Even though I endured two bouts of invasive surgery, I wasn’t as disappointed as perhaps I should have been. The pain in my knee and wrist had troubled me so much the previous season that I knew that something had to be done if I was going to be able to play anywhere near my capabilities again. Normally injuries are incredibly frustrating but in this instance they allowed me to take some time away from my problems at handling the expectations of others and my lack of assertiveness at international level. Argentina had convinced me that an extended break from rugby could provide me with some much-needed relief.
I was also thankful that I hadn’t been involved with Scotland in their solitary Test match in the autumn. They were beaten 39–10 by South Africa at Murrayfield – a ninth match without a win. I returned to full fitness in December, playing first for the South then a few games at stand-off for Gala. My form was good, but more importantly I was hungry, confident and keen to express myself.
The time I spent out of the game made me realize that the thing I missed most was actually playing matches. It was what I was good at and it was a part of my life that filled me with joy. I knew that the window on a rugby career wasn’t open for too long and my injuries had sharpened my focus to attempt to play without inhibition and fear of making mistakes. They say that ambition is enthusiasm with a purpose and this was exactly how I felt coming back from injury. Less than a month later I was selected at outside-centre for Scotland in a Five Nations warm-up match against Canada.
It wasn’t an enjoyable game for the outside-backs – the ball remained a stranger to us for almost the full eighty minutes. However, on this occasion I couldn’t blame stand-off Craig Chalmers as the weather was atrocious in Edinburgh. By the second half, sleet had turned to heavy snow and the intrepid supporters that had turned up at Murrayfield must have wished they had stayed at home – although at least they could say they had witnessed a Scotland victory. Despite narrow losses to England and Argentina, the best we had managed throughout 1994 was a draw against Ireland. Canada was my first ever win in a Scotland jersey. It wasn’t much, but at least it sparked a tiny bit of hope going into the following week’s Five Nations Championship.
We followed the victory over Canada by winning our opening match at home to the Irish. This boosted the squad’s confidence considerably and saw the criticism of our coach, Dougie Morgan, quieten down. Our much-maligned captain, Gavin Hastings, also experienced an end to what had been months of sniping from the media. He would never again be criticized in what was the final season of his playing career.
Big Gav was an inspirational figure for the squad, especially to the younger players like myself, Kenny Logan and Craig Joiner. Having your full-back as captain usually means that you intend to play fluid, open rugby. Although we weren’t there yet with this Scotland team, Gavin always encouraged the backs to move the ball and have a go at the opposition. As he stressed to the squad, this would be the only way we could play if we were to win our next match, which was against France.
Paris in the springtime was full of romance, in rugby terms at least, and provided me with a wonderfully memorable day. Scotland hadn’t managed to win in Paris for 26 years and had never recorded a victory at the famous Parc des Princes, a bowl of a stadium that reverberated with constant noise. Back in 1969, a certain Jim Telfer had scored the winning try at the Stade Colombes, which had been Scotland’s last away win against the French. We were determined to replace the black-and-white images of Jim powering over the try-line, which were always shown on the eve of France–Scotland games.
However, I didn’t make the most auspicious start to what ended up being the breakthrough game I’d been searching for. As we boarded the bus for our final team run the day before the match, the manager, Duncan Paterson, called me over. I could tell that he wasn’t happy and he showed his disgust by pointing to my shoes: ‘Gregor, where do you think you’re going with those on?’
‘Erm, on the bus with the others?’
‘Not with those trainers on you’re not. Get them changed or you can’t do the team run.’
‘But I’ve only got my kilt shoes I brought for the dinner tomorrow night.’
‘Well, that’s what you’ll have to wear for not bringing your Nike trainers then, won’t you?’
For a split second, I thought it was some big joke and I started to smile – hoping this would result in us both having a laugh and boarding the bus as best friends. Unfortunately, he just scowled, putting his body between the doorway to the bus and myself. As other players were waiting to get on board – and realizing that it wasn’t worth pushing my luck any further – I trooped off back to my hotel room exasperated and angry. Just why Paterson was upset with me was a combination of my forgetfulness and an over-zealous interpretation of what was still an amateur sport.
Many of the squad were given money or merchandise to wear a certain type of rugby boot, which was perfectly within our rights as amateur players. Earlier that season, I had been contacted by Reebok to become one of their sponsored players, and I have been associated with them ever since. However, we were also supplied with Nike boots and training shoes from the SRU. I think Nike supplied the SRU with kit for their age-group sides and part of the deal was that anyone playing for Scotland had to wear Nike boots. If you look at photos of our win in Paris you’ll see a few of the side playing in blacked-out boots. Those of us who chose not to wear Nike had to make sure that no branding was showing. That was after having to convince the management that we had a medical reason for not wearing the Nike boots we had been given. My excuse – which was actually true – was that I’d got blisters from training with the Nike boots. Reebok didn’t give me any money for wearing their boots in an international – the £2,000 yearly payment was a flat fee irrespective of how many games and what boots I wore for Scotland.
Reebok would send me a number of items of footwear and other gear, which was mainly stored at my folk’s house in Gala together with the kit I’d received from the SRU. In packing my bags for the French match, I must have put in a pair of Reebok trainers instead of my Nikes by mistake. I realized this when opening my kit bag in Paris, but thought nothing more of it. Our final team run wasn’t going to be filmed and the odd newspaper photographer who turned up wouldn’t be interested in what trainers I was wearing. And I’m sure a global company such as Nike wouldn’t have been bothered even if I had had Reebok tattooed to my forehead during our run-through. But it was insignificant details like this that the SRU liked to catch people out on, even at the detriment of Scotland’s preparations for such an important match. Sometimes the custodians of the game were more demanding in the amateur days than they are now in the professional era.
A couple of minutes later I was back – the last to board the bus – now wearing black brogues, which didn’t really go with my shorts and tracksuit top. If it had been the manager’s desire to make me feel very small, he had achieved his goal. I was deeply embarrassed and could tell the rest of the squad had worked out what had just happened. My embarrassment continued at the training ground close to our hotel as I was forced to wear my black shoes to do a few laps of an athletics track and a stretching routine with the rest of the boys. Luckily, when we ran through some team plays, one of the subs let me borrow their trainers until we had finished the session.
I tried not to dwell on the morning’s team run and thought back to two years before when I’d sat on the bench for the French game. I had thoroughly enjoyed the peculiar build-up to a match in Paris. We were again using the Hotel Trianon as our base, which was by far the best hotel I had ever stayed in. Even more impressive was the fact that the hotel was only a five-minute walk from Versailles Palace, a stunning building of sublime grandeur surrounded by lavish fountains, a huge lake and magnificent gardens. There are few places in the world that can match the grounds of Versailles for a final get-together as a squad on the morning of a game. It turned out to be the beginning of an unforgettable day.
For a Test match, both teams are usually given a police escort to the stadium. This means that the bus isn’t delayed, as other vehicles are obliged to give way. In France, watching the antics of the gendarmes who flank the team bus is something not to be missed. Despite huge traffic jams blocking la peripherique