RAGING BULL
The Autobiography of the England Rugby Legend
PHIL VICKERY
WITH ALISON KERVIN
To Kate, Megan and Harry
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE: THE BEST PLACE ON EARTH
CHAPTER THREE: PROGRESSING TO REDRUTH
CHAPTER FIVE: TURNING PRO AT KINGSHOLM
CHAPTER SEVEN: ‘IF I HAD A GUN…’
CHAPTER EIGHT: YOMPING WITH THE ROYAL MARINES
CHAPTER NINE: THE 1999 WORLD CUP
CHAPTER TWELVE: CAPTAIN PHIL AND THE ARGENTINIANS
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: CLUB ENGLAND
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: 2003 WORLD CHAMPIONS
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: AN AUDIENCE WITH THE QUEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: LIFE AFTER CLIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: A BIZARRE INJURY
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: ‘WILL I PLAY FOR ENGLAND AGAIN?’
CHAPTER NINETEEN: BRIAN ASHTON’S ENGLAND
CHAPTER TWENTY: 2007 WORLD CUP … AGAINST ALL ODDS
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: WINNING WASPS
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: LIONS IN SOUTH AFRICA
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: CRASHING DOWN
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: PAIN IN THE NECK
I‘m the luckiest bugger in the world. Look at me - this daft bloody farmer from Cornwall and I’ve travelled the world, been on two Lions tours, two World Cup finals (and won one of them), got an MBE and met the Queen.
Met the Queen. Me! Bloody hell. There I was, this chubby herdsman in a smart suit, standing in the Palace, surrounded by corgis, sipping tea and eating sandwiches without crusts. Who’d have thought it? Not any of my school teachers, that’s for sure. Not the guys I grew up with or the mates I went to school with. I don’t think anyone who knew me when I was younger would have believed for one minute that I’d end up at Buckingham Palace. It’s been a hell of a bloody journey, from doing the milking down on the farm in Bude and kicking balls through Mum’s kitchen windows to having tea in the Queen’s house and meeting the Prime Minister. It’s not all been great, I’ll admit. I’ve had some back operations that would make your eyes water just to think of them, but most of it has been amazing.
The reason it’s been amazing? It’s because of the people I’ve met. Daft buggers like me who play in the front row, getting their teeth kicked in and their ears bent inside out … the real men. You make friends quickly when you’re cheek to cheek with a bloke. You learn to respect someone when you see them operate at such close quarters and you know about commitment when you’re staring into the eyes of Raphael Ibanez, Oz du Randt or some big bloke known as ‘The Beast’, and preparing to shove your head next to theirs and force yourself forward with every ounce of strength you’ve got. It’s bloody great when you feel the scrum move forward and you know you’ve got them. One little power struggle won for you, one little fight lost for them. Best feeling in the world, and I bloody love it.
Mind you, it’s not so great in the mornings. I wake up some days after playing and everything hurts. Every muscle feels like it’s been smashed to pieces and I’m sure I can hear them screaming when I try to move. Getting out of bed feels like the hardest job in the world. There are days when just moving an arm hurts so much I feel as if I’ve been shot, but even in the worst moments I wouldn’t change any of it. Even on the days after my horrendous operations when I was in so much pain I could hardly see straight, I’ve never regretted a minute of my life as a rugby player.
I’ve met some great people, been to some great countries and lived a life that most people dream of. I’m very grateful to have been given the opportunity to do this. I am honoured to carry the dreams of millions when I run out in that white England shirt or the red Lions shirt. It’s easy to say ‘I feel privileged’ but I do. I feel as if I’m the luckiest guy ever.
I’ve had a hell of a career because so much has changed since I started. Things have happened during my time as a rugby player that have been astonishing