Oliver's trip to hell and back

By CHRIS RATTUE

Anton Oliver was almost late for the All Blacks' date with England in November.

Just five minutes before kickoff, the man who might well have been leading the team out at Twickenham turned up in the wee hours at a house in St Bathans, central Otago, with two mates.

Oliver's fellow outback travellers were poet and author Brian Turner, of the famed family which includes his sports star brothers Glenn and Greg, and artist Grahame Sydney, renowned for portrayals of the area's parched landscape.

Oliver owns a shack at St Bathans - north-east of Alexandra - but didn't know his rugby hosts nearby. Sydney had only a few hours earlier organised the excursion to one of the few homes with Sky TV.

There wasn't any seating left among the "cockies," so Oliver, beer in hand, lay on the floor.

"I absolutely love the place. No one gives a stuff about things like that around there," says Oliver about his surprise arrival.

Oliver, 27, is on the comeback, readying himself for a season in which many believe he should lead John Mitchell's All Blacks into World Cup battle.

Eight months ago, however, he was having trouble even watching the national side with the sort of ease he later felt among new acquaintances in a remote part of Otago.

After rupturing his Achilles tendon in the Highlanders' final-round Super 12 match against the Reds at Carisbrook, that notorious old rollercoaster of emotions turned up to cart Oliver through his first long-term injury.

After establishing himself as one of the best hookers in the world over 39 tests, including all 10 as captain under coaches Wayne Smith, then John Mitchell, in 2001, it was hard letting go.

"I watched one of the tests by myself at home. I'm a quiet watcher anyway. I like to absorb," says Oliver, whose long-time partner lives and works in Wellington, while he flats with team-mate Simon Maling in Dunedin.

"It was tough to watch the first few games, but it got easier."

Oliver's rehabilitation had started with some fatherly attention. As a kid, he had been estranged from his All Black father Frank.

His mother, Marilyn, had custody of brothers Anton, Mark and Brent.

Rugby, though, had helped to bring father and son together - Oliver snr was coach and Oliver jnr captain of the national under-19 team in 1994.

Last May, Frank "did the father thing" and headed from his home in Palmerston North to Dunedin, thus providing company for his son, whose right leg had been operated on the day after the Reds match.

Father and son drank beer, and ate oysters, crayfish, and paua on the Friday night. The next day Frank, who was raised in Lawrence in the Clutha district, drove while Anton was sprawled, leg in cast, across the back seat of their truck, to watch a game in Alexandra.

Then they travelled to Christchurch where Oliver had to endure the Highlanders losing the semifinal to the Crusaders without him.

And more testing times lay ahead.

There is a regimented way of rehabilitating from Achilles injuries and Oliver was still hoping to play late NPC games and go on the All Blacks tour.

But the recovery programme hit an early bump when reality took a decent bite at his enthusiasm after Oliver attacked gym sessions immediately the cast was removed.

"Halfway through the third session I thought, 'What the hell am I doing here?' and walked out," says Oliver.

"After something as cataclysmic . . . you have to come down off that. I didn't have the motivation. You have to go down, then re-draw on your energy.

"Initially, I fought with the idea of being out of the game. I could have trucked around in club games and the NPC. Luckily, I had one of the most outstanding orthos [orthopaedic surgeon] in John Matheson, and he ended up making the decision for me.

"That's how it should be. In my experience, If it's left in the player's hands they'll always choose to play. There's too much at stake.

"I found out a lot of it was about ego. You really delve into your own psyche, having a big injury . . . you get incredibly introspective. I'd felt like a six or seven-year-old who'd had their toy taken off them. You've got to let your own ego go."

You get the distinct impression that if there's something in life Oliver hasn't thought about, it's only because he hasn't thought of it yet.

His 90-minute interview with the Herald at the Highlanders' Logan Park base may have centred on his rugby and recovery, but involved a fair few other slices of life, with Oliver providing questions and answers.

The media, commentators, the public - they all got their share of analysis. He likes some, including columnist Chris Laidlaw's analytical style, and the flavour of Scottish commentator Bill McLaren.

"I was more cynical and negative to the media and the way rugby was being exposed before this," he says.

"I had my own opinion, I know more about the game than Joe Public.

"[During the layoff] I became outward-looking and found I wanted to read bits in the paper. I was on the flipside.

"A lot is ill-informed, but I can now see where it is coming from. It's just a derivative of the news.

"I want to know about Iraq and Afghanistan, but it's coming from large media moguls such as CNN and the BBC. They could be feeding us whatever they want to feed us. I take it with a grain of salt.

"People are just filling in bits of their lives, although whether some of it is justified or not is another story."

On rugby commentaries, he says: "It's going the entertainment way. I'd rather have more substance, but some people like how it is razzed up."

It wasn't just injury that gave Oliver pause to reflect. Three friends died in 2002. His former Highlanders coach Gordon Hunter succumbed to cancer, former flatmate Mark Parker was a victim of the Bali bombings, and seven-year-old brain tumour patient Aaron Otley passed away.

The Christchurch youngster was among a handful of sick kids Oliver has come to know, although for now he is pulling back from involving himself with more, because of the emotional drain.

"We've all got responsibilities for people less fortunate.With the power of being well known, you are able to change people's lives for good and bad," he says.

"It's not about making me feel better, but trying to make a difference. Gordon's death made me realise the finiteness of human existence.

"Mark's only crime was getting out of a taxi at the wrong place. He was a really good bugger and at the stage where he was becoming a fine young man."

The conversation heads back to rugby.

Once Oliver made the decision that his 2002 season was over, he re-focused.

"I was so into rugby that I had lost the enjoyment of reflection. Instead of doing that when you get past 50, it's more beneficial to do it as you go," he says.

Has he changed?

"I still detest pretentious people and social climbers, the obsequious," he says.

"If I don't agree with something I'll still tell people. In teams, you can't let things fester away. It will filter through.

"It's like flatting. You end up resenting and having silly conversations with yourself. But maybe I won't be so blatant."

And now for a curly question, or a curling question, as some would have you believe.

Oliver almost says it before I do. He knew this was coming. Lineout throwing. Ouch.

Not since Richard Hadlee shortened his run-up has sporting technique faced such scrutiny.

Oliver has had lineout disasters, but then most hookers have.

If you were mounting a case for even-handed treatment, you could argue convincingly that the critics squawked at his failures but hardly raised a dicky bird when the All Blacks lineout faltered last year.

The stats men reveal that Oliver did not have one crooked throw in last year's Super 12, although he does not claim perfection.

His reputation, though, is cast in a stone's throw.

The Bledisloe Cup test two years ago was the killer of Oliver's reputation, when 10 lineouts were lost, along with the game.

Oliver says an Australian player revealed they analysed tapes which, through the referees' microphones, recorded the All Blacks' calls. The Ockers went to work, with great effect.

"I felt it was my fault. It took most of the NPC to get over it because the lineouts were atrocious. I never want to go back to that again," he said.

"The calls were generic, but we had got lax. We figured no one would do what Australia did. They were all over us.

"I'm stuck with it [the reputation] for ever. It's the old adage. If a lineout is good, the jumpers are praised; and if it's not, it's the hooker's fault."

He says observers do not always understand the factors involved. For example, the lifters behind jumpers are vital, but seldom talked about.

"We're very lucky because Carl Hayman [Highlanders and All Blacks prop] is easily the best back lifter in New Zealand, if not the world," he says.

"He's tall, strong and got a good technique ... explosive. The jumpers like Carl because he lets them down nice and softly. He's the Rolls-Royce."

Just as ace goalkicker Matthew Ridge kept practice to a minimum, Oliver has evolved a theory of less is more.

He shuns the tricky gadgets, like the target ring on a stick which looks like a deranged netball hoop.

The next trick, believe it or not, is using life-sized film so lineout throwers can hurl the ball at a wall using real time.

Oliver's open to these suggestions, but for now relies on live targets at team practice.

The injury break reiterated his belief that power is vital for ball-carrying forwards to break down elaborate defences, so his first work was to increase leg-strength.

On the injury front, his Achilles is sound, although that calf has only 55 per cent of normal power for now.

Through heroics and heartaches, the lineout "fiasco," "incredibly poor performances, both personally and by teams," the 1999 World Cup failure, and now a long injury, Oliver has emerged primed for a new future.

His mother has just sold the family home in Blenheim and after raising three kids on nurse's wages, has moved to Australia to take her chance to "live a little."

Frank Oliver has a new family in Palmerston North, where Mark also lives, and Brent is over in Japan.

"Christmas was strange. For most people, it's a time to go home, but I don't even own a home in Dunedin," says Anton.

"I'm a vagabond in my late 20s and starting to set out on my own."

His attitude to study hints at the determination that lies within. He took 8 1/2 years to get two university degrees, yet says he underachieved because rugby prevented him studying the "holistic" way.

He aims to right that by studying social anthropology at Cambridge or Oxford one day.

"I'd hate to get to 90 and feel I didn't give it my all - and it's the same with rugby. It's very important for me to get back into the All Blacks. I don't think I've reached my potential at all.

"I can honestly say I just want to be an All Black, that's all I've ever wanted. But I'm not the national captain, Taine Randell is.

"And anyone who sets out to be the captain - it means the job is not right for them.

"I've got things to offer in leadership. I did enjoy it, despite the pressures. There's so much I want to do. I'm only just starting my career. I'm the Phoenix."