Saturday morning.

Season 46. Round 14.

 

As the Kiwi coach, Dick Endive, made his way into the arrivals hall at Heathrow airport his bleary eyes caught sight of a large man with the shiniest bald head you have ever seen, a luxuriant white beard and a beaming grin. As he got closer he could make out the writing on the card the grinning giant was holding 'Duck and Dive'. 'Just my luck', the jet-lagged journeyman coach thought, they have sent a comedian to collect me. He made his way towards the gentleman, whose grin was now accompanied by a maniacal stare.

"I hope you don't mind my attempt at humour" boomed the man, so loudly that the woman next to him jumped "I was going to use this" he said, flipping the card over to reveal the words 'Bob and Weave', "But I wasn't sure if you would get my sense of humour and I wouldn't have wanted to miss you, Coach Endive".

It wasn't that the New Zealander was a dour, humourless curmudgeon but it had been a long flight. His ears were still ringing from the tirade of threats flung at him by his formidable French femme, Frisée, on his departure from down under, which had led to one too many brandies being consumed and, his baggage had not made it through Abu Dhabi, so he just stuck out his hand and said "Not at all. Dick, call me Dick. Pleased to meet you".

"Clarence Cholmondley-Warner. Delighted to be your chauffeur for the day." Said the man in his posh English baritone, "Follow me".

Outside, Clarence made a beeline for a forty year old motor. Not a classic Jaguar. Not a Rolls Royce. A big, boxy, white, Ford Cortina. Still beaming, like someone insanely excited, he pulled open the passenger side door, that creaked audibly, and hollered "Your chariot awaits". "I'll sit in the back. Thanks" said Dick. He needed to think on the way down to watch his new side, Oxford Outlaws, in the final match of the season at Kemp Town Queens, but he didn't reckon that Clarence was going to let him.

Sure enough, the chatty chauffeur started rattling off questions.

"I hope you enjoy the scenic route I've planned, I'm not one for motorways, it takes all the fun out of driving". "Is this your first visit to England?" "We are excited at the promise of shining new Silverware in the Outlaws Trophy Cabinet with you leading the club to the sunlit uplands . It does seem a little off bringing in a foreign chap to do that, but you Kiwis are part  of the Commonwealth & you do know your onions when it comes to the oval ball game."

"Sounds like you have already done that."

"What do you mean?"

"The new owner, Otto Krokov."

"No, we are a proud, 'Family' club, for 'Good Old Boys' & Girls. There may have been 'outside' investment but Gene and the board have assured us that the club is in safe hands, as will be the team under your guidance."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I have been employed by the millionaire Otto Krokov. Who's Gene?"

"Gene? My dear old friend and the beating heart of the club, Gene Eale-Stolwut. The Club's Chairman. It sounds like there have been some crossed wires between here and, where do you hail from in New Zealand, Dick?"

"Whanganui. Do you know it?"

"No, but it sounds delightful. Will we get a win today, Dick? It has been a dismal season."

"I can't make promises, Clarence, but I'll make sure the lads give it a good lick. Do you mind if I get a bit of quiet, to think about what I am going to say to them?"

"Not at all, Dick. I talk too much. I can't help it, it's exuberance and excitement at the enthralling new era on which we are about to embark."

The expectation levels had been ratcheted up to ridiculous heights and Clarence was just the chauffeur and a fan. What would the billionaire businessman and the Chairman want from him? Had they got the right man? Dick knew his own record and it wasn't all that great. He needed to make a good first impression, but first he would have to convince himself he could do this. He began to wonder what he had got himself into, a very long way from home.

 

Putting on a performance at the Pink Pound.

 

As they pootled into the car park at the Pink Pound, home of the Kemp Town Queens, Dick realised that Clarence had done him a favour by dawdling through Dorking, not hurrying through Horsham and taking the slow road through Steyning. He had settled on a plan. The same one he had used what seemed like a hundred times before, at new clubs. People always want to believe at the beginning of a journey and you just have to help them in the direction they already want to go. He was ready for Krokov and he was ready for the players. They were going to get the 'Don't Stop Believing' speech. No surprises there. 

What did surprise him, was the amount of away support he had seen on the way to the ground. This was a team that had won one game all season and were already relegated to the fourth tier of the National Leagues. When he asked Clarence about it, he said it was because Oxford was just about as far from the sea as you can get in England and who doesn't like a walk on the prom and fish and chips in a stiff gale? The demented looks on the faces of the vast majority of the away fans he had seen, left him unsure it was only battered fish they were bolstered by and he started to worry about what might happen should things not go the Outlaws way that afternoon.

Game face on. Dick got out of the Cortina, to be met by no one. He had to ask a steward, where the away dressing room was?

"You're not a nutter, are you mate? I'm not supposed to let just anyone in. But this lot are rubbish. We are going to thrash them anyway, so do your worst. Down the corridor, on the left. You can hear their godawful music from here."

He entered the changing room without being challenged and looked around to see, no coaching staff, no old heads, just a bunch of young men, doing their own thing, as a repetitive and mind numbing beat pumped from some speakers in all four corners.

An imposing, but not unfriendly looking, young man, got up and shouted 'Decibels', before drawing his hand across his throat. Another young man grabbed his phone and the music stopped. "I'm Del and these are my Outlaws. We have only heard good things about you. You are the Dick we have been waiting for. Right?" The players all laughed hard at what was obviously a pre-planned joke at his expense.

Dick had seen this scenario more than a couple of times before. This was a club in free-fall. No one believed in themselves (something he was very familiar with) and no one thought they could turn it round. What they needed was a short, sharp, shock.

Dick began to circle the room making eye contact with as many of the young players as possible.

"Del. You are the leader of this outfit, correct? Then you need to be a man and lead by example. Cheap jokes won't cut the mustard. This is on you. This is on all of you & I want every one of you to go out there today and show me what you have got. Think of it as an audition.

I know you have had a bad season, but you need to show me why you deserve to be in this team. Show me what you have got, but don't show off. Play as a team. Enjoy it. You are a good bunch of players you just need to believe in yourselves. I am not going to tell you how to play, but this lot have one eye on the playoffs. They have written you off. They think you are no threat whatsoever. They think you are a bunch of Muppets. They've got some old fellas playing out there today. Get in their faces. Use your speed. Use your energy. Use any and every advantage you've got. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

This is professional rugby boys and it's a results business. This is a fresh start. Day zero. What has gone before has nothing to do with me and you can draw a line underneath it out there today. Leave the past behind. Play rugby without fear. Trust your instincts. Believe in each other and show me what you can do as individuals and as a team. You will all get a run, but this is the starting XV. Now, listen up."

After he had announced the team, Dick clapped Del on the back and bellowed 'It's all yours. Grab it with both hands & don't stop believing"

Del strode to the middle of the room nodding his head slowly, looking round at his teammates, then roared. "You heard the man. I'm a believer. Are you?" Anapa 'Decibels' Waldrom, resident DJ, pressed play and the opening bars of the Journey classic 'Don't Stop Believin' blared from the speakers as Dick left the dressing room.

He smiled to himself as he made his way to the stands and thought 'Either they have bought in completely & we are going to see something out there on the park this afternoon or those lads have got a wicked sense of humour. Either way, I can work with them. 

 

What proceeded to take place, is known in Oxford as, The Miracle at Kemp Town.