When you’re a player all that matters is getting in the starting fifteen. On those occasions when I didn’t make it, I was devastated. Selected as a replacement, you join the Bitter and Twisted Club. As for not making the match-day 23, that doesn’t bear thinking about.
Then your career passes, you start to look back and you see things in a different way . . .
Marseilles 2007 is a treasured memory. When England arrived at their Holiday Inn hotel in the city for the World Cup quarter-final against Australia I felt as low as a snake’s belly. After starting the opening pool match against the United States I was omitted from the squad to play South Africa. We lost 36-0. It is hard to score nil in rugby but we managed it comfortably.
I was still unwanted when we beat Samoa in the next pool match and then, because a teammate was injured, I was promoted to the bench. That made me chairman of the B&T Club.
For the pool matches we had stayed at the majestic Trianon Hotel in Versailles. I’m not a prima donna but you don’t want to go from the Trianon to the Holiday Inn. Four World Cup teams were staying in Marseilles that weekend and in the draw for hotels we got the short straw.
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We arrived early in the morning, checked in and I got a room that stank of vomit. The Georgians had been staying there before us and the occupant of my room had refuelled during his team’s last night on the town. And had had a bit of an accident.
I called reception and, with my limited French, suggested I would go for a coffee while they sorted out the room. They said the room couldn’t be cleaned for three hours.
By now I was feeling sorry for myself. A long coffee wasn’t going to do it. Instead I went to the nearby Europcar office and asked for their best car. I then rang Pete Richards and Joe Worsley, fellow members in the B&T Club. “We’re going on a road trip,” I said. “Can you get yourselves down to reception in the next 10 minutes?”
The drive to St Tropez was two and a half hours and I’d booked Cinquante Cinq (Le Club 55) for lunch. We needed to cheer ourselves up. We’d arranged to pick up Dan Luger on the way. Dan’s a good bloke and was playing for Toulon. He was up for St Tropez. It was a day off for the team and we were free to do as we pleased.
I ordered a bottle of rosé and some lobster. The setting on the beach was spectacular.
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Joe had picked up Pete’s phone while he was in the loo, went to the contacts, found his own number and changed the name on it to our head coach, Brian Ashton. After Pete returned, Joe waited a little, disappeared to the loo and sent Pete a text.
Of course, it appeared to be from Brian. It said: “Pete, Andy [Gomarsall] has gone down with food poisoning. Looks like you’ll be in team for Saturday. See you in team room in 20mins. Brian.”
Pete read the text and for half a second I feared he would have a heart attack. “Brian’s texted me,” he said. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to go.”
By now the lobster had arrived. The wine was just the right temperature and the rest of us weren’t in any rush. “Pete, we’ve spent two and a half hours driving here. We can’t just turn around and drive back to the hotel.” He then explained he was likely to be in the team for Saturday.
“Why not tell Brian,” I said, “that you’re with your parents down the coast and maybe you could meet later in the afternoon. Brian will understand.”
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So Pete sends a very polite text to this effect. But the text goes to Joe ,who waits 20 minutes and then discreetly slips away for a minute and replies: “Pete, don’t worry. I’ve had a chat with Phil Vickery and we’ve decided to go with Shaun Perry for Saturday. Brian.”
By now Pete is in danger of self-harming and we have to put him out of his misery. Lunch ends, we get talking to a couple of people and are invited over to Brigitte Bardot’s house for a barbecue party. As you do. It turned out to be a family member who was using Brigitte’s house. We felt it would be rude to say no.
Two former Wallabies were there, Tim Horan and Phil Kearns, as well as a number of Australian players’ wives and partners. They were so sure of an Australian victory they asked us if the England players would help them with tickets for the semi-final. Don’t be so sure, I thought, you might not need tickets for the semi-final.
We left the party about 11 and got back to Marseilles at two in the morning. My room was pristine, not a trace of Georgia. Training the next morning was so much easier after our day in St Tropez. Joe and I came on in the last 20 minutes to help England preserve their 12-10 lead. The semi-final beckoned.
I’d always believed Pete came on late in the game and that at the first scrum, he’d whispered into George Gregan’s ear: “Your missus was looking fantastic at that party in St Tropez the other day.” And that George became a little flustered. But I’ve checked.
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Pete never came on and, like the Ashton texts, the word in George’s ear was a figment of someone’s imagination.