Chasing a Rugby Dream, Book Two, page 4
Jimmy just stood at the counter, peering through his glasses at this incredible array of food, but not having a single clue where to start. He was interrupted by a friendly tap on the shoulder from Mike.
‘Mad isn’t it?’ he said, smiling at Jimmy. ‘It’s not exactly the fry up option from Albert’s Cafe in town, is it?’
Jimmy laughed at the comparison.
‘I had a three-day training camp last season, over Easter,’ continued Mike, ‘and I didn’t have a clue what to do on the first day either, so follow me. It all tastes even better than it looks!’
Over the next few minutes, Mike Green gave Jimmy a masterclass in buffet management and what to eat to get him through an intense morning of rugby training. He started by taking Jimmy to the cereals, and ignored the familiar packet ones that Jimmy would probably have chosen, and poured a small amount of oats into a bowl. Then he told Jimmy to pick a yoghurt, pour it over the oats before selecting some chopped fruit to throw on top. Then it was a big dollop of honey.
Jimmy had never tasted anything like it in his life! As he wolfed it down and tasted the sensation of the sweet and sour mixture of fruit he’d chosen, accompanied by the yoghurt and honey all mixed in with the crunchy texture of the oats, Jimmy turned to Mike and said, ‘Wow! This is even better than six Weetabix.’
After their oats extravaganza, Mike then led Jimmy up for a couple of glasses of fruit juice, followed by half a bagel with soft cheese and smoked salmon. He then finished it all with scrambled eggs on a slice of wholemeal toast with no butter.
‘Everything we’ve eaten is designed to give you energy that we’ll burn off when we get outside, without making you feel horribly full,’ explained Mike. ‘And it’s all really good for you.’
Jimmy nodded in understanding. He felt great and it had all tasted so delicious.
Half an hour later, they were out on their training pitch. Feeling energised, Jimmy grabbed a ball and punted it high in the sky – his speciality – before charging after it and catching it before it hit the ground.
Jimmy’s new teammates were impressed by how high Jimmy could kick, and how quickly he crossed the surface of the lush turf to catch the ball as it fell.
‘That’s enough of that!’ came a booming voice from behind Jimmy. It was Kane.
‘We all know what happened the last time you tried that particular stunt.’
And from that point on, Jimmy’s day – which had started so well – went rapidly downhill.
It started with yet another tackling drill.
‘Right then, you’re going to do a little exercise I’ve invented. Listen carefully, the tacklers will have lots to think about.’
Kane explained that two attackers would run at one defender. One of the attackers had the ball. It was up to the defender to rush up and tackle the attacker with the ball. The attacker then had two options. He could either keep the ball and try to break the tackle, or draw the defender and off-load the ball to his support runner. Either way, the defender had to tackle the attacker to try to disrupt the passage of the ball.
Unsurprisingly, Jimmy was picked as the defender. Once more, he was gutted. Another chance to show his running flair and elusive sidestep, gone.
As everyone took up their places for the drill, Jimmy began to bounce nervously on his toes. He knew he wasn’t a natural at tackling, but had always comforted himself that it was because he’d never really been shown how to do it properly. But yesterday, before he’d had the bang on the nose, he watched some of his new teammates tackle. A few of them were incredible. It was as if he was watching mini Sam Underhills or Justin Tipurics going about their business. They seemed to know exactly where to position their feet, how to angle their bodies, where to put their heads, how to drive into the tackle. Everything was based on timing and power. All Jimmy seemed to do was put his head down, get his body in the way and hope for the best.
As he stood there, a little bit worried for the first ever time on a rugby pitch, Kane blew his whistle. Facing Jimmy at the other end of the channel were a very large and mobile prop with legs that appeared to be bigger than Jimmy’s chest and would’ve put Manu’s magic pistons to shame, and a centre who seemed to Jimmy to be a dead ringer for Sonny Bill Williams, and about the same size too! Suddenly Jimmy wished he possessed the bulky frame of his Samoan friend back at home and felt a strange feeling of dread rush through his body.
The drill began and the prop confused Jimmy by passing the ball straight to ‘Sonny Bill’ which meant Jimmy had to change his direction of running. As the tall centre ran at him, Jimmy had a great idea. He guessed that ‘Sonny Bill’ would pass to the prop a split second before the tackle, as the giant All Black, who was renowned for his legendary off-loads, had often done in real life – Jimmy had seen him do it hundreds of times on YouTube.
But Jimmy had made the fatal mistake of confusing reality with fantasy.
As he rushed towards the centre, Jimmy bounced to his left at the last moment to intercept the off-load that was surely certain to come. It didn’t.
Instead, all the towering centre did was throw a dummy, watch the hapless Jimmy dive into fresh air and jog past him to touch the ball down for an imaginary try.
Knowing that Mr Withey was still in the pavilion having a meeting with some of the Eagles’ senior officials, Mark Kane was free to give Jimmy both barrels.
‘What the hell was that?’ screamed Jimmy’s former teacher. ‘That was the tackle of a fool! It was an embarrassment! A non-tackle!’
Some of the boys giggled, and Kane warmed to his captive audience.
‘In all my years of rugby, I’ve never seen someone so scared of tackling that they dived out of the way! What a joke!’
‘I wasn’t diving out of the way, sir, I was trying to . . .’ but before Jimmy could explain that he was attempting to catch an interception, Kane bellowed at him again.
‘Don’t you dare talk to me unless I ask you, boy!’
Jimmy fell silent, his cheeks flushing hot. The other members of the training squad were now embarrassed too, and relieved that it was Jimmy getting the hammering from Kane and not them.
‘I know what I saw, and what I saw was a scared little boy who is out of his depth here, diving out of the way so he wouldn’t get hurt. And just because he got a little bang on the nose yesterday.’
Jimmy’s eyes filled with tears, a combination of embarrassment, foolishness and rage.
‘Right, let’s do it again, and this time . . . tackle like a man, not a frightened little boy! Back to your places.’
Jimmy tried to shake off his fear and the dread that was engulfing his thoughts, but his feelings of anxiety just grew worse. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was feeling scared.
Kane took the ball off ‘Sonny Bill’ and walked to the prop. He pushed the ball firmly into his powerful arms. Looking directly into the young boy’s eyes, he said ‘Run at him. And smash him.’
The prop nodded.
Jimmy had been sorting out his gumshield and hadn’t seen Kane’s brief instructions, and by the time he looked up, the prop was running at him. And he was running hard.
Bravely, Jimmy ran straight at him, but at the very last second, he turned his head away from the tackle, and half-heartedly threw his arms out in a vain attempt to stop the charging prop. This lacklustre tackle had no effect on the prop whatsoever, who literally trampled over Jimmy like a rampaging rhinoceros would have.
Lying in a heap on the ground, Jimmy heard the whistle again.
‘What was that?’ screamed Kane, ‘That was worse than the first time! Again.’
‘Again’ became the word that Jimmy became most familiar with over the next half hour as Kane got Jimmy to repeat the tackle drill again and again and again. Each time, Jimmy’s tackle efforts became worse and worse. And with it, Jimmy became more and more worried about tackling another player. A thing that Jimmy had never really thought about – or even cared about – before in his rugby life, was becoming a huge problem in his mind. Without knowing or understanding why, Jimmy’s attempts – or more accurately, non-attempts – at tackling were developing into a significant mental block for him.
That day became Jimmy’s worst ever on a rugby pitch.
And it was the day he began to despise tackling.
HOMEWARD BOUND
Jimmy stood behind the Underhill pavilion complex staring down at the cracked screen of his battered old iPhone 5. The phone had received plenty of use over the previous few evenings. Jimmy’s grandfather rang him every night at 8.30 and while Jimmy hadn’t told him about Kane putting him on defensive drills all the time, nor explained about the problem he was having with tackling, his grandfather had sensed that all was not well. The same was true when Jonny had called. Both had told Jimmy to stay positive and make the most of the opportunity. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that the opportunity had turned into a living nightmare.
Jimmy glanced around for about the fifth time to make sure that nobody could see or hear him. Then he tapped the telephone icon, followed by favourites then stared at the list of names, focusing on one. ‘Mum Mobile’.
Jimmy took a deep breath, and tapped the screen. The phone sprang to life and dialled his mother. She answered in seconds.
Over the next few minutes, Jimmy told his mother everything. Well, that’s not strictly true. In fact, he told her everything but the truth. The first thing she said was, ‘I knew it. It’s that Mark Kane again isn’t it, bullying you, isn’t he?’
Jimmy was at pains to explain to his mother that wasn’t the case. The last thing he wanted was his mother charging down to Underhill to have a stand-up row with Kane and Mr Withey. Mr Withey had been nothing but nice to him and Jimmy didn’t want his family to fall out with the head of the Academy. Also, there was the bigger picture of the Eagles. Whilst Jimmy had made the painful decision to quit this camp, he didn’t want to burn all his bridges with his professional region. Maybe a good start to the Year 6 season back at school would see Jimmy invited back to a shorter, weekend camp. He didn’t want to spoil his chances of that happening.
Anyway, despite the fact that Kane had been very tough on him, Jimmy knew there was one real reason why he was struggling so much: he’d become genuinely scared of tackling.
Of course, Kane had literally given Jimmy a crash course in tackling, but something deep inside of him had come to the surface each time he’d had to take another stiff contact in yet another tackling drill. Fear. A fear and loathing of tackling. He’d never experienced such an acute dread on a sports field before.
Maybe it had always been there. Jimmy wasn’t certain. But he was certain about one thing: he had to get away.
Again, he didn’t mention the tackling to his mother. He was embarrassed that he felt this way and he didn’t want to develop a reputation for being a nervous tackler. The last thing he wanted to do was admit that to his mother – or anyone else for that matter – so instead, he ploughed straight down the homesick route.
He told his mother how lonely he felt after training, which was partly true, and he also told her that the food was awful, which was an absolute lie, but it was just about enough to convince his mother his time at camp was over and to come and get him.
And then his mother dropped the final bombshell.
‘Well, you’ll have to go and tell Mr Withey. I’ll drive down and come in with you, but you’re going to have to tell him.’
Jimmy should have known that was coming. Both his mum and dad had always been insistent that their children should understand their responsibilities and deal with the consequences of their actions. This was no different, so now he had to deal with Mr Withey.
Jimmy agreed to finish the last hour’s training that was scheduled to take place after the short break they were on, which would be mainly circuit training at various stations in the massive sports hall, then he would wait for her to come down before going in to speak with Mr Withey. She said that she would be there by 6.30 after work. All Jimmy had to do now was wait.
After his mother arrived, Jimmy again stuck to the homesick story, mentioning nothing about his tackling issues or the way Kane had been treating him. He took his mum to Mr Withey’s office and stood outside the door for about ten seconds before moving forward to knock. Just as he did, the door was jerked open and to Jimmy’s horror, Mark Kane was standing there.
‘And what do you want?’ growled Kane. He hadn’t noticed Jimmy’s mother, but instantly blushed when he did and changed his attitude straight away.
‘Ah, Mrs Joseph, I didn’t expect to see you. Can I help at all?’
Jimmy’s mum really disliked Mark Kane and nearly said something about the way he’d spoken to her son, but didn’t want to embarrass Jimmy, so she dropped it.
‘He wants to speak to Mr Withey,’ was all she said in reply.
Kane looked at Jimmy and his mother with a mix of puzzlement, curiosity and a hint of anger on his face. But before he could say anything more, Mr Withey called them in.
‘Thanks for the update, Mark, that’s excellent work and you can leave that with me. Now, Mrs Joseph, Jimmy, come on in, what can I do for you both?’
Kane hovered around the door for a moment, wanting to eavesdrop on the conversation but Mr Withey quickly dismissed him.
Then, for the next five minutes, Jimmy told Mr Withey a mixture of half-truths, which all boiled down to one thing: ‘I’m really sorry, sir, but I’m not happy here. I’m homesick and I want to go home.’
Of course, Mr Withey had heard all this before and was very experienced at helping young people overcome their anxieties and was usually able to encourage them. But very quickly, he could tell that Jimmy had made up his mind.
The conversation was amicable and Jimmy felt so at ease with Mr Withey that he nearly relented and was on the verge of telling him all about his fear of tackling and asking for some help. But he knew that the person who would be assigned to help him would be Kane. Jimmy just couldn’t face that. He would feel humiliated.
Mr Withey told Jimmy and his mother there were no hard feelings and that this wouldn’t count against him in any future selections for the Eagles junior squads in the coming season. Then he started to make the necessary arrangements to cancel Jimmy’s place at the camp.
When it was all done, Jimmy felt an incredible sense of relief flood through him. He even allowed himself a little smile at the thought of going home and hanging out with Matt, Kitty and Manu for the rest of the summer.
As Jimmy collected his stuff, he bumped into Mike. He stuck to the homesick line, which Mike was kind enough not to question, although he clearly understood the real reason why Jimmy wasn’t enjoying the camp.
‘Ah, mate, that’s a real shame,’ he said. ‘But fair enough, I wouldn’t want to carry on if Kane was treating me like that too. Wish you were staying another few days, though. We’ve just heard that three squad members of the Eagles, all internationals, are coming down to do some individual skills sessions tomorrow. And one of them is gonna be with English fly-half, Tommy Woodward, who’s gonna work directly with us kickers . . . it’s such a shame you’re gonna miss that, Jim, he’d have loved you.’
Mike instantly regretted sharing the news when he saw Jimmy’s face. Not for the first time in his recent rugby life, Jimmy was absolutely gutted.
BACK ON HOME TURF
The trip home only took about twenty minutes, and during it Jimmy had some more bad news delivered by his mother. Reinforcing her policy of taking personal responsibility for one’s actions, she told Jimmy that he wasn’t allowed to wear any of the new Eagles kit or his new Predators out and about on the waste ground or The Rec. When Jimmy protested, his mother cut him off with a firm glare.
‘Mr Withey said you may be invited back to autumn camp if you continue improving, so I’m going to wash everything and keep it packed away until then. And the boots will stay away until the season starts with the school, too. Your grandparents spent a lot of money getting those for you, Jimmy, I’m not going to let you ruin them down at The Rec.’
Jimmy thought about protesting again, but knew it was pointless. When they arrived home, he handed everything over to his mum, before he made his way, dejectedly, upstairs, carrying his now almost empty Eagles backpack up to his bedroom. When he slumped down on his bed, one of the first things he saw was his battered old boots lying in the corner. They were in a sorry old state: laces on the left boot snapped, a stud missing on the right boot and both with the leather on the toes almost totally scraped off, largely thanks to the habit Jimmy had of dragging his toes when he jogged onto the pitch.
Jimmy instantly regretted his decision to leave camp. But then he remembered those tackle drills and a shiver went through his bones.
Suddenly, Jimmy felt the urge to run. And run fast.
It was the one thing he’d hardly done in his short spell at the Academy. Instead, he’d pretty much spent the time standing still and getting smashed, tackle after tackle.
He jumped up from his bed and picked up his boots and focused on the one with the snapped lace. Jimmy knew what to do, he’d done it loads of times. He quickly pulled the remaining lace out, and started to thread what was left of it, back into the boot. The lace was only long enough to get through the top three eyes in the instep of the boot, but that would be okay.
