Talk of the Toony: The Autobiography of Gregor Townsend

We won 14–13 and I carried on my Warringah form, once more in direct opposition to Scotland stand-off Craig Chalmers. I was buzzing with confidence and played well the following week against Boroughmuir. We again won away from home, which meant that we had now beaten the champions from the previous two seasons in our opening two matches. I remember former Scotland centre Sean Lineen daring me to take a quick drop-out against him during the game. I dummied the normal kick to the forwards to my left before knocking the ball along the ground to the right, past his despairing dive. After having shown caution and self-doubt at times during the previous season, Sean might have been right in thinking that I wouldn’t have had the audacity to try something like that, but my experiences in the summer had made me much stronger mentally.

Having shown my resolve in Tonga and then become much more relaxed and rounded in Sydney, I felt I was ready-made for international rugby. A year earlier I had been too caught up in other people’s opinions and expectations of my talent and there would have been times when I’d actually have been thinking ‘I shouldn’t be doing this’, even when I was making a break. Pace and willingness to have a go had always been my two biggest assets, but I now had a greater awareness of other aspects of play and was confident in my decision-making. Things couldn’t have been going any better – which is often the exact moment that adversity chooses to seek you out.

CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_2a3fb21a-695c-5796-b9c3-ba65f532239e)

Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina (#ulink_2a3fb21a-695c-5796-b9c3-ba65f532239e)

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

On a clear day the Buenos Aires Sheraton has stunning views over the Rio de la Plata and beyond the river valley to the Uruguayan capital of Montevideo. Sadly, clear day or not, my room was positioned on the other side of the hotel. As I got out of bed I opened the curtains to gaze across the rooftops of the largest city in Argentina. Below me I noticed that the streets were crammed to bursting with emotional, flag-waving Argentines – just like a scene from Evita. I resisted the temptation to climb out onto the hotel balcony and deliver a song. Instead, I rushed downstairs to see what the celebrations were for.

In the hotel lobby, members of the Real Madrid team, who were also on tour in Argentina, were gathering. I met up with Bryan Redpath and Stuart Reid – two team-mates who were, like me, keen to join in with the carnival atmosphere on the streets of Buenos Aires. However, several Argentine policemen were blocking the hotel’s exit.

‘I’m sorry, you can’t go outside today. Or tomorrow. There is a demonstration being held in Buenos Aires.’

‘Surely we’ll be okay to go to the shops on the other side of the road?’

‘No – it is for your own safety.’

‘What about the Real Madrid players? Look – they’re joining in with the locals.’

‘Yes, but it is okay for them – they are not British. Don’t you know it is Malvinas Day?’

The penny finally dropped – the Malvinas, of course, are better known in English as the Falkland Islands. The policeman explained to us that Malvinas Day is officially titled ‘The Day of the War Veterans and the Fallen’ in the Falklands Islands. What the people were also demanding was the recovery of these islands.

I looked back at the crowds outside – the passion I had earlier seen in their eyes now looked a lot more like anger than celebration. Even though the Falklands War had ended over ten years before, it was clearly still an emotive subject for the Argentine people. And our hotel was situated right next to the focal point of their fury – a memorial for those killed in the conflict. We were more than happy to agree to police demands to stay in our hotel for the full forty-eight hours. Unfortunately Claudia Schiffer, who we had spotted a few times earlier that week, had just checked out, so as time passed we grew more and more frustrated and bored. Although I suppose it was preferable to being out on the streets.

Argentina was a tour I wish I could forget. My torment in trying to become an established Test player continued thousands of miles from home and I had to endure another character-building episode, just like in Tonga. Loss of confidence, loss of form, injuries and public criticism are the sporting equivalent of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I met all four on my own personal tour of hell.

Before the tour, I had squeezed so much playing and travelling into my first three years of senior rugby that at times I wondered whether I would ever have the chance to stop and reflect – not least on how lucky I had been. Luck, of course, will always run out at some point, and before I knew it, I had more than ample time to take stock as my career was halted by injury problems.

My time in Australia had taken my game to a new level and I was playing with confidence and verve on my return to Scotland. However, following my second match back for Gala, my wrist was in severe pain and I couldn’t really take a grip of anything without wincing. An x-ray showed that I had broken my scaphoid, which meant I was facing ten to twelve weeks on the sidelines. There is never a good time to get injured, but being struck down when you are in the form of your life is hard to take. I knew that getting back to that level wasn’t going to be easy.

During my time out, I did a lot of speed work with Charlie Russell, a local sprint coach. As I had a lightweight plaster on my arm I was able to run at close to 100 per cent. Pace has been, and always will be, the most vital component when it comes to beating a defensive line, no matter how organized and compact that line is. I was sceptical whenever I was told that I was quick, but I surprised myself when during the Scotland tour to Australia in 1992 I took on winger Iwan Tukalo over 100m and won. I’d always felt that my overall speed wasn’t that great, just my change of pace or acceleration. This is what I worked on with Charlie. As a favour in return, I agreed to run for him in the New Year Sprint at Meadowbank. A handicap race held over 110 metres, the Sprint has been staged in Scotland on or around New Year’s Day annually since 1870.

As it was my debut on the pro-circuit, I was given an arbitrary handicap of six metres. This meant that I was left with 104 metres in front of me. There was another runner with a handicap of 6 m, but the rest of the field started the race in front of us, the furthest being given a handicap of 25 m. Trying hard to go on the ‘B of Bang’, I managed to get pulled back for a false start. In professional athletics, you get docked a metre for jumping the gun, so I was now facing the daunting prospect of being the back-marker in my first ever professional sprint event. The other competitors suddenly seemed to be quite far up the track. I finished in sixth place, which I was told later was a reasonable first-time effort. Mind you, there had only been six people in the race! I was desperately hoping my return to rugby wasn’t going to be such an anticlimax.

I was lucky to have missed playing against the All Blacks, as they had rampaged their way through Scottish rugby – winning 84–5 against the South and 51–15 at Murrayfield against Scotland. I had a month to play my way into the selectors’ thoughts before Scotland’s first match of the 1994 championship, away to Wales. My form was nowhere like it had been before my wrist injury. However, after the desperate performance against the All Blacks, the Scotland selectors seemed eager to make changes.

While it was obvious that I had lost momentum following my lay-off, I was selected at stand-off for the A side against Ireland, only a few weeks before the Five Nations. We won the game comfortably and my own performance was composed, but lacking the attacking edge I’d developed in Australia. Despite this, the media began to raise the bar of expectations once again after I was picked in the number 10 jersey for the Blues team in the national trial. Craig Chalmers had been demoted to the Reds. At the time the SRU Director of Rugby, Jim Telfer, commented on the recurring theme of the media building me up, by saying: ‘You begin to wonder if we expect him to bring on the oranges at half-time on top of everything else.’

The trial game as usual was a torrid affair, but a small personal triumph for me – I notched up a try in our 24–14 win. The score involved a one-on-one with Craig Chalmers, which made it even more enjoyable. With only two weeks to go before the Welsh match, I was quietly confident that my first start for Scotland would be in my preferred position of stand-off. After all, if I had been selected there in the trial, which had gone well, surely the selectors would follow this through for the next match?

Regrettably, this wasn’t to be the case, although I did make the Scotland starting line-up for the first time – at outside-centre. As Scott Hastings was injured, the selectors opted for the experience of Craig Chalmers at stand-off and I was partnered in the centres with the hugely underrated Ian Jardine. The game was to be a disaster for Scotland – we were soundly beaten on the scoreboard as well as in the all-in brawl that had erupted early in the match. Given the terrible weather, our limited style of play and our poor performance, my first start in the Five Nations almost felt like a non-event.

I was by and large a spectator in the first half, and I didn’t touch the ball until the thirty-third minute, and even then it wasn’t from a pass. This wasn’t too much of a surprise in those days because Scotland tended to adopt a kick-and-chase approach to the game. Although I was itching to be involved, I didn’t let myself get frustrated and I tried to be positive when the ball eventually did come my way.

My involvement in the play increased tenfold when I was moved to stand-off after Craig Chalmers left the field injured in the second half. By that stage the match was beyond us, but at least we did try to chase the game as much as we could. I enjoyed my first taste of international rugby as a number 10 even though I now had the dubious distinction of having played three positions – stand-off, inside- and outside-centre – in what was only my second cap. Little did I know then that this was to be a recurring feature of my Scotland career.

I did my best to take the game to the Welsh and nearly got on the end of a chip-and-chase to score a try. I knocked over a drop-goal, although the referee, Patrick Robin, inexplicably ruled that it had fallen under the crossbar. Admittedly, it was a wobbly effort but the players on both sides knew that it had been good. Television pictures later showed that my drop-goal was a valid one and that I should have registered my first points for Scotland. Soaked to the skin, I tried my best to persuade Monsieur Robin that the ball had gone over the bar. My lack of French meant that I was reduced to playing a game of charades with the referee to explain my frustrations. Unfortunately, it was all to no avail, which really upset our hooker Kenny Milne, who was claiming a share in the drop-goal that never was.

Kenny had come to my aid before the match as I was facing an extremely embarrassing situation just before going out to win my first full cap. Trying to relax in the changing rooms at the Arms Park, I noticed that other players in the side were changing their studs for longer ones – the pitch had become a mud bath due to some torrential rain. My studs weren’t too bad but, being a student, it was ingrained in me not to turn down anything that was free. ‘I’ll take a handful of those, please’ I said to one of the forwards, who handed me a dozen shiny new studs.

I waited patiently for a pair of pliers, and then set about changing my studs. Obviously my technique wasn’t the best as I broke the insert on a couple of studs, thus making my boots quite unusable. This was potentially disastrous as the game was less than an hour away. The only player who had a spare pair of boots in their kitbag was Kenny Milne, so I was saved the mortification of running around in lopsided boots. The downside to wearing Kenny’s boots, though, was that they were a size 9, which was one size smaller than I normally took. It was a painful lesson that reminded me to be more organized in my match preparations.

The 29–6 defeat to Wales, which had followed on the heels of the hammering by the All Blacks, dealt a further blow to the confidence of Scottish rugby. The result in Cardiff, however, wasn’t the most important issue – rather the fact that we had been bullied up front and were unimaginative and leaden-footed in the backs. Next up was the Calcutta Cup game and there was much soul-searching and hand-wringing throughout the land as to how we could get back to winning ways against the Auld Enemy. And at a time of crisis, who better to turn to than a real live talisman – Gary Armstrong.

Gary had actually retired from the international game some nine months previously and had been playing at fullback and centre for his club, Jedforest, before being persuaded to make himself available once more for Scotland. He is a heroic figure to supporters and players alike and, having been named at stand-off for the first time, it was an honour to be selected as his half-back partner.

I remember in my first year at Edinburgh University going into a pub that was a local for the motorbike community and a small number of students who were attracted by the cheap beer, where the walls were covered with photos and newspaper cuttings of Gary who was obviously loved by the clientele. I don’t know if he was aware about this unlikely shrine to him, but it illustrates the high regard in which he was held by Scots from all walks of life.

The match was to be the most emotional fixture at Murrayfield since the Grand Slam game against the same opponents in 1990. Gary started the match as if he had never been away from the Test arena and was desperately unlucky to have a try ruled out early on for a double-movement. Fortunately, Rob Wainwright scored soon after this and our forwards began to get the upper hand in their battle with the hulking English pack. This was a remarkable transformation from the Welsh game and maybe had something to do with the rucking session that Jim Telfer had taken with the forwards at our hotel on the morning of the match. Officially, Jim wasn’t allowed to coach the team as he was now in the salaried position of SRU Director of Rugby. His appearance on the Saturday morning certainly focused the minds of our forward pack – he didn’t hold back during the intense session, which was all about keeping a low body position and flying hard into rucks.

However, I was disappointed with my own contribution as I was kicking most of the ball I received from Gary. This was, in fact, our game plan and at times it brought success – our try had come from an up-and-under – but I didn’t utilize the quick ball that came my way to run at the opposition. My role in the game could have been a lot more influential. The absence of conviction was due to a lack of confidence, which was probably the first time in my career I had felt this way. The events of the closing minutes very nearly erased from my memory my lack of attacking ambition, as we looked to have won the match in injury time.

England had clawed their way back into the game and led 12–11 going into the last minute of the match. According to a newspaper headline the following day, I was ‘A hero for sixty seconds’. From slow ruck ball wide on the left I managed at last to drop a goal for Scotland, following two earlier misses in the match and my disallowed effort against Wales. This time I was very grateful to the referee as I’d struck my kick very high and I wasn’t totally sure myself whether it had gone inside or outside the left upright.

As the game moved deeper into injury time, I was anxious that we might be denied our hard-earned victory. I had a vision of Rob Andrew dropping a goal just like he had done to win the World Cup semi-final 9–6 against Scotland in 1991. It was with this in mind that I sprinted out of defence to try and charge down my opposite number, as Andrew had positioned himself in the pocket to go for the winning kick. I lunged forward at the right moment and his drop-goal attempt crashed against my arms. When I saw Ian Jardine secure the loose ball I was now sure that we were going to win the match. Unfortunately, the referee had other ideas.

As we surged forward, the New Zealand referee, Lyndsay McLachlan, blew his whistle to award a penalty for handling in the ruck … to England! This was a stupefying decision, as we had recovered the ball – why would we have wanted to handle in the ruck for ball that we had just won? More importantly the ball came out on the English side, which meant that whoever had handled the ball on the ground had wanted to turnover Scottish possession.

A few days later, television pictures confirmed that an English hand had scooped the ball back from the ruck. The guilty party was Scotland’s nemesis, Rob Andrew. The only thing that could excuse the referee from his appalling decision was that England had navy cuffs on their white jerseys. But surely McLachlan was aware of this anomaly before his game-changing aberration? It was suggested that England would now be stitching green cuffs to their sleeves for their next match against Ireland.

Anyway, Jon Callard held his nerve and his successful penalty-kick gave England a 15–14 win. The referee blew the final whistle immediately after the ball sailed through the uprights. We were absolutely gutted and a nation was seething with outrage. Our captain Gavin Hastings even broke down in tears during a television interview after the match. This won him many more admirers and he told the squad the following week that he had received hundreds of letters of support – which even included one from my mum!

Despite the agonizing result, in what is always our most important fixture of the year, we had won back respect and confidence by the way we had played. However, the one-for-all unity of the amateur era wasn’t in much evidence when I read an article by Craig Chalmers in the Sunday Post the day after the game. He wrote that Scotland would have played much better if he had been selected at stand-off instead of me. It wasn’t the last time that he resorted to the tactic of criticizing his rivals in the media, and I kept his article to give me motivation in our fight for the number 10 jersey. I was determined to do my talking on the pitch, although I was disappointed by the selfish actions of a supposed team-mate.

I kept my place at stand-off for our next match away to Ireland but I knew there were a number of areas in my game that needed to improve; notably kicking, passing off my left hand and tackling. Above all, though, I was disappointed that the Scottish public had yet to see me attacking the opposition with ball in hand, the best part of my game. Now, in my third year of senior rugby, I had learned to stop breaking for the sake of breaking and was responding to situations more as they arose rather than forcing play. However, this had made me somewhat conservative in the match against England, which was probably the first game of my career that I hadn’t managed to break the advantage line at least once.

It is often said that the fear of failure is more stimulating than the reward of success and I’ve heard many coaches and players shout before a game: ‘We’ve got to be scared of losing today!’ I agree that losing sometimes hurts much more than the equivalent feeling when you win, but I don’t think it’s a good way to motivate players. A culture of fear leads to worry and anxiety, which is not a winning attitude. Being positive and concentrating on the process – not the end result – is a much surer route to success. I resolved to be free from worry and tried to express myself much more in Dublin.

We drew with Ireland 6–6 after having dominated the first half, in which we played into the teeth of a howling gale. Gary was monumental at scrum-half, despite playing for most of the game with a broken hand. The match was also my best performance yet for Scotland, as I made a couple of breaks and tackled well. It was our first time for almost a year that we hadn’t suffered a defeat, but we knew that it was the second game in a row that we should have won.

With Gary now injured, I lined up with Bryan Redpath at half-back for our final Five Nations match at home to the French. Although we only had five caps between us, I thought we would work well together. As it turned out, we didn’t have the immediate understanding I had hoped for and my own game was again as frustrating as it had been against England. To cap it all off, I threw an interception pass that gifted France seven points at a stage in the game when we still might have come back to win.

After the match Gavin tried to console me, saying that if my pass had hit its intended target we would have scored a try. The move was a simple miss-one loop, which had achieved its aim of committing the French midfield. With Gavin and Kenny Logan outside me, a clear overlap had presented itself. As we had predicted in our pre-match analysis, Philippe Saint-Andre rushed in from his wing to try and block my pass. Because of my poor execution, plucking the ball from the air was his reward for this ‘blitz’ style of defending, and he ran unopposed all the way to the try-line.

A lack of experience can only go so far in explaining my poor decision at throwing the interception pass. Just as in the England game, I had attempted a pass that I would never have tried in a club match. But when you are not confident in your actions, hope replaces certainty.

Normally, I would have relished the fact that Saint-Andre had come off his wing to pressure my pass. This is an ideal situation in which to hold onto the ball for as long as possible so that the defender has to make a decision as to what to do next. Because I was moving forward, Saint-Andre would have had to come in and tackle me or go out to tackle Gavin. Either way, at least one of our players would have been in space. However, instead of waiting for his actions to make the decision for me, I presented him with an opportunity by trying to pass the ball to Gavin as soon as possible. It was a 50–50 pass, which more often than not is punished at international level. We lost the match 20–12.

I suppose everyone in sport has to navigate a learning curve, but my problems had nothing really to do with either the opposition I was facing or the step up to Test level. The reason I hadn’t played to my potential was entirely to do with my state of mind. Although this was exasperating, I realized that it was probably much easier to remedy than a physical weakness or any problems coping with the speed and intensity of international rugby.

Two years later, Scotland coach Richie Dixon made the wise decision to introduce a sports psychologist, Dr Richard Cox, to work with the team. Dr Cox showed us an example of how the dangers of having doubts about your ability can have a direct affect on your performance. He produced a document that included quotes that were familiar to me. The text was in fact an interview that I had given to the Sunday Times a few weeks after the French game and the gifted Saint-Andre try. Dr Cox described it as an ideal example of the importance of self-belief in sport.

During our internationals at Murrayfield in 1994 I sometimes went for a pass when there would be no way I’d do that in a club game. I went in thinking that I must not make mistakes, but that meant not trying things. I was thinking I would be dropped if I made a mistake. Now, I realize I was thinking wrongly.