OH HARRY, HOW I wish you had talked to me first. I could have warned you; I’ve been there.
I once worked as a rugby development officer (RDO), trying to convince reluctant, stiletto-heeled teachers (and that was just the men) what fun it would be to play New Image rugby on concrete in the pouring rain. “C’mon,” I’d cry joyfully, dressed in my fetching RFU tracksuit, “Let’s go and learn about rugby.”
“Must we?” they would whisper back, knowing that they were getting involved only because the school had been promised a free rugby ball for every teacher who took part.
There is an RDO in every county, working to promote and develop the sport. They teach New Image Rugby, among other variants of the game, because it’s non-contact (in theory, but try explaining that to eight-year-olds), and it can be played on any surface and in mixed groups, so it’s great in junior schools.
The development officer’s first job is to battle with the old image of the game — “No, no, we don’t drink aftershave any more. Those days are gone” — while selling rugby’s new, wholesome image. “Touch this ball, my son, and you’ll turn into Jonny Wilkinson.”
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To be an effective RDO, you need to understand the minds of men and children (arguably not too dissimilar) and realise that they can be easily confused. Paul Rendall, the former England prop, joined me for a promotion day to help coach the children during one “rugby fun day” (that was a disaster — he was far too severe and I had to send him packing to the bar when I found him making four-year-olds do press-ups every time they dropped the ball). Rendall and I sat before 200 children after the activities and asked if they had any questions. “Do you still write them books?” asked one child. Rendall looked at her in confusion. I guess there’s no more chance of him writing a book than there is of Ruth Rendell playing tight-head prop for England.
One of the key jobs of a development officer is to liaise between the burgeoning youth sections and the established men’s teams. I remember having to convince one club that it should have a youth section in the first place. “Think of the future of the club,” I insisted. They glowered back.
“Well, think of the money, then. You’ll get a National Lottery grant.” They perked up a bit. “When will these kids come?” asked a man known as Dodgy Bob. “Every Sunday morning,” I replied.
“So, what time do we have to be out of the clubhouse, then? Only, we sometimes drink all night.” We settled on them getting out of the club by 10am. There was mild dissent all round. To be fair, though, those who were still drinking at the bar when the children arrived helped to set things up for the mini rugby groups before staggering off home.
One of the more enjoyable parts of the RDO’s job is organising big promotional events. Unfortunately, organisation is not my strong point. I found it hellish to co-ordinate writing to all the schools, hiring the giant rugby ball for two weeks (it’s the size of a car, sits on a trailer and is pulled behind a Land Rover), working out a route to drive the ball through the narrow streets of Berkshire, and arrange radio interviews along the way. Suffice to say that the police were very decent about it when they had to help us lift a three-tonne giant ball out of a ditch.
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We got to most of the schools, and a few unscheduled ones because I had messed up the itinerary. The radio interviews went well, but I did meet some hostility: a woman from Reading rang in. “Will you tell me where that b****y woman’s going next with her b****y ball — whatever radio station I tune in to, she’s on there.”
Two final words of warning to Harry. First, don’t attend any “coaching conferences” organised for RDOs. I’m still recovering from some of them — the alcohol, the lack of sleep. Then again, this might be why you are taking the job.
Finally, if you find yourself organising an event like my giant rugby ball drive, don’t even think of calling it an England rugby road show. It used to be the advice of the Rugby Football Union that all promotional activities of this kind were called “road shows”. Harry — ignore them. I remember how the children would arrive expecting something like the Radio 1 road show and find me standing there with nothing but a trestle table and a couple of posters of men who hadn’t played for England since the 1970s. Sometimes I’d have stickers. Wow! They couldn’t have been less impressed. The Radio 1 road show had Kylie Minogue and I had yellow stickers saying “I love rugby”.
I hope I haven’t put you off. The truth is that it’s a fantastic job. Every breakthrough feels like a minor miracle and some things take your breath away — like seeing deaf children mastering the sport after just a couple of sessions. I’ll be surprised if I ever do anything as fulfilling again. Enjoy your time — but don’t go to those coaching conferences.