My last involvement with the England squad came after the 1990 tour of Argentina, the first since the Falklands War.
It may just be coincidence, but I was not involved again after a tour forfeit forced me to arrive at a function wearing a Batman costume in front of the President of Argentina – and other dignitaries such as Diego Maradona – to a backdrop of trumpet noises from the rest of the lads doing a rendition of Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire.
Geoff Cooke had come in as coach off the back of a disastrous 1987 World Cup under Martin Green, in which I sat on the bench all the way through. The ‘old farts’ didn’t believe in squad rotation because they felt it cheapened caps! Geoff did move things forward but preferred to coach by numbers in a prescriptive sort of way, using flip chat presentations. Us Bath lads were seen as rebels as our approach to rugby was completely different and we questioned things.
It is my view though that I would not have won seven caps for England had I not played for Bath. I joined the club at just the right time because they had just beaten Bristol in the 1984 John Player Cup final and stayed at the top of the tree for over a decade.
I was one of a number of lads who arrived fresh from university, in the case of Andy Robinson, John Morrison and I that was Loughborough. While at Loughborough, I was once paid the highest of compliments after being compared to legendary Welsh No.8 Merv ‘the Swerve’ Davies because of my running skills. I think the energy that the student intake brought to the club – David Sole and Richard Hill were two others – added another dimension and helped to engender a total skills philosophy in Bath’s play.
The team evolved because of the selection process that followed the premise that the cream will rise to the top if everyone is put under pressure. Those that don’t want it will drop out, and that’s what happened. I remember being absolutely gutted when I wasn’t picked for our first Cup final against Wasps. Jack (Rowell) was a chicken, always terrible for delivering bad news, but Roger Spurrell, Paul Simpson, John Hall and I refused to go out for training until he told us who was and wasn’t playing. I probably stormed off home because it meant that much to me.
Going over to Wales every single Wednesday night toughened us up. I’d get picked up just off the M4 at a roundabout with a double duvet wrapped in a black bin liner tucked under one arm. There’s nothing worse before a big game in my book than not getting a good night’s sleep so I chose to take my own bedding as you’d only get thin little blankets in the hotels. We were revolutionary at the time in that we’d stay overnight whenever we played away from home.
Bath’s training ground environment was tough and not one for the faint-hearted. If you came back from international duty and dropped the ball in training, you’d get taunts like ‘good enough for England, not good enough for Bath’ and everyone else would laugh. It got your feet back on the ground pretty quickly.
The thing about No.8 play is you’ve got to work out what you’re in the team to do. There has always been a discussion as to whether a No.8 should be a power player or a link man. I think he should be a blend of everything. I wasn’t too bad at it although I’d have loved to have the power of Wayne Shelford or the athleticism of Andy Ripley, but you’ve got to make do with what you have got.
Ultimately I thought my rugby career was a failure. When you start out you want to be recognised as the greatest No.8 that ever played the game. Clearly that wasn’t the case.
– as told to Jon Newcombe
