I LIE on the concrete floor. I have 12 stitches in my head, where they’ve had to remove more hair which, in recent times, is flourishing about as much as a deciduous tree in winter.
I have blood in my ear, Dencorub in one eye and an ice pack on two corks.
Still looking at the ceiling. Head throbbing. Stomach churning. Heart broken.
IT’S late and I am frantic. I’ve just tipped my undies draw on its head looking for my mouthguard as I pack for our journey north to play the defending champion Queensland Reds.
But what’s more concerning than keeping my mouthguard in with my underpants, is the way we defended against the Waratahs last Friday.
This year, more than most, Super Rugby has developed into a game of efficiency. In the first half, we missed way too many tackles. That’s blatantly obvious, but it was the numbers to our defensive breakdown that proved the real issue.
‘Four more years! Four more years! Four more years!” That’s what you all heard from Eden Park last Sunday, and even on Friday night. But what I heard was thousands of TVs across Australia turning off, for another four more years.
Now every nation bar the victor tonight will look to make wholesale changes, give youth a run, and try, test and pass new combinations. Heads will roll. Welcome to the matrix of rugby – the life in between the World Cups. My issue with losing at the tournament is the notion that we now have four more years to work towards winning the next one. That needs to change.
‘Hey, dwarf man!” It was the final thing I heard leaving the field when I played the 2008 Springboks. Nothing short of crippling for a man who is challenged in the vertical sense.
I took the criticism on the chins, both of them. The Boks were the world champs. But this match is a little different.
They’re still world champs, but today we can take that away from them. We’ve got a completely different side than the one that went out in the 2007 World Cup quarters – it’s probably better but there is a school of thought they could do with some help in the hooking department.
Many baseballers use bats lightened with cork to give them a quicker swing, improve their timing and build confidence.
With the starting team Robbie Deans selected, I had a feeling the Wallabies would be ready to let rip against Russia, like Sammy Sosa with his modified piece of pine. There were flashes of brilliance from Radike Samo, Quade Cooper and Luke Burgess, while Berrick Barnes made a massive difference, not only in directing the team, but also with some great darts, one of which led to a try.
Like everyone else, in the first half I was thinking: ”This score line could be anything.” Then half-time came and the Wallabies seemed to put their bats away and had to make changes. Some forced, others rested. Any time there are household substitutions a team’s momentum is sure to change.
A quote Wayne Bennett has used is: ”You can always tell the character of someone by what he does for those who can do nothing for him in return.”
This quote could not be more relevant than with former Brisbane Bronco Berrick Barnes. Forever giving, for charity, rugby and others, this cleanskin can start to blossom in this Wallabies environment. A well-bred Queenslander whose native Australian tone and ”yeah, na, yeah” make him the natural next in line for Lara Bingle’s ”Where the bloody hell are you?” ad campaign.
The first time I met Berrick he wore bone-coloured R.M. Williams tight beige jeans with clip pockets, rum-stained R.M. Williams boots and a checked shirt that I am pretty sure I had once used as a tea towel. He stood there, tilted his head to the side, took one leap forward and simply threw his hand out to introduce himself.
I have heard plenty of the Irish jokes, most painting our friends in green as not the smartest of folk. Although I am certain not many Wallabies fans would be smiling this morning.
The butterflies should have been felt last week when the Springboks were almost defeated by a desperate Welsh side in the wet. The conditions in both matches were greasy and decided by goal kicking.
The Wallabies’ expansive style of running rugby didn’t help last night. It was slow, wet and it was extremely boring. We were outsmarted by a well-coached and enthusiastic rugby team.
A SAUSAGE dog, dairy farmer and Jedi sit at a bar. Yesterday, I looked over our three Kiwi brothers following our after-awards lunch and tried not to laugh!
They share many things in common – country of birth, the search for a better value feed, and the imprint they have left on our young Rebels club.
The first one I’ll talk about is called Yoda because nobody knows scrummaging quite like Greg Somerville. He has decided to end his playing days at the conclusion of the team’s European tour. This took many by surprise, including myself. How could you, Yoda? You’re supposed to last forever!”
Reading my horoscope the other day I thought, “Wow! Bang on sister”.
So I looked at the birth date of the Melbourne Rebels and applied the same wisdom to our first year and future.
Rugby is sometimes a little like a horoscope, with enough information you can quite easily let these words manipulate your point of view.
Not that I will give you stats, surveys or any manufactured spiel. Just a few little pieces of rugby wisdom.
We won a game, both at home and away.
We have recruited a very high profile Wallaby.
BEING back in Canberra has sent shivers through my bones, and it’s not from the weather. It brings back memories of my days at the Brumbies, sitting across the desk from then coach Eddie Jones as a 19-year-old, facing his wrath.
”Mate, I really don’t think you actually want to be a professional rugby player mate …” he would say, never unlocking his eye from mine.
”No Eddie, I really want to, of course I do, I really do!”
To send a link to this page to a friend, fill in the following form, and we'll do the rest.
