Phil Bennett: The Autobiography - Phil Bennett

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      Graham Henry was a brilliant coach, a master media manipulator, and an impressive illusionist. He did wonderful things for Welsh rugby, but there was a sense of the illusionist’s routine about Henry because when he went back home to New Zealand in 2002 Welsh rugby was in pretty much the same state as when he was appointed in 1998. For a couple of years he seemed to sprinkle magic wherever he intervened, but by the end people had had enough of the smoke and mirrors show because most of the tricks were no longer paying off.

      When the WRU appointed Henry in the summer of 1998, I felt it was a good decision. I’ll clarify that, because I knew they had already offered the position to Mike Ruddock and I had felt for a while that Mike had all the attributes for the job. The Union had asked their director of rugby, my old Wales team mate Terry Cobner, to trawl the world for the right man to replace Kevin Bowring. Cobner got as far as Dublin where Mike was coaching Leinster. He was in no rush to return to Wales, but when your country calls and offers you the top job then it’s hard to resist. Mike said yes and Terry told the WRU general committee he’d found the right man. It was a good appointment as Mike was a very talented young coach who had enjoyed massive success with Swansea. I also felt his decision to coach in Dublin had widened his perspective and would protect him from the accusations that he was too closely identified with one Welsh club. The memory of how people had undermined Ron Waldron because of his Neath associations was still fresh in my mind.

      But Mike was never to get his backside in the national coach’s seat. The WRU general committee did an amazing U-turn. Having told Cobner they would back his judgement they then told him to keep looking for candidates because they had heard through a few murky sources that a New Zealander, currently coaching Auckland, might be interested in coming to Wales. His name was Graham Henry.

      It was a despicable way to treat Mike and it’s to his enormous credit that he shrugged his shoulders and went back to coaching Leinster. He later became the Wales A-team coach, and although he’s finding it tough going at Ebbw Vale at present, where there are major financial problems, I’ve no doubt he would still make a very good Wales coach if given a crack after the 2003 World Cup.

      If Ruddock would have got around his Swansea connection because of his experience in Ireland, Henry was a complete outsider. He was coming from the other side of the world and in that sense the slate had been wiped clean. But he has always been a man who could negotiate a good deal and since Wales were desperate, and he had just led the Auckland Blues to two Super 12 titles, he didn’t come cheap. England had wanted him the year before but he had turned them down because he wanted to coach the All Blacks. But in the summer of 1998 the politics of New Zealand rugby seemed to be making that a less likely proposition. Henry was in his mid-fifties and knew the clock was ticking. If he was going to complete the transition from school headmaster to top coach then Wales was his big chance. So he took it. In countries where rugby matters, there is always a political agenda, and Wales were fortunate in that the politics of New Zealand rugby suddenly helped them sidestep the political problems at home of appointing another Welsh club coach. I was amazed when the press revealed Henry would earn £250,000 a year, making him by far the highest-paid rugby coach in the world. After all, Henry was hardly a name that conjured many memories within our rugby culture. It wasn’t as if Colin Meads was coming over. But if that was the price of success, then, like most Welshmen, I was prepared to pay it.

      There was a huge sense of expectancy before Henry’s arrival and the character of the man was the perfect foundation on which to build a myth. He was very charismatic, clever, and hugely entertaining. He delivered great one-liners, normally deadpan but always followed with a twinkle in his eye and a knowing half-smile. Because he was an outsider he said things that no Welsh coach could have got away with. He challenged the way our rugby was organised, made observations that were brutally honest, and, most importantly of all, the results were spectacular.

      In June 1998 Wales lost 96–13 to South Africa in Pretoria. It was the time before Henry’s arrival and following the U-turn over Ruddock. Dennis John was the caretaker coach put in charge for the tour and a busload of players had dropped out before they had even left Cardiff. A few more injuries while they were out there left Wales threadbare and the Springboks simply tore us to shreds. It was so one-sided and utterly contemptuous that the crowd booed when the Boks spilled the ball near the Welsh line in the final seconds because it denied them 100 points. After the game the South African coach Nick Mallett described Wales as the worst international team he had ever seen. We had reached the bottom of the barrel and the only sound I could hear was the scraping and splintering of wood.

      Into this mess strode Henry, a hired gun from out of town. It was a fresh start; a new era was about to begin. Those players who had cried off the summer tour now all claimed their various aches and pains had healed. So it was a full-strength team that took on the Springboks again at Wembley in November. Henry had told them they could beat South Africa and they very nearly did. Only a lack of concentration in the final few minutes saw Wales throw away the lead and eventually go down 28–20. After the game, people were euphoric, including the media and even some of the Welsh players. The only man who kept perspective and seemed mildly irritated was Graham Henry. ‘We lost when we should have won,’ he said. I realised then that his standards were much higher than ours. He wanted to be a winner and he wanted Wales to be winners again. I liked his style.

      Things started quite slowly after that initial jolt. Wales were beaten by Scotland in the opening match of the 1999 Five Nations and then lost at Wembley to Ireland in a rather shabby and disorganised display. With France and England to come there seemed every possibility we were going to be whitewashed again in the championship.

      But then something quite extraordinary happened. Whatever message had temporarily lifted the players against South Africa, suddenly returned. Henry’s claim that Wales could play a fast, open, expansive style was gloriously proved right with a thrilling 34–33 victory over France in Paris. The first half of that match was rugby of the highest standard and Wales were simply magnificent. Scott and Craig Quinnell tore into the French pack, Colin Charvis was everywhere, and Neil Jenkins controlled things from outside-half. The French darling, Thomas Castaignede, had a chance to win the game for the home side with the last kick of the match but struck it wide. Wales had won in Paris for the first time since 1975 and the scenes inside the Stade de France, and in Paris that evening, were wonderful. So many people had waited so long for that victory that they were ecstatic.

      Who knows what might have happened if Castaignede had put that ball between the posts? Wales would have lost and may then have been beaten by England in the final match of the championship. Sometimes matches, reputations, whole careers can turn on such small margins. But Castaignede missed and a newly confident Wales beat Italy in a non-championship match a fortnight later. Then came the unforgettable 32–31 victory over England at Wembley and that astonishing last-gasp try by Scott Gibbs. Wales had turned a corner and the players believed Henry was the man responsible. Whether it was he or not doesn’t matter. It mattered only that the players thought he was the reason for their change of fortune. They believed in the Henry factor.

      After beating France, Italy and England, Argentina were beaten twice in their own country – the first time any team had whitewashed the Pumas on their own soil. The Henry bandwagon rolled on. In June of that year, Wales beat South Africa for the first time in 93 years of trying. Then Canada and the USA were brushed aside before Wales proved the Paris result was no fluke by beating France again just prior to the World Cup. At this point, a month out from Wales hosting the tournament, Henry was undoubtedly the most popular man in Wales and probably the most instantly recognisable. He was mobbed wherever he went. He was a guru, a national hero, a huge celebrity, and a prophet all rolled into one. People outside of Wales were unable to realise just how overblown this profile became. Henry didn’t ask for it. It just happened. He actually called for some realism and perspective. But the more he growled and grumbled like a dour Kiwi, the more praise would be heaped on him from every corner of Welsh society. It was the natural overreaction of a nation starved of success suddenly gorging on victory after victory.

      I met Henry a few times during this period of heady optimism. He had a presence about him, and a nice line in dry wit. He was impressive and yet there were odd moments when glaring gaps in his rugby knowledge would suddenly emerge. But he had some very good ideas

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