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Phil Bennett: The Autobiography. Phil Bennett
Читать онлайн.Название Phil Bennett: The Autobiography
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isbn 9780008161217
Автор произведения Phil Bennett
Жанр Биографии и Мемуары
Издательство HarperCollins
Some time after Kevin Keegan had quit as England soccer manager in 2000, most of the London-based newspapers were having trouble speculating as to who his successor might be. No sooner were they building up the credentials of some particular candidate than the poor bloke would have a panic attack and declare he had no interest in the job. The popular opinion seemed to be that it just wasn’t worth the hassle, the aggravation, the heart failure and the inevitable damning criticism when things went wrong. It was, most of the papers decided, not something any sane person would accept and they dubbed it, ‘The Impossible Job’.
Then along came this very academic-looking Swedish man called Sven-Goran Eriksson who not only wanted the job but also seemed to thrive in it. Against the odds, he took England to the World Cup Finals and became a national hero. Not even defeat to Brazil in the quarter-finals appears to have dented his reputation.
No, for a real ‘mission impossible’ try coaching the Welsh rugby team. Graham Henry did it for a while and for a time he became a bigger national hero in Wales than even Sven was in England after England had beaten Germany 5–1. Like his footballing counterpart, Henry took his team to the quarterfinals of the World Cup; but that was when the rot set in. Results nose-dived and so did Henry’s reputation. In the end he quit, joining a long line of former Welsh coaches who shone brightly, but briefly, and then hit the ground with a bump.
The comparison with English football is a useful one. Both Welsh rugby and English soccer have a rich history always looming large and threateningly over whoever happens to be in charge. The sports are national obsessions – except when there is any planning for the future to be done – and the respective coaches are forever carrying around unrealistic public expectations, fuelled by an intense and demanding media. The spotlight is very bright and not everyone can cope with the glare. For a time, Henry seemed to revel in it. But in the end, even he was burnt.
Just like the job of England soccer manager, the profile of the Welsh rugby coach has mushroomed over the years. Walter Winterbottom could have gone into most pubs in England in the sixties and very few people would have recognised him. Even Sir Alf Ramsey managed to continue to live a very private and humble existence after England had won the World Cup in 1966.
It was the same in Welsh rugby. David Nash was the first Welsh rugby coach in 1967 and his profile was even more modest than his record of one victory in five matches. Wales then entered the golden years of Grand Slams and Triple Crowns but most fans would have been hard-pressed to name the coach, never mind recognise him in the street. Gareth Edwards, Barry John, JPR and Gerald Davies were the names on everybody’s lips but Clive Rowlands and John Dawes were very much men who stayed in the shadows even though they had both been very prominent players themselves. Part of the reason was the structure of what passed for management of the national team. In those days the coach did not pick the side. That was left to a gang of selectors, in Wales the so-called Big Five. These were the men with the power. The coach was there merely to train the players who were given to him and offer them tactical advice and a passionate pre-match speech.
I first got into the Welsh squad in 1968, as understudy to Barry, when David Nash was in charge. David was a decent chap, a quiet man, but a thinker. He deserved a longer crack at the job but no one even knew in those days whether or not coaching was going to be accepted. A school of thought still existed then that viewed coaches as rather eccentric meddlers who should really leave things to the captain and the committee.
Clive Rowlands changed all that. He did the job for six seasons and lost just seven matches. By the time he stepped down in 1974, Wales were leading the way on the field and the coaching revolution was attracting many admirers off it.
Clive was the complete opposite of David Nash. He was loud and ebullient, with a cocky self-confidence and a fiercely proud view of what Wales and Welsh rugby should be all about. I was fortunate in that I knew Clive because our playing careers had crossed during his final days. I knew what a magnificent motivator he was and what effect those powers might have on me. I’d been part of the squad for a West Wales side against the touring New Zealanders in 1967 when Clive was coach. He was presented with a mixed bunch of young kids and old-timers who were all considered not good enough for the Welsh squad. But he used that fact as his trump card when it came to motivation and a fired-up West Wales came very close to beating the mighty All Blacks.
A year later I toured Argentina under Clive with a squad that had been stripped of its Lions players. We were raw and inexperienced but we drew the Test series 1–1 and it was more valuable know-how stored away in the bank for Clive. He was young enough still to have a strong connection with the players, but he was also very ambitious in this new field of coaching and that gave him a little distance from those who were playing under him.
As a player Clive would spend entire matches talking to referees, winding up opponents, doing anything to gain the initiative. He carried that shrewdness into his coaching career, too. He was crafty. He knew how to get the best out of players. He didn’t have the analytical brain of Carwyn James but he recognised what made most players tick and usually found a way of winding them up. Sometimes it wasn’t subtle, but it was generally successful.
A typical Clive Rowlands team talk before a Wales international match would go like this. There were no team rooms provided in the hotels in those days, so the whole squad would have to pile into the captain’s own bedroom. There would be players sitting on the bed, on the dressing table, on the floor, even perched on the wardrobe – anywhere they could find a seat in a small hotel room. It would be stuffy and overwhelming. Wearing his Wales tie and pullover, Clive would pace the room, fag in hand, ranting and raving. He would demand you performed not just for yourself, but for your father, your mother, your long-lost aunt, the miners, the steelworkers, the teachers, the schoolchildren – in effect, the whole Welsh nation. You were their representatives and you owed it to them to deliver. By the end of this sermon, some boys would be head-butting the walls and others would be crying their eyes out. Then he would briefly mention one or two dangermen in the opposition before ending the whole performance by telling everyone that we were the best team in the world.
The players would then squeeze out of the room and head for the ground. Anyone caught chatting, or worse still smiling, would suffer Clive’s wrath. It was a very Welsh, very emotional build-up and it produced a very emotional display on the field. It flowed out of Clive. Then it flowed out of the players during the match.
The problem, of course, was that players could only work themselves into this kind of frenzy so many times. After a while the words become just that … words. Both Gareth and Barry became a little bored by all the nationalistic stuff and I’d notice they would be yawning or looking at their watch while other players, perhaps less secure of their places in the team, would be lapping it up.
But Top Cat, as Clive came to be known, was a remarkable coach with a fabulous record of success. He learned from his early experiences, especially the tour to New Zealand in 1969 where Wales travelled with confidence but came back on the wrong end of two heavy Test defeats. Clive noted what needed to be done and then put it into practice.
On an emotional level, Clive always made his players aware of the responsibilities they carried and nine times out of ten they responded. His training sessions could be great fun – full of banter and stirring up the friendly rivalries within the squad. Everything Clive did was on a grand scale and the fans who watched us train were encouraged to feel very much part of the group.
Clive had a good rapport with the players as individuals, too. He would take me aside for a chat, perhaps because he felt I was drifting too far across the field. But rather than criticise players, he would make subtle suggestions to make you feel that it was in your hands. When you made the changes he was seeking he would be delighted and offer