The death of Barry John this week not only stirred memories of a true genius but renewed concern that rugby – with its current emphasis on size and power – is in more danger than ever of evolving into a game with no small players.
Not that Johnwas especially small. He stood 1.78m (5ft 10 in the old measure) though he weighed only 75kg. Not exactly small, weedy perhaps. Yet something happened when he went on to a rugby field; the slightly awkward man with a faint duck-walk gait turned into a lissome athlete.
Wales fly-half Barry John came to be known as 'the King'. Photo / Getty
He didn’t run; he glided. He had surprising acceleration – and an impeccable sense of timing. Just as it seemed a New Zealand flanker was about to rearrange his DNA, John had the gift of great players – a kind of 360-degree vision, an early warning system – and a truly deceptive sidestep.
It was no manufactured thing; a sidestepping player will often prop to put a tackler in two minds about the runner’s next direction. John’s was a natural sidestep, seemingly delivered without involving the brain at all, his body and instincts totally in sync with his fast-moving surroundings, just as we sometimes think we are about to hit a flying bird in the car, only for the bird to slip past.
John had another measure of greatness – he changed the game. His kicking from hand was almost unerringly precise; his round-the-corner goalkicking silenced New Zealand crowds who had only seen Kiwi kickers using the toe-kicking style, with the old square-toed-boots.
The 1971 Lions, who convincingly beat the All Blacks in a landmark home series, enjoyed a reputation as a running side, courtesy of outstanding backs like the late J.P.R. Williams, John Bevan, David Duckham and Mike Gibson. The truth was they were much more of a 10-man team than most realised, with John pulling the strings but in such a clever way we all forgot to complain.
One of his great admirers, Scottish international midfielder, former Lion and Lions coach, Ian McGeechan said: “it is frightening to think how brilliant he would have been in the modern era”.
But would he? Would he have even had the chance? Sure, rugby’s modern dependence on bigger, faster, gain-line athletes of bulk doesn’t always translate to first fives. However, the smaller versions are often shifted out wide or to fullback when their team doesn’t have the ball – to obviate giant forwards charging down the 10 channel. Not everyone can be Dan Carter – same height as Barry John but about 20kg heavier and a technically gifted tackler.
How many smaller players have we lost because of this trend? The brilliant, elusive little characters who can win a game with agility and speed? How many young players give it away before they can perfect the skills, worn down by the crash-bash stuff?
Before John, the All Blacks had Mac Herewini, the little first five in an era of conservative All Blacks rugby which emphasised his kicking skills but largely hid his nimble attacking. As a boy, I used to go to Eden Park to watch him play for Auckland and his club team – always watched by a large contingent of Māori spectators laughing aloud as they watched mercurial Mackie dance his way past lumbering Pākehā.
After John, in the late 70s, came Grant Batty, the diminutive winger who played with his blood about the same temperature as a Rotorua mud pool – similarly loved by crowds because of his pugnacity. If there was a scrap going, Batty was there. Like a Jack Russell terrier, he didn’t know he was small.
All Black fans have just seen the last of Aaron Smith, supposedly 83kg though you suspect he got on the scales with a couple of hand weights down his shorts. Smith’s pass was a thing of beauty all through his 125 tests -and we will all miss his screeching tenor on the field, overwhelming on-field mics and sounding like a cross between a high-revving circular saw and the falsetto voices of the Three Little Maids from the Mikado opera.
Many think his replacement will be Cam Roigard, officially only 5kg heavier than Smith but who looks almost double his size and is the ideal modern halfback – a runner, big and rangy and capable of grunt work round the rucks and mauls.
Damian McKenzie during an All Blacks training session. Photosport
The sole small bloke left is Damian McKenzie, all 1.73m and 77kg of him, and there is no need to outline his attacking credentials. Hopefully, he can show what the little guys can bring – although if he doesn’t tie down the first five position in Scott Robertson’s All Blacks, the most likely place for him is on the bench.
There have been many others – South Africa’s Cheslin Kolbe was told he was too small to play top rugby (he is even smaller than McKenzie). Two World Cups and 14 test tries may have changed that judge’s mind. Shane Williams, another 1.7m player and Wales’ record test try scorer (58 of them), could sidestep his way through a flooded paddy field.
The small men have so much to offer – to teams and fans; it’s a fervent hope that rugby does not crush those small in stature but high in skills and crowd appeal.
