Friday, 30 June 2017
The Rydges Hotel, Wellington, New Zealand
Two in the morning.
Can’t sleep. The witching hour, when the darkness comes flooding in: thoughts tumbling and cascading over each other like a Snowdonia river in full spate. The darkness comes flooding in, and it’s all I can do to stop it drowning me.
Everything hurts. My body, my mind, my heart. Everything. I’m a wreck.
It’s easier to list the parts of me that aren’t in pain. My eyelashes. That’s pretty much it. I’ve had more than 20 injuries over my career: the concussions, the broken jaw, the plate in my eye socket, the trapped shoulder nerve, the hamstring torn clean off the bone, the knee ligaments.
Before I go out to play these days, I have to neck painkillers while the physios strap me up like an Egyptian mummy. I have to stand there butt naked in front of them, cupping my twig and berries, while they bind my knees, my ankles, my shoulders and my elbows.
It’s not just tonight. It’s the relentless grind: week on week, month on month, year on year. Smash and be smashed. Try to recover. Smash and be smashed again. The equivalent of strapping myself into a car like a crash test dummy and driving it at a wall every weekend.
I get out of bed. Shards of pain as my feet touch the floor. I push myself slowly upright, gritting my teeth as the aches flare and settle.
If my body’s only at around 70 per cent fitness, my mind feels around half that. I’m exhausted, but also wired: antsy, yet craving rest. Yes, these are the small hours when everything seems worse, but even in broad daylight the doubts and questions are never far away.
Sam Warburton shouldn’t be captain.
Sam Warburton shouldn’t be playing.
Sam Warburton’s past it.
What I know is that there are plenty of people out there who think that.
What I fear is that they might be right.
I take one step, gingerly, then another, and another. Walking – hobbling, more like – across the carpet over to the window. I pull back the curtains and look out.
Below me is the Wellington waterfront. It’s quiet and empty now, but earlier this evening it was packed, as it will be later tonight and tomorrow night. Many of these people will be wearing red rugby shirts and will have saved up for years to come all the way across the world just to watch us play.
Because tomorrow evening I’m going to lead out the British and Irish Lions for the second of three Tests against the All Blacks. We lost the first in Auckland last week, which means we have to win this one to stay in the series. I’ve played in some big games in my life – World Cup semi-finals, Grand Slam deciders, Lions Tests against Australia – but nothing that comes close to this.
Nothing that comes remotely close.
The best of the Home Nations, a once-every-four-years touring team, against the double world champions. I came off the bench in Auckland, but now I’m starting and I simply have to deliver.
It should be the highlight of my career. It feels like