A day or two before my debut, one of the management team had walked up to my room, dropped a whole lot of gear off, said, ‘You’re going to be here a while,’ and walked out.
What did that mean? Would I be here for the next week, the next month, or just the next couple of days? As a newcomer, I didn’t want to ask the sort of questions that might make me seem presumptuous. Instead, I saved them up and bombarded Thorny, my very patient roommate.
Our next test, at Carisbrook in Dunedin, was meant to be the last played there, but there ended up being another one because of an earthquake that was at that time brewing under Canterbury. It would have been a normal week for most of those in the squad, but I was still on a massive high from my two-try debut. My phone blew up all week. I was named on the bench again and it was a totally different test match to the first one.
I got out there about the same time and managed to steal a lineout ball early, but that was about it. The play refused to come my way, and the only thing of note from my perspective was that Anthony Boric broke his cheekbone. I couldn’t help but wonder if the stars were aligning for me to make my starting debut.
As nondescript as the night was for me, the atmosphere at the ’Brook was amazing. The terraces were packed and after the game the students were throwing all sorts of stuff around because it was supposedly the last test there. Photos after the game showed rubbish strewn across the ground, and students and locals stayed on the terraces long after the final whistle.
We had a ceremony where we took some dirt and turf from Carisbrook to the site of what is now Forsyth Barr Stadium. I was pleased to have had the opportunity to play a test at such a famous venue before it was bowled over for good.
It was a week for farewells. As a team we went down to the Gardies, the old student pub in the heart of North Dunedin. I didn’t know it at the time but it was closing for good. I’d heard all these stories about the Gardies, which was one of three famous student pubs, along with the Cook and the Bowler. Like Carisbrook, all those pubs are gone now.
From Dunedin we headed north to Hamilton for the second test against Wales. I was still with the squad, which was a good sign, because the team for the Rugby Championship — known back then as the Tri Nations — was being named after
the game. I was on the bench again and was getting really excited about coming on.
The guys were playing pretty well — not outstandingly, but in control. Darren Shand came over to me and said, ‘Hey, we’re going to put Jerome to lock to see if that’s a position he can cover’. Adam Thomson was also on the bench and could shift into Jerome’s position, so I sat there thinking, ‘Damn, they’re not putting me out there’.
Shandy reassured me that they were happy with how I was going. I was nodding my head, but inside I was screaming: ‘Just get me out there, I want to play!’
There was an added incentive for me as well, because Mum and Dad were finally back from Argentina and had driven five hours to watch me play.
Eventually I got out there with about 15 minutes to go. Wales had been effective at holding us in the breakdown and slowing our ball down, so as I ran out, Shag sent down a message: I was not to put up with any shit; I was to clean out hard and make sure they didn’t hold me in. I listened to every word and was also running out with a bit of frustration rattling around in my brain, because it felt like I’d been shunted down the pecking order.
Within the first few minutes I cleaned out a ruck, and my Welsh opposite, veteran flanker Gavin Thomas, held on to me and pushed me off the ball. He might have taken a swing at me, but I know for sure I didn’t, but it didn’t matter. The ref, Jonathan Kaplan, had taken us off to the side and given us yellow cards.
What a come-down. A couple of weeks earlier I didn’t think life could get much better after scoring two tries on debut. Now, in front of my parents, I’d been sent to the naughty corner after contributing one cleanout to a test match.
It was still a test cap, but it’s not one I look back on with any fondness. Honestly, I don’t think I did anything particularly wrong, and even now, when cards are far more prevalent, I think people were scratching their heads wondering what it was for. I reckon Kaplan thought he needed to do something to show he was in control and came in far too hot, but I was inconsolable. I stayed out on the field after the game to do some running in front of the trainers, as I hadn’t got to do a whole lot of it during the game. All the time I was wondering if I’d blown my Tri Nations chances.
It hit home the most when I caught up with Mum and Dad after the game. Dad shook my hand and said, ‘Well done, you’re an All Black now.’ He then quietly leaned in and whispered: ‘Don’t you ever get yellow-carded after we’ve driven five hours to watch you play two minutes.’ That little square-up was probably what I was expecting in one form or another from my coaches, but I got it instead from Dad.
— Extracted with permission from Samuel Whitelock: View from the Second Row, ($49.99 RRP HarperCollins Publishers Aotearoa New Zealand), available now.
