(Hong Kong Sevens, 2016)
After a couple of red-hot seasons in Japan with Coca-Cola, I was looking for a new challenge – outside of trying to convey by way of mime that I wanted chicken at a restaurant. It seems tucking my arms and flapping them like wings means seaweed and rice in Japan . . .
Sure enough, just when I thought I’d have to learn a third language – my second is Pig Latin – I got a phone call that would change my direction. It was Scott Bowen, the newly appointed stand-in coach for the Aussie Sevens, and he asked me if I’d consider having a run with the potential of going to the Rio Olympics. Suffice to say, I jumped at the chance – it’s every athlete’s dream to go to a genuine Brazilian restaurant and enjoy a Whitman’s Sampler of strange meats. And the Olympics would be pretty cool, too!
But Sevens ain’t easy. Only Sevens players know how tough the training and playing really are. Super Rugby players are pretty fit and train hard but Sevens is a whole new animal. It’s a lot quicker with a lot more ground to cover in both attack and defence.
I’d been in a pretty fertile paddock since Japan but I’d tried to stay in reasonable shape and thought I’d be cool. Hell, I was only 28 and with nothing more than a couple of minor injuries – something every player carries. It’s a rugby standard. You just have to deal with it.
Anyhow, in my first Sevens training run I vomited twice in quick succession and it most certainly would have been more had I anything left to bring up.
The new fulltime coach Andy Friend made it really clear what was required and throwing up didn’t exactly give reason for confidence. He knows his stuff, Andy, and he expects the best from everyone. No excuses. And I wasn’t about to make any – but that seaweed and rice can play havoc with your guts after two years . . .
Chucky Stannard is the nuts and bolts of the Sevens team. Chucky and I were housemates when he was at the Force and his is a story of determination. He was playing footy in Brisbane and was chasing a crack at the top level. After moving to WA he played in the local comp in Perth, where some good performances saw him offered a rookie contract with the Force. Now, he wasn’t going to retire on the loot they offered him, but it was a start.
Shipping into Hong Kong for the Sevens. The ARU team transport leaves a little to be desired . . .
Chuck’s a funny bastard. He’s always got something going on in his melon and often walks around with a half grin – a sort of cross between the Mona Lisa and a dead sheep.
The Force finally saw just how good he was and he played a few seasons of Super 15 and played well. His best position was halfback but he was usually played at 10. After leaving for the Brumbies, he eventually found a home with the Aussie Sevens program and the rest, as they say, is history.
Now, Chucky told me what was required at Sevens nowadays if it was to be. I was determined to come through with the goods. After a pretty tough training session or two Andy asked me if I felt ready for the Hong Kong/Singapore leg of the world series. ‘Hell yeah!’ But I knew I had my work cut out.
We climbed on to the steel chicken in Sydney ready for the nine-hour trip to Honkers. I was quick to be reminded that Sevens players are the poor relations to the Super Rugby and Wallabies. While the big guns travelled in Business, the Sevens boys do the cattle class like everyone else. I might sound a bit spoilt but it’s pretty tough to give your best on the field after being jammed into the ever-shrinking seats of Economy class. Of course, it can be done but it’s tough.
The old boy was in Bangkok staying with my sister Bernadette. He was on a tour that would take him to Norway, France and Turkey to watch my brother Nathan play rugby. But after telling him I had tickets to the Sevens, he and Bernadette were on the plane that arvo. It doesn’t take much! Our first game was on the Friday night against Argentina. My time came a few minutes into the second half. I was as nervous as a Persian cat in a dog park – but it was time.
The adrenalin was pumping as I tried to get myself into the game. My first run resulted in a twisted tackle. Which bloody hurt. The second run could’ve been a fairy tale but I just couldn’t get to top speed. Every step was pain and I felt like I was jogging on the spot. The line loomed ahead of me and suddenly this little Argentinian, whose father must have been a missile, stripped the ball from my grasp. What a bummer! From penthouse to shithouse in one easy lesson. What I would have given to be jammed up on a plane then . . .
My weekend was over and so was the Singapore tournament the following week. But that’s life – you take the good with the bad. The real winners for the weekend were the old man and Bernadette. Former Rugby WA big wheel Vern Reed invited them into the Hong Kong Rugby box and they spent the day enjoying the hospitality. The only low point being Dad’s exchange with the French consul – he told him that the only reason the French planted trees along their boulevards was so the German army could march in the shade. Then later, when Japan was playing Hong Kong, he suggested that it had been 70 years since the Japanese were last here in full strength. He just couldn’t help himself.