Talk of the Toony: The Autobiography of Gregor Townsend. Gregor Townsend
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What I didn’t realize when I met up with the squad was that our time in Hong Kong would be just like an extension of a weekend’s partying with the Scottish Students. There were some great characters like Dave Beggy, Paddy Johns and Jonny Garth on that trip and it was certainly an eye-opener for myself and another draftee, young Irish winger Niall Woods. During our week together, the only time we didn’t go out to bars like ‘Joe Bananas’ and the ‘Bull and Bear’ was the night before the opening day of the tournament. Not surprisingly, we failed to qualify for the quarter-finals of the main competition, losing the pool decider against France.
We didn’t fare that much better in the Plate, going out in the semi-finals to Tonga. This was more disappointing than our defeat to the French, as winning the Plate had been a realistic goal. However, by that stage a tropical storm had made it a much more level – and extremely muddy – playing field. When the storm hit, it hit hard. Torrents of water sluiced through the stands, turning the grounds into a swamp. I looked on in amazement and admiration as Fiji sailed through the tournament, seemingly unaffected by the mud and rain. They went through their full repertoire of skills in the most horrendous conditions, just like they had done at the Gala Sevens the previous year. Even New Zealand, whom they met in the final, were left chasing shadows as Waisale Serevi and player of the tournament Mesake Rasari dominated proceedings.
I knew the Scotland tour to Australia would be much more professional – anything led by David Sole had to be. Sole had been Scotland’s Grand Slam winning captain two years before, famously leading the side out against England at Murrayfield. I got to witness both the intense and inspirational sides to his character, in what proved to be the final time he wore the dark blue jersey.
Early on in the tour I was Sole’s room-mate. Being amongst members of the 1990 Grand Slam team was a daunting experience at the best of times – a bit like being a pupil asked to spend some time in the staff room with a group of teachers. They gave the impression of possessing amounts of self-confidence I could only dream about. Sole also appeared to have something about him that gave him automatic authority; an almost eerie, potentially crazed nature. He could have been well cast ahead of Jack Nicholson in The Shining. I had seen him snap at one of the players for turning up late on one occasion, so I decided to keep out of his way and try to be early to meetings for a change.
Sole’s performance as a substitute in our third game of the tour against Emerging Wallabies in Hobart left everyone in awe. It also inspired the team to come back from 4–24 to draw the match 24–24. He was magnificent – it was one of those moments when you feel privileged to be on the same pitch as a true rugby legend. What made it all the more special was that Sole, normally a loose head prop, came off the bench to play at openside flanker. He took the game to the opposition at every opportunity, continually cajoling us to do better, and on one occasion lifting the huge second-row, Garrick Morgan, clean off his feet in a tackle that saved a certain try. The second half also coincided with an upturn in my form.
We had lost our opening match in Darwin by a point to a Northern Territory Invitation XV. Although the weather was stiflingly hot and the opposition had brought in some quality guest players, my disappointing kicking performance had much to do with our subsequent defeat. Things continued in the same vein for me in Hobart until we began our comeback. However, my final two games on tour were much better and I ended up winning the man-of-the-match award in my last outing against Queensland Country. While it was pleasing to improve each time I played, I knew there would be many people who thought I would never be able to control an international match from stand-off. Otherwise, my first Scotland tour had been a blast.
I struck up great friendships with Derek Stark, Ian Smith, Sean Lineen and Tony Stanger and I discovered that touring with Scotland wasn’t all hard work. The squad seemed to be very conspiratorial and keen to have fun together. We had a couple of ‘kangaroo court sessions’ during our month in Australia – this was basically a variety of ways to get drunk as quickly as possible. After two weeks we realized that having to drink large amounts of Bundaberg Rum was a sure-fire, one-way-ticket to oblivion. It was used as a punishment for those misbehaving while the court was in session. No one escaped from having to consume a shed-load of alcohol. Firsttime tourists, points scorers, those that had done something stupid that week, those that hadn’t – everyone was called upon to empty their glasses.
Saturday matches were usually followed by a ‘happy hour’ back at the hotel. This was a chance for us to play drinking games. It sorted out the weak – guys like me – from those experienced at this type of thing. It also got us prepared for our night out – a compulsory activity for those who had played that day. ‘Work hard, play hard’ seemed to be an unwritten rule on tour.
Another rule was that of ‘Dirt Tracking’. This happened the night before a match and involved those players who weren’t in the squad for the following day’s game. The theory was that they were to find out which bars and clubs were the best for everyone to visit the next night. What everyone really wanted was for the players to get wasted so there would be a few stories to tell at the ‘happy hour’ the next evening. Incredibly, the management at the time sanctioned this. In fact, the team manager paid for a meal with the ‘Dirt Trackers’ to get them started on their way. What with going out with the midweek team after our matches, I think I was drunk at least three times a week in Australia. At times amateur rugby wasn’t good for your liver!
I think I was a bit of an enigma to the older guys – I combined some daft things like attempting to wash my clothes in a tumble dryer, and trying to keep up with my studies by reading books such as Plato’s Last Days of Socrates. I was the nonchalant, disorganized student and I soon had a reputation for always being the last person to turn up at meetings. While most people called me ‘Toony’, I was renamed ‘Hint-End’ by Tony Stanger on tour. ‘Hint-End’ is Scottish for ‘tail-end’, which was usually where I was – wandering around with my head in the clouds. I didn’t really mind my tag as it gave me an identity. I played up to the stereotype even though it insinuated that I was immature and unreliable. Being known as something was better than being ignored, even if it was a negative. I realized that others laughing at your expense seemed a sure-fire way to be popular within a rugby squad. I helped this no end by my efforts at horse riding.
We spent a day at a ranch out in the bush, enjoying an Aussie ‘barbie’ and getting to ride around on quad bikes. There were a few guys riding horses and I was asked if I wanted to join in. I had never ridden a horse before, but this only seemed to encourage my team-mates who wanted to see me at least have a go.
I didn’t have a clue what to do and I naively thought the horse would just trot around at a leisurely pace. However, within seconds my horse had started to pick up some speed. My feet had come out of the stirrups and I lost hold of the reins. I was clinging on to the saddle and feeling very uncomfortable. For some insane reason I thought giving the horse a kick would act as a brake. As you can imagine, the opposite happened. The horse was in complete control and heading fast for a boundary fence. I decided to jump off.
It was a long way to the ground and I crashed down onto the dirt. I was very sore but hadn’t broken any bones. Through the dust, I could see my team-mates were hysterical with laughter. Well at least it had been funny for someone. If I had any thoughts about getting back on the horse they were quickly dispelled as my eyes and face started to swell up. The tour doctor then informed me I had an allergy to horses. At that moment I hoped I had got all the bad luck out of my system, as the following day we were due to go bungee jumping.
Next stop on my world tour was Italy. Number 8 Carl Hogg and myself had agreed to be available for the Students World Cup, even though we had both just toured with Scotland in Australia. It had already been a long season and we only had three days’ rest at home before leaving for Italy, but we felt it would be worth it. The coaches, David Bell and John Rutherford, had reassured us that we would be used sparingly in matches and could lounge by the pool instead of training. As it turned out, we trained every day and we were two of only three players to play every minute of every game.
I would describe us as a rabble with good intentions. Although our squad was similar to a Scotland 3rd XV in terms of quality, the SRU only provided £10,000 of the total £30,000 costs. This meant that players had to pay £250 each for representing their