Recently I was asked by the Sydney club I played for to sit on a panel to appoint their new club coach.
I have never forgotten where I come from and I have always kept links with the club that gave me so much. A few weeks ago some former team-mates reached out as the club was going through tough times and asked if I could help.
I believe that all of us who have benefited greatly from the game have an obligation to put back into the system that produced them.
That is not me virtuously bragging. When our rugby ancestors hung up their boots, they gave back to their community in other ways so that future generations of players could experience the life-changing force of the running game.
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It’s about making true the ancient mantra that if you give to the game, you will be rewarded, but if you take from the game, you will be diminished.
So, two much younger colleagues and myself commenced the process of searching for a leader who could fulfil the complex mission of lifting our famous old club, West Harbour, off the canvas and drive it to the top end of Australian club rugby.
For such a massive task, which carried a relatively small wage, the response from a swath of prospective coaches was astounding. Oozing passion they came from all corners of the globe seeking opportunity.
South Africans, New Zealanders, Argentinians, Scots and Australians all raised their hands to be considered.
Having cut my coaching teeth in the Shute Shield, which is the equivalent of Ireland’s AIL, I knew how tough this gig would be.
Each club in the Sydney competition has four open-age teams known as “grade teams,” and three under-20 “colts” teams. Since 1900, every Saturday in winter, our club’s four grade teams play at the one venue, while the colts replicate that model at another ground.
Having experienced coaching in Super Rugby, the Heineken Cup, the Magners League and at international level, I have no doubt the most demanding system to function in as a coach was the Shute Shield.
Recruiting players, analysing matches, player welfare, selections, reporting to boards, staffing, administration, budgets, disputes, match strategy, everything except marking the lines on the field, fell at the feet of the head coach. Of course, there was also some rugby to win.
In such a demanding and complex environment, there are only two possible outcomes. You either win and swim, or lose and drown.
Fascinated as to why someone would seek such a daunting task I asked each of the candidates the most simple of questions: “Why do it?”
The answers were universally similar across the cohort. Firstly, they loved the game and the people surrounding it. All were former players, still driven by the need to compete and prove themselves against quality competition. Now that their playing days were over they were obsessed with teaching others the lessons in life and rugby that their journey had taught them.
In a world where cynicism abounds, here were leaders who believed that, through rugby, they could make our community a better place.
Listening to them was both an uplifting and a reassuring experience.
While rugby in Australia is broken and on its knees, as long as there are people like these prospective coaches involved, the wounded golden heart will find a way to keep beating.
All of which reminded me that winning is so hard, that very few coaches ever lift a trophy. So why seek such an almost impossible challenge?
Perhaps the coaches’ mindset can be best summed up in the termination clause that sits inside every professional coach’s contract – it states if the coach is proven to be mentally incapable, ie insane, their contract can be terminated. The Catch 22 is you must to crazy to sign such a contract.
You don’t have to be mad to be a coach, but it helps.
In reality the real motivations are far simpler.
Many years ago, the former Ireland captain Willie Anderson and I were coaching together, sitting in our home team dressingroom, long after the full time whistle of a Heineken Cup pool match had blown. The empty room smelled of liniment, sweat, cut grass and mud. That most intoxicating mixture of odours that is like an addiction to old rugby players.
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We had won a hard-fought match against a high-quality opposition, where the players we coached had displayed passion, determination, skill and cohesion and executed the tactics we had planned for them from our analysis.
It was about 11pm after a 7L30pm kickoff. Our post-match duties were done as we sat alone in the room that only a few hours ago had been a hive of energetic elite competition.
Unexpectedly, the door opened and a rookie member of our team walked in with a smile like a split melon and said, “I’ve been looking for you two.” He reached out and shook our hands. “Thanks coach. That was great fun.”
Alone again, Willie retrieved our hidden stash of cold beer that had brought us back to the room in the first place. He handed me a frosty one.
We clinked bottle necks and took a deep swig. After a long silence, my friend from Tyrone glanced sideways at me and reflected, “That’s why we coach.”
You could have cut the satisfaction with a knife. Winning, helping players improve and being appreciated for your leadership is as good as it gets for a coach.
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Whatever their motivations, another generation of coaches are starting out on their own unique journey. Like all of rugby’s journeys it is in giving to the game that they will be rewarded.
My rewards for giving back to a club I left more than three decades ago was to be reminded that coaching, with all its pain and frustration, is one of the most rewarding of obsessions that a sporting life can behold.
