Life is far too important to take seriously.
Oscar Wilde
‘Benzo – Where are you?’
There was no response.
Grudgingly, I picked up the sledgehammer once again and looked at the wall in front of me. I could have done with some help, and I cursed my workmate, Benzo (Stuart Bennett), under my breath. Covered in a thick coat of sweat that only a humid Australian afternoon can generate, I tried to knock right through the wall. I failed miserably. After a few more whacks, I’d only made a small hole. We had been told that we’d be able to rip at the plasterboard once a gap appeared, so I dropped the sledgehammer and went at it with my hands. Eventually, I saw some daylight. I relaxed in the knowledge that it would be much easier work from now on.
Almost immediately, Benzo’s head appeared through the hole I’d made. I recoiled in shock and he burst out laughing. But it wasn’t him that had given me the fright. Instead, my acute alarm was down to the swarm of huge cockroaches pouring out of the new opening. Benzo was not smiling for long. This was the glamour of my first season playing abroad.
In the two years after leaving school, I discovered very quickly how richly rewarding a successful rugby career could be. These were the amateur days so there was no financial return, but opportunities abounded. Within this period rugby had taken me to Australia, Hong Kong, Fiji, Tonga, Samoa, France, Italy, Spain and Dubai. This was a time when enjoyment was almost as important as winning – an ethos that underpinned the amateur game. It was also when I made the most improvements to my play as I absorbed the lessons and benefits from what felt like an endless succession of amazing adventures – a rugby odyssey.
After the high of beating a Blues side led by Gavin Hastings at Murrayfield, I was selected once more for Scotland B, this time in Albi against the French. Despite losing 27–18, we competed well and my own game was solid and mercifully error-free. It had been the last chance for players outside the Five Nations squad to impress the selectors in an attempt to win a place on the summer tour to Australia. Although I was never really in the running to play for the senior team that spring, being a part of the Scottish Students squad for their Five Nations Championship was just as challenging – and much more fun!
John Rutherford coached the side – a bonus for me as ‘Rud’ was rightly regarded as the best number 10 Scotland had ever produced. He gave me little tips like how to kick into the wind, but the best thing for me was the fact I had a coach who was a former stand-off. I felt that we viewed the game from the same perspective, which helped me no end. It was also obvious that Rud’s temperament must have been a major reason he had performed so well at the highest level. I was starting to discover that being relaxed in pressure situations was a better way to succeed than getting so pumped that you tighten up. Rud was always very laid-back and an ideal coach for a team like the Students, who could be a wild bunch at times.
After losing to a strong England Students team, we went to Dublin for our second game of the tournament. As we had only met a few hours before the game the week before, we didn’t know how rigorous our match preparations would be before the Irish game. After our arrival, the captain, Graham McKee, announced to the squad that we would meet in the hotel bar to talk things through for the following day’s match. It seemed like we were taking a much more detailed approach to our preparations this time around.
Once the squad had assembled, McKee stressed to us the importance of beating the Irish: ‘Guys, we may have a talented squad but it’s no use if we can’t get a win tomorrow. I think I know how we might be able to do that.’
He had our attention.
Just then he turned round and nodded to the barman: ‘Two compulsory pints of Guinness for everyone!! No one is allowed to leave until they have finished them both.’
Such was the hedonistic atmosphere surrounding the Students Five Nations – bonding together was as important as training together. We didn’t take ourselves seriously at all, but we went out onto the pitch prepared to die for one another. Unfortunately, this sometimes wasn’t enough.
Going into the last five minutes of the match against Ireland, McKee asked the referee, Irishman John Cole, what the score was. He replied that we were trailing 21–19. The next time we got hold of the ball we broke through the Irish defence and scored. As a try was still only worth four points, we believed we were now leading 21–23. However, something didn’t seem right – both teams began kicking the ball into touch at any opportunity. Mr Cole had in fact got his sums wrong, as we had actually been 21–16 in arrears prior to our late score. Much to the puzzlement of the Irish, our front-row celebrated the score with ‘victory’ leaps that, in retrospect, must have looked distinctly out of place.
The following afternoon I stood on the terracing at Lansdowne Road with the thousands of other travelling Scots, thankful for the many hip-flasks of whisky that were being passed around to keep us warm. It was great to play a form of international rugby and then experience the real thing the next day from a supporters’ point of view. There weren’t many better sporting occasions in the world than a Five Nations weekend in Dublin.
Our match against the Welsh had been yet another narrow loss, this time played in driving rain at Llanelli’s Stradey Park. We soon forgot about the result. At the after-match dinner, just as things were starting to get out of control, one of the Welsh players announced it was a tradition at Llanelli to get hit over the head with a metal beer tray. Phil May, the ex-Llanelli and Wales second row shouted in agreement and picked up a tray and whacked one of the Welsh players. He then turned to us and said someone had to do the same to him. For whatever reason, I was unanimously voted as being that someone.
Tentatively I took the beer tray and gently tapped Phil May’s bald head. My feeble effort was met by howls of derision and I was urged to do it again – this time with feeling. I didn’t hold back, hitting Phil May so hard that the metal tray was bent in two. I was worried for a moment that I might get a punch from the big man; instead he slapped my back saying, ‘Well done – you’re next!’
The resulting sore head was alleviated an hour later by one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen throughout my rugby career. We had headed back to Swansea, where we were staying, and got dressed up in our kilts before going out on the town. As we arrived in the town centre, there were a number of people shouting at us to lift up our kilts. One car had stopped at the traffic lights, and a group of girls had rolled down the window, urging us to show them if we really were ‘true Scotsmen’. Our prop, Stuart Paul, did the honours, lifting up his kilt and ‘mooning’ to them. This wasn’t enough for one of the girls who asked for a closer look. Stuart obliged and tried to place himself on the front windscreen. We all watched in disbelief as his bodyweight suddenly proved to be too much for the car – the windscreen caved in. Managing not to fall into the car himself he joined the rest of us who were by then already running as fast as we could to seek shelter in a pub. We didn’t stop laughing all night. I can only imagine what the girls felt like to see a kilted Scotsman’s hairy arse coming towards them at close range!
Following the Five Nations, I received the good news that I’d been selected to tour with Scotland to Australia. I also had a rather more unexpected phone call from the Irish Wolfhounds asking if I’d be available to play for them in the Hong Kong Sevens. I was eighteen years old and was being asked to play a lot of rugby, probably too much. I had just played for the Students and Scotland Under-21s and was all set to play sevens for Gala. However, I enjoyed playing so much that I found it hard to say no. An opportunity to play in Hong Kong was too good to turn down.
I had been drafted into the Wolfhounds side as a replacement for Stephen Bachop, who had played stand-off for Western