Extract from Dan Carter 1598, on sale today [14 October], $69.99 Upstart Press.
I'll never forget the first points I scored in the All Blacks jersey. Hamilton, 21 June 2003. Doug Howlett has scored the first try to put us two points up against Wales. I'm standing at the back of my run-up for the conversion and I've never been so nervous in my life. I'd visualised this moment since I was a child, kicking goals to win World Cups in my backyard — the All Blacks down by one point, the final whistle's gone and I'm kicking from the sideline to win the game. I'd been training for this since I could walk, when my father used to get my leg and swing it like I was kicking a ball. But to actually do it, on the international stage, was completely different. It was like the whole country's emotions were riding on that one kick. And it's simple. You either get it or you don't. The fans, the country, they are either happy, or they aren't.
I place the ball on the tee. Go through my routine — five steps back, three across. Look up to the post and visualise the ball going through. Stare at the sweet spot of the ball. Tell myself to relax. Step forward, head down, follow through. I look up as the ball sails through the posts and feel the biggest relief. I went on to score 20 points that game, all off the back of that ball sailing through the posts on my first kick. That game changed everything. After that I embraced pressure. I wanted more moments like that. I wanted to take the kick that wins the game.
Looking back now, to have scored 1598 points over 13 years and 112 games, it blows me away. Overtaking legendary kickers that I looked up to — Grant Fox, Michael Lynagh, Andrew Mehrtens, Ronan O'Gara, Neil Jenkins, Jonny Wilkinson — is something I could never have dreamed of. I was fortunate to play in so many amazing All Blacks teams which gave me plenty of opportunities to kick conversions and penalties and score tries. Without them, there's no way I would have gotten close to scoring 1598 points. These photos capture so many amazing moments we shared in the black jersey, and I'm filled with nostalgia looking back on these times.
When I look through these pages, I also see a never-ending journey: the pursuit of kicking the perfect ball. A pursuit that started back in Southbridge, Canterbury, where my dad built me posts in the backyard for my eighth birthday. As soon as I could kick the ball over the posts, I'd go back another five metres until eventually I was kicking the length of the lawn, over a fence, around a tree, searching for that perfect kick.