To my wife Claire and our three gorgeous children, Olivia, Seini and James
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
FOREWORD BY JOHNNY VEGAS
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1: UNSAINTLY WEEKENDS
CHAPTER 2: POACHING, SKIVING AND SMOKING – AGED 5!
CHAPTER 3: DISCOVERING RUGBY AND GIRLS
CHAPTER 4: WIGAN BAD LAD
CHAPTER 5: I’M A SAINT
CHAPTER 6: LANCE TODD AND ME
CHAPTER 7: IN BED WITH BASIL
CHAPTER 8: IT’S WIDE TO WEST!
CHAPTER 9: SOZZLED IN SPAIN
CHAPTER 10: BOOZE, BABES AND MAD MIKE
CHAPTER 11: CALMING DOWN AND FINDING ‘THE ONE’
CHAPTER 12: THAT BRADFORD BET
CHAPTER 13: A LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN
CHAPTER 14: INTERNATIONAL PLAYBOYS
CHAPTER 15: MESSED UP DOWN UNDER
CHAPTER 16: SEAN OF THE DEAD
CHAPTER 17: A CROCK AND HULL STORY
Copyright
SEAN
I would like to thank Claire and the kids for keeping me on the straight and narrow and making me the happiest bloke alive. Cheers also to my rugby pal Glees and my oldest mates Owen and Tank for helping me remember the daft stuff I’ve done over the years.
NICK
Thanks to my journo colleagues Mark Harris and Julie Scott for all their help and advice. I’m indebted also to my girlfriend Emily for transcribing all the taped interviews between Sean and me; a hard task considering our crazy accents.
BY JOHNNY VEGAS
What can I say about Sean that hasn’t already been shouted at him from the terraces, the dugouts, the changing rooms, the boardroom, the numerous returning Hatton’s coaches, the couches of all the fair weather supporters such as myself, and by that biased Yorkshire Thunderbirds villain-turned-Sky Sports commentator? Well, quite a lot actually. Some might say my interest in the man is an unhealthy one, but it is in-depth nonetheless. So, please allow me to elaborate on what I know to be the truth behind some of the myths that surround St Helens legend, Sean Long.
Sean wasn’t technically ‘let go’ from Wigan Academy. In fact, it was carefully orchestrated by myself, as a secret ‘fixer’ for St Helens RLFC. The stakes were high, but it was I who met up with a nervous Maurice Lindsay in an abandoned salad bar, on Pie Street, off of Pasty Lane, in the Puff Pastry district of downtown Wigan. It was there I set in motion the wheels that were to secure for Saints one of the game’s brightest young stars.
Negotiations were quite straightforward. I knew Maurice’s weak spot. I stood there in my Pimblett’s bikini (two meat and potato and an apple turnover), fishing rod in hand, slowly lowering jelly babies decorated in rival team kits with icing sugar into Morris’s mouth, whilst all the time singing Tony Bennett’s ‘If I ruled the world’. I knew it was only a matter of time … and finally he bit the head off a yellow baby Bradford Bull and agreed, with tears in his eyes, to let Sean go. I handed him back the Polaroids and bided my time. This long-secret tale has remained secret up until today and I fear it may result in Sean refusing my offer of a farewell pedalo trip along the canals and rivers that run from St Helens to Hull at the end of the season.
Still, it is revelations such as these that I hope might justify my offer to write this introduction to Sean’s story. Because nobody has shaped, and subsequently followed this remarkable man’s career both on and off the field, closer than I. Are we friends? I like to think so. Am I a fan? Absolutely. Was the court right in issuing that restraining order against my supposed stalking? Well, that’s up to Sean and his lawyers to decide. Can I live with myself for what I did to release him from the oily clutches of Wigan? Definitely! (I always danced better without the crusty bikini).
For instance, did you know that despite his severe allergy to sterilised milk, Sean brushes his teeth with it vigorously before every match? Claiming it to be ‘Nature’s Viagra for your gob!’, the resulting swelling provides him with a tough natural gum shield for the full eighty minutes of play. Matt Gidley, suffering from the same allergic condition, took the more extreme approach of injecting the milk directly into his gums. Unfortunately for him, the doctors say the effects are permanent.
Always looking to up his game, Sean was the first Saints player to order a back, sack ’n’ crack wax at St Helens Renaissance Beauty Salon, believing his obscenely heavy growth of pubic hair was slowing him down in wet weather conditions. In his own words: ‘It was like towing a wet bail of hay, I felt like I was in a tractor pull contest rather than a rugby league match.’ A very jealous Scully had to make do with a highly lucrative sponsorship deal with Gillette…and lots of bits of bloody tissue stuck to his clumsily shaved groin!
It was Sean who first realised that pre-signed autographs and a staple gun was the best way of securing every single fan a memento, and an inch-wide scar to their forehead they could treasure forever. That was Longy – as innovative off the pitch as he was on it. Unfortunately, Keiron Cunningham’s attempt to go one better with a nail gun forced a return to the laborious method of paper and pens for all.
But despite being the committed professional he is, Sean likes to take time out to enjoy his many hobbies. He’ll often be found relaxing after matches with his beloved homing pigeons – sort of. He actually sits in St Helens Church Square with loaves of bread, luring and tagging the stray birds with ring pulls from the numerous tins of alphabetti spaghetti he consumes, in the belief that it will help broaden his limited Wigan vocabulary. To date, none of his ‘pet’ pigeons have returned, but on a brighter note he no longer gets mistaken for Johnny Wellies when talking to the terrified feathered friends he is labelling.
For Sean, there have been many unfortunate injury setbacks along the way, the most notable coming after he was awarded the title Man of Steel in 2000. Believing this gifted him with superhero powers, he jumped off the roof of Chicago Rock believing he could fly to Panama Joes in time for last orders. The damage he sustained and subsequent x-rays forced the poor deluded Long to accept he was merely flesh and bone and mortal like the rest of us. The example Sean had set did not, however, stop Jamie Lyon from buying a mask and cape in 2005, and spending all his spare time throwing kittens into high trees, before attempting to rescue them. On the 97th call out of the local fire brigade and with threats of deportation from the RSPCA, Lyon was released from his contract with Saints.
I could elaborate further, trust me, but instead I’ll just hope that as you sit down to read his story in his own words you can see why I have a lot of time for Sean Long. There are those who think that misconduct was his main ambition and therefore cannot enable themselves to savour the constant touches of brilliance that have brought the success we, as Saints fans, have all revelled in. I’ve never ceased to admire the fact that when Sean goes into a game he leaves the criticism, scepticism, derision and doubt behind him, and consistently delivers the goods. In doing so, perhaps he raised the fans expectations too high? Well, I for one did not demand Saints sign an all-round ambassador for the sport of Rugby League, just an outstanding sportsman who might let his achievements on the pitch do the