IT WOULD have been perfectly safe to join in the celebrations engulfing Cardiff last night — provided you were accompanied by an SAS detachment. Though there would have been nothing particularly vivid about Warren Gatland’s celebrations. He was content with handshakes at the end.
It is apparently not unknown for Wales’s Kiwi coach to sink a few on occasions. But this is a man who always appears self- contained. He can be biting and quietly furious with the team and individuals in the dressing room but histrionics are rare.
That unruffled exterior sets him apart — not only as the champion coach of this Six Nations but also as the nailed-on choice (surely) to take the Lions to Australia next year.
This demeanour helped to provoke what Gatland has always considered his favourite coaching memory. It is nothing from his formative coaching years in Connacht; nothing from his distinguished career as head coach of Ireland; or from his achievements at Wasps (when he put together the greatest club team ever). Nor is it anything from his career with Wales, which has restored respect and success to a rugby nation starved of both.
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No, the memory comes from the day Wasps invited their backroom staff to come out to watch training. As usual, Gatland seemed to be taking things easy, wandering round the paddock delivering the odd bark and the odd word of advice while allowing his lieutenants to get on with things. Eventually, one of the club secretaries walked up to him. She apologised for the interruption. “Excuse me,” she said. “But what is it that you actually do?” Gatland was delighted. It showed everything was in place with the team, and his selection and development of his coaching group meant his only task was to refine, to polish.
There has been a polish about his career with Wales. He made the grievous error of winning a Grand Slam in 2008, his first year in charge, and that freakish success became a millstone. Gatland and the Welsh brains trust knew they had neither the depth nor the world-class players to sustain that level of success. He has had to work for four more years to get to that stage.
The 48-year-old is the archetypal modern coach. No doubt there is an awful lot more happening out of sight in his mind and in his activities with the team. But his easy approach, his ability to allow the coaches under him to flower and his consummate grasp of the game take him way out in front.
Those who raised their glasses until their arms fell asleep last night might reflect on another aspect of the Gatland years and his partnership with defence coach Shaun Edwards. Gatland is a New Zealander, Edwards an Englishman. Both were available to their native countries, both are easily capable of taking major roles with those countries.
It is indicative of a gross failure of duty by the Rugby Football Union that Edwards was allowed to slip through England’s grasp at least twice in the past five seasons. There were also times when a union that was determined to fulfil its boast to be the best should have pulled out all the stops to bring Gatland to Twickenham.
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Given Gatland’s demeanour, there may be a few people around Wales who would still like to ask him exactly what he does. The answer is that whatever it is, he does it superbly well.
