Collecting autographs from Waikato champions like Don and Ian Clarke, their brothers and Rex Pickering was never a drama.
Getting to them through the mud at Rugby Park or keeping the pen and paper dry in a loose queue of like-minded kids were the issues.
Job done, we'd get a
muddied rub on the head or a word from a Mooloo legend to take with us on our return trip to the sidelines. We'd be singing our way through the next week at club training.
It was far more daunting when King Country came to town and we'd gather our nerve for a post-match encounter with some of their famous faces. The main target was Colin Earl Meads, so renowned for his All Black deeds but classed as a provincial invader even though he was born inside the Waikato boundaries. If you lived in the provinces and wanted to see national legends like Meads you had to go to matches because there was no television cover.
Gold medal autograph target? You bet but it was daunting, especially if you thrust the book and pen towards Pinetree when King Country had been beaten.
His glower got you. Those eyebrows glistened with menace, the square jaw stared down at you from a Himalayan height before his massive mitts enclosed your pen and paper.
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That powerful presence continued to rattle unprepared souls once Meads' playing days were done as he became an NZR councillor, All Black manager, travelling raconteur and unofficial spokesman for the good old days.
When Meads was voted onto council in 1992 he was officially reunited with his old All Black mate Kel Tremain. As journalists, we would travel to Wellington to cover those meetings and sometimes shared a glass or two of uneasy bonhomie with the rugby hierarchy.
Tremain was good company and not bothered by red tape. He introduced me to Meads and while the glare was still in bristling form, there was a comfortable earthy pace to our conversation.
He'd been unsure about getting elected and felt much the same way before being chosen as the All Black manager for Laurie Mains side in 1994. It was not a good start. The All Blacks were beaten in a home series by France and had a few ropey moments against the Boks and Wallabies too.
That left the management vulnerable but they survived to direct the 1995 World Cup campaign. Meads was manager and had his mate Brian Lochore to help.
They were as formidable as the players. I wanted to interview the notoriously cagey Meads about a few issues as the team moved deeper into the tournament and made a request to the team media liaison officer Ric Salizzo.
He gave his best John Cleese impersonation and said he'd give it a shot. About five minutes later he returned with a polite no dice from Meads or so he told me. Some years later he confessed he'd hidden behind a pillar and then given me the negative retort rather than risk asking Meads.
On the field and off, Meads was a daunting man.
He played through an era when the only All Blacks who were interviewed were the captain, manager or officials. It was rare for others in that special club to engage in anything other than casual conversation.
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Those boundaries altered and Meads went along with those changes although he preferred brusque chats with the fourth estate. Many All Blacks did too so Meads was their champion.
In 1995 on the tour to Italy and France, I wanted to interview Jonah Lomu about his post-World Cup impressions and returning to play a team who had inflicted such troubles on his debut the year before.
No, said Meads, the match was over. I acknowledged that and a little miffed and imprudently asked whether he wanted me to interview Lomu during the game or at halftime. Meads did not need many words to convey his answer and send me on my way.
He delivered a lot more and with some venom to the All Blacks after they lost the first test in Toulouse. Meads banished everyone from the room except the players.
He lined everyone up and gave them such a spray, he wondered afterwards whether he had been too harsh.
A few years ago, Meads was in town and I rang to ask if he could come into the Herald studio to reminisce about his life and times in rugby. No, he began, then chuckled. He was having his haircut but if I picked him up later we could do it.
When Meads lowered himself into the passenger's seat, the car's suspension got a distinctive workout. So did I but the conversations off-camera and in front of the lens were very relaxed.
He would have loved to play in the modern game where the ball was in play so much and forwards were encouraged to chime in. He had immense admiration for men like Richie McCaw and his successor Kieran Read.
Meads found a niche on the speaking circuit where his straight forward philosophies on life mixed in with a collection of stories and distinctive delivery, guaranteed large attentive audiences.