Chasing a Rugby Dream, Book Two, page 9
Jonny ran over to his brother, whooping and shouting as he ran, and dragged him up off the floor and hugged him.
‘You can definitely make the numbers up for us again, Jim,’ said Jonny with genuine pride in his eyes.
Predictably, Jimmy just blushed.
RULES ARE RULES
The final was to be at 4.30 on the main pitch at Briton Bridge RFC, in front of the members’ stand. The senior final was at 5.00, so everyone that attended to see both tournaments would be watching. The crowd would be in the hundreds.
Jonny was pacing around like a lion contained in a cage at a zoo. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He wasn’t nervous, he was just totally wound up for the challenge that awaited him. His grandfather walked across and tried to calm him down, but it was no use. He was totally focused and ready to go. Jonny had always approached his rugby seriously. Very seriously. While he could be a bit of a joker and very popular with his friendship group, Jonny was driven. He had a steely desire that not everyone possessed and his craving for success on a rugby field was unmatched by most. Some people mistook Jonny’s approach for some sort of single-minded arrogance, but they were wrong. He just knew that he was a very talented rugby player and, as such, had promised himself to get every ounce out of his talent.
‘You’ve got to leave it all out there, out on that pitch, Jim,’ was his oft repeated quote to his brother. ‘If you don’t walk off there at the end, exhausted, you’ve got no right being on there in the first place,’ was another.
Jonny’s commitment to rugby was total, and the way he practically ignored his grandfather’s pre-match words of encouragement simply confirmed this.
Will had seen this all before, of course, so decided it was best to leave Jonny, and with a couple of final words of good luck, he went to find his other grandson, whose approach was ever so slightly different.
Jimmy was relaxing back in a camping chair, sipping a drink and just talking to his mother and grandmother as if he was about to have nothing more intense than a quick runabout on The Rec.
Will smiled at the contrast.
‘How are you feeling, Jimmy? Only half an hour to go. You’re not tired at all? You’ve put a lot in this afternoon.’
‘No, not really, Gramp. Just a bit hungry to be honest, could do with another hot dog I think!’
Catherine laughed. ‘Oh, Jimmy. You’re so laid back you’re nearly horizontal!’
Everybody laughed.
As they did, Will put his hand in his pocket.
‘Well it’s not exactly a hot dog, but it will give you some energy.’
‘Oh, brilliant, a Mars bar! Thanks, Gramp, that’s just the job . . . you never let me down,’ and Jimmy hungrily tore off the wrapper and took a huge bite.
‘Steady, you’ll get indigestion, boy, small bites now!’
Just as Jimmy was polishing off the bar, Mr Stanford came over. He didn’t look happy. Following behind was Mr Tompkins, the tournament chairman and organiser, dressed in his usual navy-blue club blazer and tie and carrying his clipboard. Alongside him, looking quite smug, was Mr Irwin, Kieron’s father. Jimmy knew instantly what this meant. His heart sank to the floor.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Joseph, could I have a quick word?’
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Catherine with a smile. She had no idea what was about to happen.
Before Mr Stanford could continue, Mr Tompkins spoke.
‘I’m afraid a clear breach of tournament rules has occurred and your son has played games while being under age. We have these rules in place for the protection of players – and your son has transgressed them.’
‘Now wait a minute,’ said Mr Stanford. ‘This boy helped us out, and his family readily agreed to support him in that decision. If it wasn’t for him, you’d have had one less team in the competition. That’s what the rugby family is all about, surely? It’s about helping out when people are struggling. That’s exactly what the boy did.’
‘Yes, he did. But what he did was plainly against the tournament rules. And as I’m sure you know, as a man that teaches sport for a living, in sport, rules are rules. Without them we would have anarchy. And I will not allow that in my tournament.’
‘Now wait a minute, Tomcat . . .’ interjected Will.
‘Please don’t call me that, Will. In my role as tournament director, I’m to be addressed as Mr Tompkins.’
‘Tournament director? Do me a favour, this isn’t the blinkin’ World Cup, man, it’s a kids’ competition.’
‘Nevertheless,’ replied Mr Tompkins with a swish of the hand which dismissed Will’s protests, ‘as I’ve clearly outlined, rules are rules, and I’m just thankful that Mr Irwin here brought the situation to my attention.’
Jimmy watched as Mr Stanford shot a glance at Mr Irwin that was laced with anger. If looks could kill, Jimmy thought, he’d be lying on the floor right now.
Mr Irwin looked at Mr Stanford briefly, before turning away.
‘How could you?’ said Mr Stanford to the parent, who was now looking firmly at the ground.
‘I’d like to remind you, Mr Stanford, that my original decision was for Bishopswood to be withdrawn from the final, disqualified and replaced by Newford Academy, the defeated semi-finalists. It was only through the passionate lobbying of Mr Irwin, stating that his son would be able to step into the gap in your team and his willingness not to take action against this young man that persuaded me to change my decision and allow you to play.’
‘Take action!’ shouted Will at both Mr Tompkins and the now dreadfully embarrassed Mr Irwin. ‘What action? Against a ten-year-old kid doing his best to help out and play rugby? I think I’ll take some action against you!’
At this point, Mr Stanford stepped in between the two men.
‘Leave it, Will. Jimmy’s the only loser here and this will just make it worse for him.’
Will looked at his grandson, who was on the verge of tears and realised that his anger wasn’t helping.
‘Okay, I’m fine, I understand,’ said Will to Mr Stanford. ‘This just stinks though.’
‘As I’ve said, Will,’ said Mr Tompkins, ‘rules . . .’
‘Yeah, I know, rules are rules,’ said Will before turning away in disgust.
Mr Stanford took Jimmy to one side and knelt down to speak to him.
‘Jimmy, you’ve been brilliant. I nearly didn’t play you in that first game because I knew it was a risk with you being so young. But getting you out on that pitch has been the best decision I’ve made in over twenty years of coaching rugby. You’ve been sensational.’
Jimmy was looking directly down at his bootlaces, using every single part of his mind to avoid bursting into tears, such was the powerful mix of emotions flowing through him.
‘I saw things you did out there that will live with me forever, and as I said to you earlier, I cannot wait to have you on my team next year. You are going to go a long, long way in this game, Jimmy, and as disappointed as you feel at the moment, I promise you, this will be something that you probably won’t even remember in years to come. Your future is so bright. You’ve got it all, Jimmy, and I’m going to make it my job from next year to make sure you achieve it all. So don’t be too sad about this, it’s just a blip.’
A single tear fell from Jimmy’s eye, which he quickly wiped away.
Mr Stanford stood and ruffled his hair. ‘Make sure you stay and watch us, okay? You’re part of this squad and we’ll win or lose together. And I know the boys will try and win for you.’
Jimmy nodded and watched as Mr Stanford walked off to tell the rest of the players what had happened.
Jimmy stood next to his mum and grandparents and watched the final. They all hoped for another exciting contest, but it was quite a let down compared to the previous games. So many people who had heard about Mr Tompkins’ decision walked up to Jimmy and told him that it was a disgrace and that he should have been playing. If Jimmy had a pound for everyone who said to him and his family that ‘he was the best player by a mile’, Jimmy would’ve been a very rich boy.
The game itself was won by just a single try, Jonny brilliantly scoring in the corner in the last minute to seal the victory with a powerful break and dive for the line. Despite his disappointment, Jimmy was really pleased for his brother. He didn’t want his own misfortune to spoil Jonny’s moment, so he jumped, shouted and cheered with the rest of them.
Jimmy felt a bit sad again when Mr Tompkins wouldn’t even allow him to go and collect his winner’s medal, but there was one last surprise remaining in this odd day, that would cheer Jimmy up.
In the adult final, Briton Bridge RFC fittingly won the trophy, and to great cheers it was announced how much money the day had raised for Richie Reynolds, an injured former player. Then, after the trophy and medals were handed out, Mr Tompkins announced that the committee had decided that Ellis Curtis, the twenty-six-year-old openside flanker of Briton Bridge, had been voted ‘Player of The Tournament’ and was asked to come and collect his medal.
When he was handed it, he reached for the microphone from Mr Tompkins.
‘I just want to thank you all for coming today,’ said Ellis. ‘Richie is one of my best friends, and for you all to turn out today and raise such a huge amount of money for him and his family is fantastic, and I know that it will make a huge impact in helping Richie make the full recovery he is heading towards.’
The hundreds who had stayed behind for the presentations, clapped and cheered.
‘Today has shown, once again, what a great sport rugby is. But I saw something else today that really lifted my spirits. I watched a kid play a game, the likes of which I’ve never seen. He showed skill, pace, and sheer rugby brilliance that is only present in very few people and certainly not usual in one so young.’
Shouts of ‘Hear, hear’ rang out from the crowd.
Ellis continued speaking.
‘Then he was dealt some bad news that he coped with brilliantly. Instead of becoming miserable and negative, he stayed and supported his team to the end. I don’t think I’d have coped with such a stupid decision so well.’
Mr Tompkins shuffled his feet in embarrassment at that last remark.
‘So, for me, I can’t accept this Player of the Tournament medal. Instead, I’m giving it to the player that really set this tournament alight, and I hope he uses his success today as a springboard to future achievements. Oh, and if his parents are here, I don’t care how old he is, we’ll have him in our team here at Briton Bridge RFC any time! So, ladies and gentlemen, your Player of the Tournament, young Jimmy Joseph.’
The gathered crowd applauded and broke into loud cheers, and for the second time in an hour, Jimmy had to battle furiously not to burst into tears.
AYE, AYE, CAPTAIN JOSEPH
Over the next three weeks, Jimmy’s life, on and off the rugby field, couldn’t have gone better.
Twice a week after school, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Mrs John took rugby training for every child in Central Primary who wanted to play. After the first week, Jimmy stopped calling it training, and instead renamed it a ‘Rugby Masterclass’.
The reason for that was, that as a coach, Mrs John was off the scale – she was amazing. Her focus, from the very first session, was on skills – not on contact or power or hits or smashes, but always on creative rugby and with an emphasis on avoiding contact through speed, sidesteps and quick hands. If ever you were caught in a tackle situation, Mrs John coached ways of offloading the ball. She didn’t mind if the offload didn’t work. ‘We’re learning the skill of offloading at the moment,’ she would say. ‘Not learning the skill of where or when to do it.’
Jimmy found it so refreshing. Gone was the fear of doing the wrong thing at the wrong time or making a mistake that Mr Kane would slaughter him for. Instead, that fear was replaced by the joy of playing rugby with fun and creativity. Mrs John’s approach was that if something went wrong, fine, don’t worry about it. Just work out what happened, practise the skill involved and develop a way to ensure it won’t go wrong in the future.
She seemed to find a way to simplify everything so that the basic skill at the heart of each drill was easily understood and learned. One drill that Jimmy particularly loved was a very straightforward passing exercise. Mrs John would set up six cones: four red and two green. Jimmy would start the drill standing with one of the red cones just to his right. To his left would be Jimmy’s drill partner, usually Kitty, who stood about two metres away, alongside another red cone. Ahead of them, in line with the two red cones by their feet, were another two red cones, about twenty metres away. These four cones would mark out the short-passing zone. On the whistle, Jimmy would pass to Kitty as they both jogged forward, with Kitty returning the pass. This would continue until they reached the top two red cones, where they’d turn and jog back, passing all the way. When they were back at the start, Mrs John would whistle. This would be the sign for Kitty to move further to her left – away from Jimmy to the first of the green cones. The distance between Jimmy and Kitty was now about five metres. Up ahead from where Kitty stood was the other green cone, again about twenty metres ahead, in line with the other two red cones. This larger area was the long-passing zone. On Mrs John’s whistle, Jimmy would start to run and send a long pass out to Kitty and they would repeat the pattern. Mrs John would mix it up between short and long passing and get the kids to swap starting positions. She would also get them to carry out the drill at different speeds. Everybody loved it. They were all having great fun but developing their handling and passing skills all the time. Of all of them, Manu was a revelation. His reactions and passing accuracy had come on leaps and bounds since they’d discovered those practice aids at the Memorial Ground.
‘Practice makes perfect, Jimmy boooooooooooooy!’ exclaimed Manu after one particularly sharp passing drill. Jimmy nodded his approval.
After every training session, Jimmy felt like a better player, but if one player was benefiting more than even Manu, it was Kitty. It turned out, that despite ending up captaining her country from the centre, Mrs John had played all her school and university rugby on the wing. Therefore, there was no better person to coach Kitty than her.
‘You’re a lucky girl, Kitty, you can’t coach speed,’ was one of the first things she said to Kitty when she saw her streaking away from Manu in their first practice game. But since then, she had worked with Kitty on just about everything else. ‘Every winger must have more than just pace in their armoury,’ she said as she put Kitty through a variety of drills that helped her to develop sidesteps, dummies, hitch kicks, and changes of speeds.
And Kitty responded fantastically. She went down to The Rec almost every evening with Jimmy, Matt and Manu to practise all the new skills Mrs John had shown her. On one occasion, after she skinned Manu on the outside – yet again – he waved his arms in mock surrender and said, ‘Honestly, this is ridiculous now, that woman has turned you into a rugby monster!’ The laughs at that comment confirmed that everyone agreed. Kitty was certainly on the right track to emulate her favourite player, Jaz Joyce.
Above all else to Jimmy, though, was that not in one single session had Mrs John talked about tackling. Obviously there were occasions, in certain drills, where tackling played a part, but Jimmy always seemed to manage to get himself on the attacking side of those drills. Bizarrely, Jimmy had no issues whatsoever when it came to running into contact. Even if it was into a man-mountain like Andrew Beasley, Jimmy would smash into him and try to drive through the contact as if his life depended on it, but on the odd occasion that he was forced to tackle somebody running at him head-on, it was a completely different matter. A feeling of dread and fear would clamp down on him whenever a tackle situation like that presented itself.
Fortunately, apart from Kitty, nobody noticed. Jimmy became a master of timing and manufactured a slip here or a tumble there, just before the tackle, allowing the player to get past, only for Jimmy to pull off a last-second tap tackle to bring his opponent down. He made the slips look so real that he often got applauded by his teammates for his recovery. ‘Great effort, Jim,’ or ‘Well rescued, mate,’ would ring out afterwards as he bashfully made his way back to join them, secretly ashamed of his deception. If only they had known the horror he felt, deep inside, at the thought of tackling someone front on, the last thing they’d have done was tell him it was a great effort.
Another trick was to quietly step back a few yards when the opposition had the ball in a practice game. This meant that either Matt on his inside at scrum-half, or Manu on his outside at centre, would naturally be drawn into the hole he had created, to tackle the ball-carrier. Jimmy’s plan worked nine times out of ten – especially where Manu was concerned. He tackled for fun, so never once questioned why Jimmy was often out of position – he simply didn’t notice.
Off the field, Jimmy’s life was great too. Jimmy was still sitting next to Oscar in class and helping him as best he could with things he found tricky to cope with. Jimmy began to understand more and more about autism and tried to ensure the situations that brought stress to Oscar were either managed or avoided completely.
One of the key issues Oscar found difficulty with was dealing with crowds, which was why he often either played alone down on bottom yard at break time or spent it in the library, devouring book after book on his favourite sport, rugby. He would take countless photographs of the pictures in these books and turn them into books of his own using Book Creator, or make incredible cartoon stories by transforming the pictures in his other favourite app, Comic Life. But it was always the noise and chaos of crowds that really bothered Oscar and increased his anxiety levels, so at the busiest time, home time at the end of the day, Jimmy took it upon himself to wait with Oscar until the rush was over, then they’d walk home together, just the two of them, always talking rugby.
