Chasing a Rugby Dream, Book Two, page 11
‘This is just like being a pro player,’ he said one day. ‘All this analysis. It’s fantastic!’
Oscar nodded and smiled, then focused back on the book, forever tinkering with its style and re-sizing images to make the presentation of it as good as he could make it.
‘I’ve always loved putting books together,’ said Oscar. ‘This is the first time someone outside of my family has let me do one. I want it to be perfect.’
‘Well, it is perfect,’ said Jimmy. ‘It’s so helpful and gives me great motivation. I can’t wait to show the others.’
Oscar stiffened a little at that point, and Jimmy noticed that he started to move his hands together and rocked gently back and forth.
‘No, I don’t think so, Jimmy,’ he replied, visibly trying to calm himself, ‘Matt will just laugh and I don’t like that.’
Jimmy was a little shocked.
‘That’s okay, no problem,’ he said quickly. ‘We’ll keep the book as our secret, we won’t show anyone.’
Jimmy pondered Oscar’s comment about Matt. Had something happened while Jimmy had been away from school? He parked the thought when the buzzer rang for the end of break and settled into the usual routine of trying to distract Oscar while the hustle and bustle of their returning classmates sent the volume rising slightly.
*
Each week saw a huge improvement in Jimmy’s recovery and in week five he went back to see Mr Sharma for another X-ray to see how the bone was healing. It was good news.
‘Excellent, excellent, Jimmy. I am very pleased with your progress,’ said a delighted Mr Sharma. ‘I can see that you are blessed with being a quick healer. If you continue healing so well I’ll be able to sign you off soon!’
‘So does that mean I can start to go back to rugby training?’
‘No, no, no!’ said Mr Sharma, throwing his arms up in the air. ‘It’s much too early for that! While your progress has been exceptional, a bump on that spot on your collarbone will still potentially break it again. You’re still many weeks away from risking any contact.’
Jimmy looked disappointed, but it was only really what he expected to hear.
‘Okay then, sir, can I at least start running? You know, to get some fitness back?’
Mr Sharma looked at Jimmy quizzically and then over to Jimmy’s dad, who raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘What did you expect?’
The consultant smiled then looked back at Jimmy. ‘Okay, stand up for me please.’ Jimmy jumped to his feet quickly.
‘Now move your hands to your side and then move them around and around in circles as if they are the pistons on the wheels of a steam train.’
Mr Sharma demonstrated, making the sounds of a steam train that made Jimmy laugh.
‘Come on then, join in, but not too fast!’ Then, looking over to Jimmy’s dad, he said, ‘You too, Mr Joseph, come on, join us!’
Malcolm laughed, ‘You’re okay, Mr Sharma, I’m enjoying it here just watching, thanks!’
Mr Sharma laughed, then Jimmy joined in, pumping his arms around like pistons while this lovely medical man did the same, but still making the sounds of a train.
‘Okay, any pain, Jimmy?’
Jimmy shook his head, just about managing not to laugh, ‘No, sir, none at all.’ He was telling the truth, there was no pain.
‘Okay, now copy me.’
Mr Sharma started jogging on the spot, exaggerating the movement so that he jumped from one foot to the other like some sort of slow-motion giant. Jimmy joined in. Malcolm Joseph, who’d seen just about every rugby-related issue it was possible to see in a lifetime around the game, couldn’t believe his eyes!
After about a minute, Mr Sharma said, ‘Okay, let’s speed up a bit,’ and he started running faster on the spot. Jimmy matched him.
After another minute, Mr Sharma shouted again, ‘Any pain?’
‘No sir, none at all!’
‘Good, well let’s stop then shall we? Before I have a heart attack!’
Mr Sharma walked across and gave Jimmy a quick examination. After he had pressed, prodded and twisted both Jimmy’s collarbone and right arm, during which time Jimmy had shown no obvious discomfort – apart from when Mr Sharma pressed right onto the break – Mr Sharma gave Jimmy the good news.
‘You can run, Jimmy. But just gentle jogging for the first few days, and on grass if you can, not on hard surfaces.’
‘What about kicking and catching, can I do that too?’
‘Yes to kicking, but be very careful with the catching, for another week at least. Nothing above the head and no sudden movements, I’m still a little worried about what that impact might do. Have a jog and have a kick and enjoy yourself, but take it easy, Jimmy. Nothing too much, too quickly. Oh, and have you ever tried this?’
Jimmy watched with increasing amusement as Mr Sharma picked up his phone, a stapler and a pocket calculator from his desk and began juggling!
‘Try this when you get home, but use fruit or tennis balls, not an iPhone, Mr Joseph will kill me if you drop that.’
Jimmy’s dad was open mouthed watching the juggling show.
‘This will help with your reflexes too, very good hand-eye coordination for your rugby, Jimmy, with no danger to your shoulder!’
Jimmy burst out laughing again.
‘But seriously,’ said Mr Sharma, ending his impromptu circus act. ‘Whatever you do, avoid contact on that collarbone, that’s the most important thing.’
Jimmy nodded. He’d already worked out that, from what Mr Sharma had said, it was likely to be at least three weeks before he could take part in contact training. However, he could run and kick in those three weeks, so Jimmy gave himself a target.
As he walked out to the car with his dad, he said to himself, quietly enough so only he heard, ‘In three weeks’ time, I’m going to be the best place-kicker that Central Primary has ever seen.’
10,000 HOURS
It was Saturday morning, the day after Jimmy had seen Mr Sharma.
It was 8.30 and nobody was about. Just Jimmy, his rugby ball and his kicking tee.
His mum had made an early start because of an extra shift at work, so Jimmy had got up when he heard her leave, while Jonny and Julie were still sleeping. Not wanting to waste any time, he didn’t bother with a proper breakfast. Instead, he just took a banana and ate it quickly whilst glugging down some milk. He glanced across at the box of Weetabix that his mother had left out for them and smiled at the thought of when he used to eat six every morning. He still had some now and again, but never six! One thing the Eagles Academy had shown him in his short time there was the importance of eating properly, especially for breakfast. Usually it was oats, yoghurt, honey and fruit for Jimmy these days, but a banana and milk would do today. At least it was healthier than the sugary cereals that Julie still loved!
Despite it being the very end of November, it was a beautiful bright morning. It was a little chilly, but Jimmy soon warmed up as he jogged around The Rec, taking his time and making sure there was no obvious pain from his collarbone. Every now and again he would stretch his arm out and rotate it as he ran. No pain, just stiffness. Good news.
On his second lap, Jimmy began to sweat and warm up. It felt really good to be able to get out and about, even if it was just for a gentle jog. It was the first time in over five weeks that Jimmy had done anything aerobic, and by the end of the second lap, he stopped and took a deep breath as he was starting to feel a tightness in his breathing. The chilly morning air had gone straight to his chest and Jimmy wheezed and was unable to gulp enough air to fill his lungs in that satisfying way that you need to when you get a little out of breath. Jimmy reached into his tracksuit bottoms and pulled out his trusty inhaler. He flipped off the cover to the mouthpiece and took two, deep puffs. Instantly the airwaves to his lungs opened and Jimmy was able to take the deep breath he needed. His asthma was a big pain in the backside for him sometimes, there was no doubt about that, but Jimmy had learned to manage it properly and there was no way that it would ever get in the way of achieving his rugby dreams. He just wouldn’t let it.
He decided to do one last lap to get really warm and then jogged to the posts at the far end of The Rec, stopping about fifteen metres in front of them. He dropped the ball and the tee and then took a big lunge forward with his right leg, keeping his left leg rooted to the floor. In this position, Jimmy started to stretch his leg muscles, as he’d been shown in the warm-ups during his brief spell back at the Academy. Even though Jimmy was sweating quite nicely after his three laps, he knew that his muscles weren’t warm enough yet to cope with the sharp, sudden impact and explosive power experienced when place-kicking. So that meant stretching, and lots of it. Jimmy did exercises to stretch his calf, hamstring and quad muscles in his legs, before stretching the muscles in his lower back and glutes . . . also known as his backside!
Jimmy knew that anyone watching him doing these stretches for the ten minutes or so that he did them would think him a little bit mad, but he didn’t care. If he wanted to be the best kicker in his age group, then this level of commitment was the right way of going about it.
Once his stretching was complete, Jimmy picked up his tee and ball and stood straight in front of the posts. He knelt down on one knee and lined the tee up with the posts in front of him. Then he took the ball and placed it on the tee, pointing it away from him at an angle of about forty-five degrees. Jimmy stood up and looked down over the ball and then up to the posts.
He thought about his kicking competition with Mike last year and the stress he had felt kicking off a tee for the first time. That stress was no longer there as Jimmy had used one many times since, but he would still hardly call himself an expert. Jimmy could kick, but he knew that if he didn’t work at it, by practising regularly, then when he had to take a kick under pressure again, his technique might let him down.
He remembered Jonny telling him about an article he’d read when Jimmy was still laid up and resting in bed, not long after the collarbone injury. It was an article about mastering a particular skill in sport like taking a penalty in football or a putt in golf or a conversion in rugby.
‘Muscle memory, Jim, it’s all about muscle memory,’ his brother had told him. Jimmy looked at him with a completely vacant look on his face. Jonny had a theory for everything and it seemed like this was going to be his latest one.
‘What do you mean, “muscle memory”? How can muscles have memories?’
‘It’s how we learn everything: to walk, to run, to write, to click our fingers, everything. It says here that you can teach your muscles to learn any skill, as long as you are willing to devote the right number of hours to practising it. If you do, you become an expert. Simple.’
‘It can’t be that simple or everyone would be doing it.’
‘And that’s the point,’ said Jonny with an excited look in his eye, ‘most people can’t stick to the task and don’t put in the hours, and that’s why they don’t become experts; only the ones that stick to it do. All the repetition you do, time after time, hour after hour means your muscles remember your movements and you become an expert. It really isn’t rocket science, Jim. I’m going to do it to practise passing off my left hand. When you’re fit, you can come and practise too.’
‘I will!’ said Jimmy, looking forward to getting out and about with his brother again. ‘But how many hours do you need to become an expert then?’
‘10,000,’ replied Jonny without hesitation. ‘That’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ laughed Jimmy. ‘Have you any idea how long that will take?’
‘A while, I suppose.’
‘A while!? Jonny, if you practise two hours a day on your passing, that’s fourteen hours a week. Multiply that by fifty-two weeks and you get . . . um . . .’ Jimmy closed his eyes as he worked it out in his head. ‘728 hours!’ Jimmy laughed. ‘At that rate it’ll be over ten years before you become an expert at passing off your left hand, and by then you’d probably have forgotten how to pass off your right!’
‘You can scoff all you like, Jim. It might take me a while, but I’m going to be the best in the world at passing off my left hand . . . by the time I’m, well, maybe twenty-three. But I will be the best!’
Jimmy laughed but he loved Jonny’s enthusiasm, and watched him bound out of the bedroom to begin his 10,000 hours of passing. Jonny did have a point though. Maybe 10,000 hours would be too much, but continued practice definitely did make you better. Jimmy had seen how all the work he had put in with Peter Clement and Liam Wyatt last season, when they taught him how to kick out of hand, had worked so well. Jimmy wondered how many hours he’d spent practising, or ‘being professional’, as Peter Clement told him. It was impossible to know. Jimmy guessed at thirty days at about an hour a day, ‘Wow!’ he said to himself. ‘That’s another 9,970 hours to go!’
But the point had been made in Jimmy’s mind. He may not get up to 10,000 hours, but as soon as he could get out of his sick bed and was up and about again, he would focus all his attention on place-kicking. It was one of the parts of rugby he truly loved. He’d watched incredible kickers like Handre Pollard of South Africa, Richie Mo’unga of New Zealand, Dan Biggar and Leigh Halfpenny of Wales, Owen Farrell of England, Johnny Sexton of Ireland and Greig Laidlaw of Scotland, and noticed they were all different. He wanted to try to take the best bits from all of them and make himself the best around.
Which was why, five weeks later, he stood over a ball on a tee on the deserted Rec at 8.30 on a cold Saturday morning.
The 10,000 hours would begin here.
AIMING HIGH
Jimmy adopted the Owen Farrell approach first.
He took four steps back from the ball, followed by two to the left. He then looked down at the ball with a sideways tilt of his head, before looking up to the posts, then back to the ball, then up to the posts for a final time, tracing an imaginary line along which the ball would travel.
He took one final look down at the ball, before moving forward smoothly, planting his left foot next to the tee on the ground, pulling his right leg back before swinging it through the ball. The ball flew off Jimmy’s foot, straight as an arrow and right between the posts.
‘Yes!’ shouted Jimmy to himself, as he watched the ball fly over the cross bar, before jogging to collect it so that he could repeat the process again.
Jimmy decided he was going to start with five kicks from in front of the posts, then move five yards to the right to kick five more, then move five yards over to the left of where he had started to kick a final five. Jimmy’s personal target was to see how many of the fifteen he would kick. Even if he managed fourteen out of fifteen, that wouldn’t be good enough. He would start again until he scored all fifteen in succession.
He kicked the first five like a dream. All five kicks were pretty much spot on and flew over. His next five were pretty good too – all high, all accurate, all over. It was just the last five that caused Jimmy an issue. He didn’t know if it was because he was trying to curl the ball in from right to left, which was the natural angle from the left side of the pitch, or that he was somehow lined up wrong, but he began hooking the ball. Not so badly that he was missing, but badly enough that they were all just creeping nearer to the left-hand post. Jimmy tried to correct it by only taking one step to the left after marching back from the ball, but the ball was still moving too much towards the left-hand post. But at least he was still slotting them over.
He jogged behind the posts to collect the ball after successful kick number fourteen. He was really starting to sweat because, as he only had one ball, he had to jog after it each time he kicked it. When he jogged back to kick number fifteen, he was breathing heavily and as he knelt down to place the ball on the tee, his legs felt as though they were beginning to take the strain. Jimmy had forgotten that he’d not really done any exercise for five weeks and the fatigue in his thighs was starting to show.
He finished placing the ball and took his mark. He did his Farrell glancing routine, but when he looked at the ball for the final time, he suddenly felt a little pressure. If he kicked it, he could move on to his next drill or go home or call in at his grandparents’ house for a cup of tea. Whatever he wanted to do, it would be up to him, he would have hit his target of fifteen out of fifteen – he could move on. But if he missed it, well, that was a different story as he’d have to start all over again.
Jimmy felt his body visibly stiffening, tightening. He loved kicking the rugby ball, so he didn’t really mind having to kick some more, but he knew that taking another fifteen would be tough, and of course, he had started to hook them too. What if he hooked this one as well? His body tightened again. Would he start the next fifteen straight away or would he have a breather? Also, would he kick them in the same order, or would he start from over on the right or back in the middle? Or maybe he would start here on the left again?
‘Jimmy! Stop it!’ he cried, trying to banish these negative and confusing thoughts. He realised that he was mentally piling the pressure on himself by thinking of all these differing scenarios, all of which were based on an unsuccessful outcome. Okay, not all the previous fourteen kicks had been perfect, but he hadn’t really thought about them; now, all of a sudden, this one felt really important, as though a huge amount depended on it. And it did. Suddenly, this kick was crucial. He couldn’t take his mind off it. He tightened again.
Jimmy stepped away from the ball and reset. He knelt back down and replaced the ball, and went through his Farrell routine perfectly. He took a huge breath just before the kick to try to relax himself, then stepped forward to strike the ball. And as he did, he hooked it, badly.
