School rugby was always the prime focus. As we developed and grew as a team we became a good local force. We made it to the Staffordshire county cup final when we were in our fourth year, coming up against Stafford. The match was a battle of attrition which we were winning for most of the time. However, a late try from them meant that we ended up drawing the match 10-10. Most of us thought we would end up deciding the outcome with extra time, but that wasn’t to be the case. The final was tied and we ended up sharing the trophy. A fairly strange end to a cup competition which felt deflating. We were convinced of course that we could have won, but our coach delicately pointed out that their team was finishing much the stronger so it could have well ended in defeat. Anyway, it caused much debate and at least we hadn’t lost.
Every year the first and second teams at the Friary would go on a tour to Hawick in Scotland. This was a pretty legendary event for drinking and playing reasons, and one which everyone in the squad wanted to go on. I missed out in the fifth form, but ended up going whilst in sixth form. The tour was over three days and involved playing three matches on consecutive days against anyone that wanted to play a snotty English club from the Midlands. We also trained each morning, on a local rugby club pitch. This included a daunting run up ‘Cardiac Hill’, which unsurprisingly was very steep and not at all pleasant. When you add the fact that most of us were hungover when this was done, it really wasn’t a great experience.
There were lots of traditions involved on tour, including shaving someone’s eyebrow off whilst they were asleep to punching holes in the hotel walls (no idea why, but there were lots of strategically placed pictures and furniture dotted around the rooms covering up the latest holes). The hotel wasn’t the Ritz and the management clearly weren’t too bothered by the fact that thirty or so lads were destroying their rooms because the school was allowed back every year. The matches were good fun as well, and drinking games were always played afterwards with the opposing team. School ties were swapped as part of the post-match ceremony and there was good banter around who got pummelled the most. I remember making a particularly bad decision in one match, by deciding to kneel on the chest of the guy I had just tackled. Given that this was a club team of grown men, this was a very bad move. Retribution occurred a few minutes later when the same guy tackled me, shouted something about being an English tit and punched me in the face. Fair enough.
At the end of every school season we would have an annual dinner at the rugby club. This was a predictably drunken affair where players and coaching staff got together to celebrate the sporting accomplishments of the year and bid farewell to the players in the upper sixth form who would be leaving school. At the end of the meal there were speeches by the coach, vice-captain and captain which were always a bit of a mixed bag in terms of quality. It was tradition to name the incoming school vice-captain and captain which was highly predictable most of the time. It tended to be the best player that had the most county caps. At the annual dinner that marked the move up to the Upper Sixth form for me and my year mates, it was widely expected that our number eight would be named as captain. He had always been the biggest player in our team and had captained most of the year groups, as well as representing Staffs on multiple occasions. It came as a massive surprise to pretty much the whole squad when he was named as Vice Captain this time round. Given that we were half cut by then, the confusion was compounded and we all chuntered our disbelief as the outgoing captain, Richard Brooks (Brooksy), started his speech.
It was even more of a surprise when at the end of his speech he announced me as the incoming captain! By this time I was quite drunk, and definitely did a double take. Now, I loved my rugby but I was by no means the best player and I had no county caps to my name. Obviously I was delighted and extremely proud, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I’d been selected, and I’m pretty sure most of my team mates couldn’t either. Although they hid it well. The night then descended in to one long drunken stupor as reality started to set in.
Another tradition at the annual dinner was to strip the incoming captain naked. I was well aware of this, so legged it out of the rugby club door as soon as I realised what Brooksy was up to. Unfortunately, I’m not the quickest and it didn’t take long for them to pin me down and rip my clothes off (not as dodgy as it sounds). Brooksy also took the opportunity to ‘christen’ my dinner shirt under the goal posts, to add to the ritual. I seem to remember ending up behind the bar with no clothes on trying to avoid any further humiliations (believe me, there are many humiliating rugby japes that happen and I wasn’t about to let it get any worse), until the bar man politely told me to get out. After that it’s a bit of a blur, but it was a good night and the hangover the next day proved it.
I later found out the reason why I was selected as captain from the head coach, although not until right at the end of the next season. In fact there were two reason. Firstly, the number eight had decided to go on operation Raleigh. This involved raising money through various means to travel to a far flung country to help out with local conservation projects like creating a water supply or helping build a school. This meant that he would be very preoccupied in planning this during his final year, and so the coaching team felt that he would be too distracted to lead the team. Secondly, we were a fairly small team overall so we would need to be extremely fit to be able to compete this year. I was well known for busting a gut in training, and they knew I could set a good example for fitness. What I lacked in physicality and skill, I made up for in fitness and bloody mindedness. Maybe that wasn’t a bad combination for a captain.
That summer before training began I spent a lot of time practising passing off my left hand as it was always pretty weak. I was a long way from being ambidextrous, to the point where doing anything with my left hand was a waste of time. I borrowed a bag of rugby balls from school and spent hours spin passing to a tree. By the end of the summer I was pretty handy with my left hand. I also got as fit as I could through running and swimming. I was determined to be as good a captain as I could be, and the only way I knew how to do that was to train like mad.
That season was our most successful ever. We were practically unbeaten, only losing twice. We gelled as a team, and made up our shortcomings by training hard and working on our tactics. We grew extremely confident and felt unbeatable. Our fly half, Neil Law, was a real talent. He’d spent years playing rugby league, and was a great decision maker. He could also kick off both feet and was tall. He was the catalyst for many of our wins. If he played well, we generally won. He went on to get to North of England level, just below getting a full England cap. After school he played for Northampton rugby club and eventually switched codes to play for Wakefield rugby league team as a professional. During my time as a player he was our most successful sportsman.
During that final year I got my chance to play for Staffs County team when a couple of injuries to the first and second choice scrum half gave me an opportunity. I was very proud, and so were my parents who came to watch. We won that match, and I learned a lot from the other players who I knew well from the other school teams. I’d got my taste of another level as I had done with swimming, and I wanted more of it. I knew I wasn’t as good as the scrum halves who were absent but that didn’t stop me from thinking big.
At the tail end of the season we progressed through the rounds of the Staffs County cup and found ourselves in the final against Newcastle-Under-Lyme. We’d played them a few times before and had mixed results. I had also experienced the humiliation of losing to them 113-0 in a Seconds match two years before. This was undoubtedly the worst game I have ever played in. Playing for the seconds wasn’t a great experience anyway, as you knew you were outside of the favoured group. It is however a good learning ground and provides you with match time, but no one wanted to be stuck in that team for long. Right from the kick off they scored, and it continued like that the whole match. They just ripped us apart. Given that tries only counted for four points back then, and they missed a lot of their conversions they must have racked up around twenty tries. After one try towards the end of the match they all cheered and started laughing, much to our annoyance. It turned out the reason for their extra celebrations was that every player on their team had scored a try. It doesn’t getting any worse than that.
The final was pretty important to a few of us who had been involved in that humiliation, and the school as a whole was behind us. We hadn’t won the cup for a few years so there was quite a buzz around the place. On the day itself we were warming up at the ground thinking there weren’t that many of our supporters when three coaches turned up with a healthy number of people from our school. It all added to the occasion, and the atmosphere was the best I have experienced. The game itself was good. It was close, but we never felt we would lose. Neil made one of his customary breaks, and scored under the posts. I came close to scoring in the corner in a well-practised training ground move, but got tackled before the line. We played well as a team, and came away winners 13-9. Being captain made it extra special and of course it felt great to be the school heroes. Predictably the day ended with many beers down the pub and a curry. A previous captain presented me with an oil lamp stolen from the curry house as a trophy. It was as good as it got.
After I left school I played for the Club during the summer and got selected again as first choice scrum half for Staffs County in their Colts team. I was all set to try and get in to the university squad at Loughborough where I started in late September 1992. I had visions of breaking in to the Freshers team so put my name down for Fresher trials pretty much as soon as I got there. There were a few of us from my hall of residence, The Holt, who went along. When applying for the trials you had to state where you played and to what level. I proudly put Staffordshire County but noticed that this was a minimum requirement to get even a nod at getting a twenty minute run out at the trials. I eventually got my chance and was pitched against a scrum half who had played at a very high level. Predictably he ran rings around me, literally. It became immediately obvious I was trying to play above my skill level, and it wasn’t a great surprise to find out I hadn’t made the Freshers squad.
Not being too downhearted I signed up to the rugby club anyway during Fresher’s week, hoping to start with the Thirds and move up. I was reliably informed that Neil Black had done something similar years before ‘and look what happened to him!’ said the lad behind the desk at the Fresher’s fair. I’m sure he said the same line to everyone who had missed out at trials, but it worked for me.
I was still playing for Staffs County Colts when I started University, travelling back every Sunday to play or train. It seemed worthwhile given I hadn’t made the Uni squad anyway. The second weekend at University I had a county match against Leicestershire. I remember it well as Les Cusworth, former England International, was watching. It added an extra dimension to the match knowing someone of that calibre was watching from the stands. The match started well enough until about five minutes in to the match. I took a ball from our lineout which meant I was facing the wrong way to my fly half. I had to turn all the way round to deliver the pass, and while I was spinning round I got clattered by the opposition flanker. I heard a loud crack, felt a huge pang of pain in my leg and fell to the floor. I screamed out, and slowly looked down at my leg. I was convinced I was going to see it broken, but there was nothing obviously wrong. Quite surprised, I tried to stand up and my left leg collapsed beneath me. I tried a number of times but just kept falling over. Something was clearly not right, so I hobbled off to the changing rooms. That was my last game of rugby.