When schools lose perspective on Sport

Young people being active and playing sport is, almost always, a good thing. Some develop enough ability that, for a relatively short period of time, as an adult they can earn an income as a professional athlete. A very small group in/from New Zealand earn enough from their playing days to look towards a comfortable long-term future free of needing to work. The vast majority need a “plan also” (not a “plan b”), that academics and trade training provides.

As a former 1st XV coach at a large boys school I am well aware the perspective can be lost with regards to school sport. This happens in a range of ways and one is where the “1A” schools in Auckland have become bent out of shape with trying to stop young people changing schools for well-being, academic and sporting reasons. Their means of doing this is to ban them from participating in high level sport for their new school through making rules that disregard human rights – and according to this decision – the law. Schools in now way, shape, or form own their students – regardless of what they consider they have done for them. If they don’t get their own way major schools set the example of threatening to literally take the ball, go home and not play against schools that include transferred young people in their teams.

It is interesting to note some of the World Cup All Blacks who went to more than one high school: John Afoa, Joe Rokocoko, Jerome Keino, Sitiveni Sivivatu, Daniel Braid, Sione Lauaki, Mils Muliaina (3 schools), Same Cane, Wyatt Crockett, Nepo Laulala, Sevu Reece, Daniel Carter, Stephen (my shirt is too small) Donald. I coached four of those at Premier Club level and would guarantee the school change was a major positive factor in their development and what they have provided for their families since. 

I grew up playing the sport but stopped at 21 through concussion precautions. Here is my take on one year of that truncated career from my novel/memoir.

The Nui in 1987

I don’t remember how, at eighteen years old, I found myself on the reserve bench for Wanganui High School Old Boys Senior rugby team in 1986. The manager told me that I did not deserve to be there as the “rep” halfback, “Flea”, played for this club.

“Wing-nut” was full-back on this day and was, somewhat erratically, smoking a cigarette and glaring at me. In his summer persuasion he was a nasty fasty in club cricket and in one of only two good innings in my truncated cricket career I smashed him all around the park as a helmet free sixteen-year-old who was silly enough to ignore all of the abuse and game enough to say; “Just bowl Wingnut.”

Flea was in the toilet but still keen to participate in any discussion. The team was average but there was a plan for the following year.

Next year it was all on. I turned up to training and all the boys were there – Grunter, Bo, Larry the Lamb, Wokka, Two Tummy, Smoke, Spud, Sharky, Motor, Hens, Half-Pie, Daz, Bobs, and Flea. I had no nick name until a man – approaching 150 years of age – came into the changing room to shake hands for the first game of the season. Apparently, he, Jock, participated in and may have caused the Boer War, WW1 and WW2. When he came to shake my hand he was lost for words and a name; “Well done Al … Al … Al …“, he stuttered …

“Alpine!” said our captain “Spud”. And it stuck like poos to a blanket. The most stupid nickname in the history of nicknames. No relevance to anything. When playing cricket I was once facing a national class fast bowler called “Biscuit”. At least that had meaning. His last name was Crafer. That rhymed with wafer. A wafer is a biscuit. He was very, very fast and, as I gloved a ball of my face, I called him; “Sir”. Whereas “Alpine” came from nowhere and later in the season, when playing for the city, when someone yelled out; “you are crap – Alpine” I was more concerned to argue about the name than my performance or abilities.

Our club team was very good. In fact, we were the unbeaten champions of the year. I will never forget, as a nineteen-year-old, the inspiring one-to-one speech from one of our props called “Bo”. We were about to run onto the field for the final and Bo wandered over to where I sat. I was waiting to stun the gathered crowd with my brilliance – as a real team man, and a youthful prodigy, would do. I think it was the first and only time Bo ever spoke to me. He drawled (no doubt the result of more concussions than I had had to endure my mother’s hot dinners). “Alpine” (who the heck? I thought). I have played for this club for 20 years and have never before got to the final – let alone won it. Don’t f%$# it up!”

Henceforth, I played the worst game of my life but, fortunately, the other 14 people made up for it. Grunter, Larry the Lamb, Bo, Wokka, Two Tummy, Smoke, Spud, Sharky, Motor, Hens, Half-Pie, Daz, Bobs, Flea and the others involved taught me a great deal about teamwork and ambition. They taught me that when one person is down the others will make up for it.

I had earned it though. On an earlier day, when we played the very next best team in the competition, I had a university exam and turned up only one minute before the start of the match. I played the game of my life against a team that included the most harmful unarmed human on the planet. His name was “Bruiser” and one of his brothers was called “Scum”. Scary stuff indeed. I was truly faultless that day with passing, kicking and running on a rain drenched field. My play led the team through an extremely close match as a very young man.

At the end of the match the coach said; “Brilliant Alpine (what … who the heck?) but, with that last minute turn up, if you had screwed this up you and I would have been having a very different conversation right now.” Even the opposition mid-fielder, Muzza, said; “Brilliant Alpine!” Bruiser had no compliments and I understand that he, Scum, and older brother Gordy headed off to ride horses and chop wood. Unfortunately (tribute here to the great Norm Macdonald) the amount of alcohol they had consumed meant that they actually chopped horses and rode wood.

We became champions and that is the best that you can do with the people that you have and with the competition that is presented to you.

I did play a little bit of representative rugby that year. Playing against the All Blacks disguised as Auckland is mentioned elsewhere. The funniest single moment was against a team called Manawatu.

I was terrified of them because, when I was a child, they were the best – and most brutal – team in the nation.

Rugby has a thing called a scrum where eight powerful men from both teams organise themselves into a formation and then a pigskin (rugby ball) is thrown into the middle of them and whoever pushes the hardest gets the ball to do other things with it.

That may appear a simplification and the sport’s officials try and complicate it as much as possible with no apparent benefit. It sounds weird but it is a thing.

Well, I ran onto the field and was shaking like a leaf as the mighty men from Manawatu were huge and they all looked angry. One of them was even called – “AMASSIVE COLLOSOS” (well Emosi Koloto but he was dangerous whatever he was called). Fortunately, Cowboy and Axel had recently retired but they still had Bully out there.

In the first moments there was a scrum and I got to “feed” the ball in between these sixteen psychos. Such was the bulk and power of the mighty men of the Manawatu that they pushed so hard and fast that they ran right over the ball and left it, in pristine condition, exactly where I had placed it. I passed it to one of my team-mates, a good bloke called Kerry O’Hara (no nickname as far as I could tell) and we were away.

Some idiot in the crowd yelled out; “Well done Alpine!”

alwyn.poole@gmail.com

https://alwynpoole.substack.com/

ps – Auckland were not a bad side that year.