie spoke brilliantly on leadership and John Campbell was the MC. There was just a great feeling in the room.

We had some time off after that, ahead of the team being named. I, predictably, filled mine with commitments to some of my individual sponsors. They turned out to be some of the most fun of my career. MasterCard was running a ‘surprise’ campaign. They organised for me to turn up to an under-8s rugby training in tackle pads and helmet. The kids thought I was their coach and went hard at me. The look on their faces when I took off my helmet afterwards was . . . you know the drill.

Even better was an event in Christchurch. We were shooting some video, for another campaign — or so I thought. I spent the morning doing voice-over interviews about my formative years in rugby — about Southbridge.

We moved to the Canterbury training ground to shoot video in the afternoon. I went through a particular motion a half dozen times. The next take I walked around the corner to a rugby team charging at me. I had no idea what was going on, and thought I was about to get smashed. I barely had time to register that they were wearing Southbridge club jerseys. They pulled up just before tackling me, and I finally got a decent look at them.

It was three teammates from my very first midgets rugby team — none of whom I’d seen in 15 or 20 years. It was such a deep, lasting shock, and such a sweet surprise. It ended up being a very special day, reconnecting with those guys.

My phone call came this morning. I was chilling with Fox and Marco in the playroom when Darren Shand rang. It never gets old that phone call. Even now I’m still buzzing.

That was this morning, about 9 am. By 10 am I got the flight information and the plan for the next couple of weeks. By 2 pm I was on a plane to Wellington. As soon as we landed we had a meeting about the announcement. Steve talked about the Rugby World Cup, congratulated us and spoke of the expectations. It filled us with adrenalin, and we walked out ready to play. And in less than a month, we will be.