When we gathered in Palmerston North for the preparation camp before the 2003 Tri-Nations, we started to introduce a new approach to the game, which we called the Tri-attacking system. This was a major modification to our game, which we thought might give us an extra edge at the World Cup.
Up until then, we had been a team that typically played off No. 9. We got good results from kick receipts, we were okay with the scrum and line-out ball, and we played well defensively. But when Joe Rokocoko turned out to be a revelation in his introduction to Test rugby and proved to be an effective replacement for the legendary Jonah Lomu, we had some outstanding guys on the edge, and I felt we needed to find a way to maximise their impact.
I looked at the game statistics and thought that, even though the last 15 metres of the field were being defended better than they used to be – the breakdown could not be contested in the same way that it can now – we could surely find a way to retain the ball for longer periods of time, which would be to our benefit. I devised a system that would enable us to go wide to wide, wide to middle and then wide again, and back to the middle of the field. This approach would enable us to have the same numbers available to play the ball, regardless of which direction we were going.
Even if we made no headway in the first half, I figured that our ability to keep the ball alive for long periods of time and to get clean carry in the middle would enable us to outlast most of our opponents. So, I came up with the system that would place the No. 6 and the No. 8 on the right-hand side of the field; the No. 7 and No. 2 on the left side; and the No. 1, No. 3, No. 4 and No. 5 in the middle between the 15-metre channels running down the field parallel to the touch-lines. They would be available to play off No. 9 or No. 10, if required, but would not have to run all over the place.
By the time we reached the World Cup semi-final, Australia and their coach, Eddie Jones, had realised that they had to defend really well in the middle of the field to deny that structure the ability to score. Australia made strong tackles in that match and were quick to get back on their feet, but I thought Chris White refereed the breakdowns poorly. However, the 81 tries we scored overall in 2003, in 14 Test matches, underlined just how effective our system was.
I had to think long and hard about whether we should have kept this new style of play under wraps until after the Tri-Nations. Had we done that, it would have lessened the chances of someone like Eddie Jones figuring it out, and if I had my time over again, with the hindsight I have now, I probably would have saved it until the World Cup. That would have denied Eddie the heads-up.
But, at the time, I suspected that our pool games in the World Cup were going to be easy matches, so I was concerned that trialling the technique there might lend the wrong perspective on its effectiveness. We needed to test it out in difficult matches – against the Boks and the Wallabies – to have the confidence to employ it in a World Cup play-off game.
We went into the June Tests with what I called our ‘Bi-method’, whereby the forwards were split equally across the field, but in the camp before the Tri-Nations we got ready to launch the ‘Tri-system’ in that tournament, which was going to start with a match against the Springboks in Pretoria ahead of the Bledisloe Cup game against the Aussies in Sydney.
So we trained in the Tri-approach in the Palmerston North camp. I explained the system to the players on the training field by telling each one of them where to stand. I said, ‘You are here; you are over there; you are in third attack; you stand over there.’ Then I put the ball in front of me and told them to just play it out. There were no line-outs or scrums. Then I would put the ball behind them to train them in the kick receipt. No. 1 to No. 5 stayed down the middle of the field. The players got the hang of the system very quickly.
I reckon one of the reasons our Tri-approach became coherent so quickly was that the World Cup was drawing closer, so the players were responsive and motivated, and they were stimulated by the new attacking structure. They were also pissed off because of a World Cup bonus row that was simmering in the background between them and the NZRU, which arose out of the players having more bargaining power following the Tri-Nations victory the year before. That may also have provided extra motivation.
I was blamed for the bonus row, which really angered me because it wasn’t even my fight. It should have been between the players and the NZRU, but I kept getting dragged into it. We were in Palmerston North when the chief executive, Chris Moller, got it horribly wrong by sending Therese Walsh (who was then with the NZRU and is now on the New Zealand Cricket Board and doing well in her capacity as head of New Zealand for the 2015 ICC Cricket World Cup) to negotiate with the players. She got chewed up and spat out. I actually felt for her.
We spent the week before the Loftus Test against the Springboks in Durban. I had a few things to think about in terms of selection. Justin Marshall’s hamstring had recovered, but I wanted to give Steve Devine a chance to start against the Boks, as I was undecided about the other two scrumhalf candidates. I knew Marshy was the first choice, but I needed to see Devine and Byron Kelleher perform under pressure. I also had to consider the fact that we might not need two scrum-halves who were so similar in their style of play.
On that basis, I left out Marshy. Before I name a team, I always speak to the players first, so I asked Marshy to see me in my suite at the Beverly Hills, in Umhlanga Rocks. I assured him he was my number-one scrumhalf, which I thought he would have appreciated, but it turned out I hadn’t realised quite how competitive he was, despite the fact that I had witnessed as much when he was just 18 and I captained him on a tour to Argentina. On that occasion, he and Jeff Wilson were playing cricket against each other in the team room. Jeff was on 89 not out and Marshy was bowling at him, his T-shirt just drenched in sweat!
I told Marshy that although his hamstring was now better, he must just get himself ready to play in Sydney, and then I asked him if he understood what I was saying. His response was blunt and indignant: ‘No, I don’t agree. I want to play. I am the best halfback in the country and I want to play.’
I tried hard to placate him – I explained how he was the first choice – but eventually it was plain that I would just have to pull rank and make it clear that I was the selection convenor and it was my decision. It wasn’t a card I liked playing, however.
‘That is the plan,’ I said, ‘and I expect you to go with it.’
But Marshy still wouldn’t budge. ‘I don’t agree,’ he said flatly.
I think the number of Test matches he notched up was very important to him and I now totally understand where he was coming from. You have to admire his tenacity, at least. And, to his favour, he eventually parked it up.
I remember feeling extremely nervous as I sat in the glass-enclosed coaches’ box at Loftus before that game. Most of my nerves were because of the new attacking structure we were about to implement, as I wasn’t sure how it would work out – it was the first time we were trying it in a match. And the Boks, and their supporters, appeared confident after their good win over Australia the previous week in Cape Town. The Afrikaner fans adjacent to the coach’s box seemed really heated and agitated. I said a little prayer before kick-off.
But the game went really well in the end, and the most memorable moment was when we completely destroyed the Springbok scrum just before half-time and, again, at full time. The fans to the side of the box started to clap. The same agitated Afrikaans people were now applauding our performance. And, to be sure, we introduced the new attacking system in grand style that day, with a 52-16 win.
Beaming from ear to ear, I went into the change room; the boys were stoked up from the victory. Then Chris Moller came down with red-wine stains on his lips. ‘Ah, here we go again,’ I thought. We’d already had a problem with Moller not realising when it’s the right time and place for that sort of thing. Immediately after the game, the players are still emotional and a bit wound up. And when an official comes in, who has clearly been drinking, it doesn’t endear him to the players. So I asked the NZRU chairman, Jock Hobbs, who was related by marriage to Robbie Deans, to have a word with Moller.
When we got back to the hotel, I took Justin Marshall, who made the decisions about our post-match fun sessions, aside. I reminded him that we had to travel to Australia the following week, and asked him to go easy on the post-match entertainment. He was fantastic. We had a quick drink and then we hopped into a big truck Justin had organised to go off partying, with the curfew set for 1 a.m.
I bumped into Marshy in the pub in the early hours of the morning. He had a bathing cap on and had clearly had a good evening. He told me how he used to rate me in my days as a player, that I had been a ‘bloody good captain’, and that he really valued me all round. But he told me, ‘You are not to give me that “convenor of selectors” shit again. You have gone soft.’
I found this hilarious, but some of the players didn’t like the way he spoke to me in the pub and, the next morning, they dealt with him according to the team protocols. The point is that they dealt with it, not me. I hadn’t been perturbed or hurt by it at all: I just saw it as Marshy being Marshy.
That night, Carlos Spencer locked me in a toilet with Robbie Deans. Our heads clashed while we were struggling to get out and I received a black eye for my troubles. To top it all, some of the senior players and I had a meeting with Moller scheduled for the next morning.
I just wanted to be with the team and move on to the next challenge after a great performance, but now here I was, on a Sunday morning, in a meeting at the Pretoria Holiday Inn to go over the revenue figures. The administration obviously wanted me to use my authority to end the player row over the bonuses.
It was one of those situations where I felt torn. Reuben was keeping me informed and I was thinking, what do I do here? Do I become a suction pad and tell the players to pull their heads in? Of course, I did tell them to be sensible about it. But the NZRU was asking me to bring closure to the affair and it wasn’t my own contract at stake. I’d had my own bonus row to worry about after the previous year’s Tri-Nations.
The pie chart was presented and explained in a logical manner, but the players were standing firm and determined to get what they wanted.
To the credit of Reuben and company, they let the matter lie rather than carrying it with them outside of the meeting, but when we got to Australia and started to train in Manly, there were more meetings about the bonuses. That was a week in which we put 50 points past two strong rugby nations, first South Africa, then Australia, and I wish I could have enjoyed it more instead of being dragged into the bonus row.
To this day, I feel I was treated unfairly – it should not have been my job to negotiate the contract. Although I represented the NZRU in my capacity as All Black head coach, my main concern was that that function shouldn’t get in the way of the team’s performance. The players had the Players’ Association to represent their interests before the NZRU, so I am not sure why I kept getting dragged into it by the administrators. It left a bitter taste.
Fortunately, though, lessons were learnt that will have benefited the All Black coaches who succeeded me. The upshot of the negotiations was that the NZRU now wisely involves players in the process much earlier so that it doesn’t spill over into competition time. But I got smashed by the NZRU for representing the team’s interests.
That week in Manly wasn’t just taken up by rugby and the bonus-row tension. As a management team, we had introduced themed entertainment sessions a while before as a way for us to relax and unwind between games, and it was the role of one management member to entertain the rest of the group for one night in the week leading up to a Test. For instance, Andrew Sullivan was given the task to come up with a French-themed evening before the French Test, and he had created an amazing French meal for us in the hotel.
When we got to the Bledisloe Cup game in Auckland later in that Tri-Nations campaign, the team doctor took us up the Auckland Harbour Bridge and we had to draw straws to see who would bungee-jump off it. Fortunately, my name wasn’t drawn; Richard Loe had to do it. It was unfortunate for the poor bloke in charge of the bungee jump, as he made the mistake of trying to push Richard off the platform. I guess he is supposed to do that, but Richard reacted badly and grabbed him by the throat, saying, ‘No one pushes me!’
At Beverly Hills, before the Loftus game, it had been the turn of Ross Nesdale, the line-out coach. Nesdale organised an evening meal featuring traditional African meats, and we were told there was a competition for the best meal. The first prize was a watch – or so we had been told. It turned out when the prize was awarded that it was actually a big yellow python, which Ross had arranged to be delivered from a game farm. The second prize was a crocodile (with its mouth taped up, thankfully), and the third was another reptile of some sort. Mark Hammett had got wind of the ‘prizes’ and had disappeared into Umhlanga Rocks, so terrified was he at the prospect of having to come face to face with one of the creatures.
In Manly the job fell to Daryl Halligan, the kicking coach. His kids were into surf lifesaving, so he made that his theme. The surf was huge that week. We were given knee boards and then had to wait for seven sets to come through before bombing our way to the waves furthest out. It was tough, and I was just getting over the last wave, preparing to come back in, when a Kiwi surfer saw me: ‘What the fuck are you doing out here?’ I told him we were playing a game. He swore at me again and warned me to watch out, as the sea was dangerous that day. I think I swallowed half the ocean!
It was my turn in Taranaki during a World Cup camp. I had the guys milking cows at 5 a.m. in the morning. We were buggered for the rest of the day.
We delivered a fantastic performance against the Wallabies, and it was particularly satisfying, as it was the first part of our Bledisloe Cup quest. We had thrashed them with a 50-pointer in the away game, so we were more than halfway to reclaiming the title. We had not forgotten how they behaved when they were on top of us before.
I enjoyed locking horns with Australia, as Eddie Jones was a very clever coach and he would indulge in mind and word games that were quite entertaining. Springbok coach Rudolf Straeuli communicated in an obvious way before a Test, and I have already mentioned his clumsy attempt to accuse me of racial bias before the 2002 game. But Eddie was different. He would announce early in the week how wonderful a certain All Black player was, but then, in the same breath, he would make it clear that this was the player whom the Wallabies would be targeting. Then, later in the week, he would say something about the All Black culture. Then he would target the referee. With Eddie, you always knew something was coming, and even if his team got flogged, he would still have something to say.
I loved Eddie. He was a really good bugger. Later in my career, when I was coaching the Western Force, I had the privilege of sitting in a lecture room in Coffs Harbour listening to Eddie strategising. That was while he was still the Wallabies coach, and I bet not too many former All Black coaches can claim they have been able to sit in on a Wallaby strategy session before a Test at Eden Park.
Tony Spreadbury was the referee for the Sydney Test, which suited us. He had refereed in my final year of rugby in England, in the semi-final of the Pilkington Cup against Harlequins. An English referee who had the mindset of letting the ball be played, he was a breath of fresh air. I still bump into him occasionally and remind him of that.
After the Test, flushed with the joy of seeing them win 50-21, I was hoping to make a team address and congratulate the guys, but they were called straight into a meeting with the Players’ Association representative about the bonuses. The management waited in the bar downstairs, but we never really got a chance to engage with them. A couple did manage to come in later for a beer, but by then the evening was over.
I flew back to Auckland the next day with some of the Auckland and Waikato guys. Mils Muliaina was seated on one side and Ali Williams on the other. One of them asked if I’d had a big night. I responded that I’d certainly had a bigger night than any of the boys had. The ongoing bonus dispute was starting to eat away at me. They were young men, and what life has taught me is that when young players get off structure, it ends up detracting from their performance. So it wasn’t surprising to me that our outstanding performances up until that stage of the Tri-Nations season subsequently degenerated.
We had one hand on the Bledisloe Cup and the Tri-Nations, so I gave the boys a bit of a rest. I decided to focus on closing the back door and ensuring we didn’t slip up. On the basis of our recent performances away, we should have been able to win at home. Our first Tri-Nations match in New Zealand was against the Boks, and we kept our training sessions short.
I remember attending a spin class on the morning of that Test. Ray Mordt, who was involved with the Boks, was also there and I met him for the first time. I had seen the man score a hat-trick of tries in the unforgettable 1981 series decider in Auckland 22 years earlier. After the spin class, I ran up Baldwin Street, in Dunedin, said to be the world’s steepest residential street, and a massive challenge for a runner. We had a fit management team.
In the end, we had to work hard to win that Test. Bok prop Richard Bands ran through Carlos Spencer to score the sort of try most props don’t even dream about scoring in a Test match. However, Carlos improved his World Cup chances by responding well to the pressure of a tight game and kicked the goals that won it for us 19-11.
I saw Carlos at a social occasion after that Test match and, while watching him relaxing in private, remember thinking just how much pressure the top players in New Zealand experience from the media and the public.
In some ways, the manner in which that Test was played was ideal preparation for the Bledisloe Cup decider in Auckland, as we knew it was going to be a different contest from what we had experienced in Sydney.
We organised a strategy session in our team room and focused on experiences we had been through before, emphasising how important it was that we maximise our strength in diversity to get the job done.
We were better than the Aussies in the game but, much like the World Cup final in 2011 between the All Blacks and France, we just couldn’t seem to get away. The Wallabies scored a try, but then Richie McCaw made a great try-saving tackle. Stephen Larkham had gone for the line from a right-hand scrum, putting pressure on our No. 9, No. 10 and openside flanker, but Richie cut him down in front of the posts. It was a key moment in the game, because if the Wallabies had scored then, we would probably have lost that match.
But winning big games is about small margins, and our 21-17 win, though hard-earned, was well deserved. There were only two Bledisloe games in those days, so the Wallabies had only needed to draw for them to retain the cup. We hadn’t held the cup since 1997, so getting it back was a huge thrill for us.
After the match, there were photographs taken to record the moment for posterity, but I let the players celebrate and was later criticised by the media for not showing any emotion. The Australian prime minister, John Howard, came in to congratulate the team, and Steve Devine, being Australian, put a cap on his head. Helen Clark, our own prime minister, didn’t even know who I was.
Later that evening, at the post-match function, we felt that the Aussies were a bit shabby and disrespectful. To be truthful, I left that dinner feeling unworthy. The NZRU people seemed to be avoiding congratulating me and the players. It was as if they felt we had just done the job that was there to be done. I thought to myself that there had to be some enjoyment in this job, and that the odd pat on the back would have been welcome.
The senior players suggested that we delay our flight back home the next day and spend a social Sunday in Auckland. Most of the squad hopped on the bus the next morning and we did a bit of a pub crawl. We had a good day mixing with the locals. At an Irish pub, we let the regulars drink out of the Bledisloe Cup.
So, the next morning, I found myself in possession of two coveted cups – the Tri-Nations and the Bledisloe. I was about to drive back to Hamilton in my rental car – a journey of an hour and a half – but I first phoned Kay to tell her to invite some friends over for a braai later and that I was going to bring the trophies back with me. Back home, our neighbours came round and we got one of my son’s mini-cricket cups and had a ‘cup day’. The next day, we took the cups to Daryl and Ciara’s schools.
Meanwhile, though, someone at the NZRU had flown into a flat panic about the ‘missing’ trophies. I got a call from them asking me who had the cups. They made it clear they weren’t happy that I had taken them and instructed me to return the trophies immediately. Ever since that day, the cups have been guarded by a security official. I suppose had Andrew Martin still been involved with us at the time, the cups would have been handcuffed to him.
Maybe it had been wrong of me to commandeer the trophies and wrong of us to go on that pub crawl with the cup, but I put aside the issue of whether it was right or wrong. I come from a grass-roots background, and in today’s rugby world, a lot of our fans don’t get a chance to get near the team any more because the sport has become so corporate. I think that’s sad.
I didn’t get into any further trouble over the cup issue once I had returned them to the NZRU. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it was another rule infringement that went on my file.
With the Bledisloe and Tri-Nations celebrations behind us, it was time to knuckle down to the task of finalising the World Cup selection and to strategically send some guys back into the NPC.
We organised several pre–World Cup camps, with the objective of freshening the guys up. We had a fitness/testing camp and then a strategy camp. I never let the camps last for more than four days because otherwise the players would get stale, and I knew from my England experience in 1999 that it becomes counterproductive to have them together for too long.
One of the camps, which was to be held in Gisborne, was called off because of rain. That was unfortunate for the local community but, for us, maybe it was lucky, as we felt we were ahead so we could afford to drop a camp. I think most coaches would understand what I am saying here.
We had camps in Whangarei, Auckland, New Plymouth, Terrace Downs and Nelson, plus the camp in the North Shore, where we did our testing. While we were in Auckland, we played some conditioning games in Eden Park. In one of them I awarded a try that Justin Marshall contested, as his team lost. In fact, he was so angry with me that he wouldn’t speak to me for a while. He really was a hypercompetitive player.
During the camp in New Plymouth, Ali Williams’s ankle started to become problematic. There are two things a coach needs to take into account when it comes to injuries. There is no questioning a doctor’s diagnosis: if the doctors say a player can’t play, that is the end of the story. But, in my view, the physiotherapist is often the most informative specialist in terms of function and movement, so often a physio’s feedback is what I would rely on regarding injuries and when a player could return to training and playing.
So, would Williams make the World Cup? The feedback was that after one of the track runs, following an operation to his ankle that involved a screw being inserted, he was getting a range of movement and there was no aggravation from the injury. So I named him in the squad. It’s very difficult when you have a player who is touch and go. When a player says he is right, you have to take that into consideration too and weigh it up along with all the other information at your disposal.
My co-selectors were Mark Shaw and Kieran Crowley, both good characters who understand the value of an outstanding All Black. Shaw knew all the attributes an All Black forward needed to possess and Crowley had played in over 200 provincial games in his career. Shaw was not big on making detailed notes – he would nudge me in the ribs during a game and ask, ‘What do you think?’ Then, depending on my answer – and, presumably, what he made of it – he would make a little tick or a cross in a notebook.
Perhaps the most critical mistake I made happened some time before the World Cup. Chris Moller called a senior management meeting in Palmerston North. He wanted to get the team together and create a tighter bond between the All Blacks and the sponsors. It would be a training week for us: we were going to be coached on how to become more brand-conscious and get the All Black brand more immersed in the community.
The mistake I made was to get into Moller’s car afterwards – at his request – for the drive back to Wellington. He took that opportunity to quiz me on my views. I gave him my honest opinion on some of the people and processes at the NZRU. But I think I may have been too honest, and I think eventually it cost me.
I look back and wonder whether I should have kept quiet at the time but, ultimately, I am glad I was true to myself. I felt it was important to share my views – but maybe the timing wasn’t perfect. I didn’t know Moller at the time, or how he operated. He would go on to become CEO of New Zealand cricket and was still in that position during the Ross Taylor debacle, where the Black Caps captain was relieved of his role and then isolated from the team. Man-management didn’t seem to be prevalent there.
I’m also sure that Moller would not have been happy with the way I had asked Jock Hobbs to communicate my reservations about his change-room appearances so soon after that Loftus game. Some officials think they have a God-given right to be there, but they don’t understand that it takes some players a while to get back to normal and wind down after a game. Even if the team wins, some players may not be happy with their own personal performances. There were a few times when Moller would want to be part of everything.
Our sixth World Cup camp was held at Terrace Downs, a beautiful setting near Mount Cook. It was September, and we had to get the ground staff to sweep the snow off the rugby fields. There was a major sponsors’ function scheduled one evening on a big estate with a golf course, set among beautiful rivers and mountain ranges. I love running, and after a heavy day at work I felt I had to do my run for the day before I took on any other duties.
Fitting this in was a tight squeeze given the scheduled start for the evening event, and some of the senior New Zealand management members spotted me while I was running around the golf course. When I turned up late for the function, it was seen as a massive calamity and an indication that I had no respect for the administrators and sponsors. Their view was that I didn’t care about my marketing and commercial responsibilities, but I felt I was just being my normal self – I just wanted to get that run in. It was held against me, and it was one of the incidents for which I was judged after the World Cup.
There were lots of little, and some not so little, things that happened that indicated that the NZRU and I just weren’t on the same page. For instance, there was a marketing guy at the NZRU, Fraser Holland, who just couldn’t get his head around me wanting to make the All Black World Cup squad announcement in the Ponsonby Rugby Club rooms. I wanted to keep things simple and take rugby to grass-roots level, but the NZRU were unhappy about that and wanted a venue that was more glitzy.
There were also constant disagreements over where the training camps should be held. The union wanted the camps in the major cities but, as I have explained, I had my reasons for wanting to hold them in smaller towns. We could bring the game to the communities and also relieve the players from the hotels in which they spent so much time during the Super 12 season.
Before we flew out to the 2003 World Cup, I arranged for Sir Brian Lochore, who had coached the 1987 All Blacks to victory in the inaugural World Cup, to speak to the players. He addressed them at the Heritage in Christchurch, inspiring them with all the motivational stuff you would expect from such a great man and before such a significant occasion.
Getting onto the plane for the World Cup was really exciting – quite unlike the start of any other rugby tour. In your mind, you have visions of the final and of arriving back with the trophy. It was with a feeling of awe that we headed to the airport, and the excitement remained until we arrived in Melbourne, where we went straight into a media conference.
That was a different sort of media conference from the one that I would experience six weeks later, when I travelled back across the Tasman Sea to Wellington.