Let the Season Begin

‘Richardson, I really do not think that rugby is your calling….’ So remarked my u15D coach, Rex Pennington, later Rector of Michaelhouse, to me at half time in a match vs DF Malan many years ago. I was playing wing and the opposition soon summed up the fact that the undernourished stick insect opposite them was the weak link. They hoisted an up and under in my direction and my nearby teammates quickly bailed. I took the only decision which any sensible 14-year-old Rice Krispie Eater would take in the face of a pack of 90 kilogramme bearded (?) dervishes bearing down on him. I allowed the ball to bounce.

Fortunately, the ball then squirted into touch – and we had the throw-in. I saw disappointment in the eyes of the Dervishes but for the moment, my honour and physical safety were both intact. Seeing the inevitable writing on the wall, I volunteered the following season to play hockey where a modicum of speed and a smidgen of ball skills set me up for a lifetime of happy memories. Since then, I have played, coached and enjoyed hockey at a number of levels for many years (decades?) on four different continents.

The Pre-Match Team Talk

Consequently, it was with alacrity that I accepted Mr Van Schalkwyk’s invitation to look after the u16D hockey side against Rondebosch on Saturday. Here was my chance to re-establish my love affair with a game which has given me much joy over the years. I had hung up my coaching accoutrements when I took over as Headmaster and have spent the intervening years advising and encouraging (the coaches called it interfering…) anyone who was polite enough to listen.

My fall from umpiring grace at Wynberg had taken place when Larry Moser, then coach of the 3rd team, asked me a few years ago to umpire his game on our Astro. Unfortunately with me umpiring, his team lost, having finished with only nine men on the field - two players having been sent off! One Wynberg player had sworn not so subtly under his breath while another had sailed too close to the truth by querying, rather too volubly, my knowledge of the rules. ‘Thanks for that,’ said Mr Moser to me after the game and no Wynberg coach has asked me to umpire since then.

On Saturday, every single member of the 16D team reported to me at the appointed time. We even had two extras who wanted a game. Wonderful. We sorted out positions and went through a short corner routine. ‘Who is serving?’ I asked. The boys all looked at one another, flummoxed.

Perfect pass from Ulrich Haupfleisch

‘This is not tennis,’ volunteered one boy tentatively. Lesson number one for me. It is no longer called ‘serving’ when a boy hits out the short corner. Michael Rosenthal volunteered to do the honours. He started off by pushing the ball out. ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘This is grass – you must hit it.’ I took his stick and crouched over the ball to show him. It was then that the realisation hit me that this could only result in disaster. That shoulder has not really properly recovered from last year’s shoulder operation. Better to leave the boys with the impression that I could have hit the ball out smoothly and fast if I had really wanted to. I gave the stick back.

Daniel van Hoff, an u16A player, came up to me shortly after that. ‘I am your umpire,’ he said. I was disappointed – obviously Mr Moser had got to him. Anyway, he did a great job allowing me to stand on the touch line and ring the rolling changes to give everyone a reasonable time on the park. At half time, as we were seated in the goal area, he offered to take over from me and chat to the boys and give them some advice. My fall from grace was now complete….

Does no-one trust me to do anything on the hockey field anymore?

It reminded me of an opening match of a season many years ago when I was coaching the u14A’s. It was in the days before hockey was an acceptable sport at our feeder schools so we had to start our u14’s from scratch. We were playing Fairmont away and half time saw us 0 – 5 down. I was walking on at half time, when one of our parents ran up to me. ‘I am a first league hockey player,’ he said. ‘I know that you are only a teacher – perhaps I can give your boys a few tips?’

Obviously nothing has changed with regard to peoples’ opinion of my coaching over the years.

This u16D team were not nearly as bad as that u14A side. We were 2 – 1 down at half time and very much in the game. The Rondebosch second goal was a corker and smacked in with real venom. Darren Niland in goal instinctively took evasive action and one of our reserves on the side suggested that Darren should also have pads on the back of his legs. Easy to talk like that when you are not in goal yourself…

I once played in goals in a house match at school – canvass cricket pads, with the tops flopping down over the knees, and one cricket batting glove (remember those spiked gloves?) were my sole protection. Never again – nearly drove me back to the wing in rugby. My admiration for goalkeepers is immense.

Aaron Mylie clearing the ball from our goalmouth

Our solitary goal in this u16D match was somewhat controversial. There was a goal melee with the keeper lying on the ball with sticks, divots, grass and sand flying everywhere. ‘Short corner!’ I shouted helpfully at the Rondebosch umpire. Maybe I still have some influence somewhere, because he opted to award the goal instead. ‘That didn’t go over the line,’ said a Rondebosch parent who clearly thought that I was putting undue pressure on the schoolboy umpire. I thought that it was astute umpiring.

Good thing that u16D games don’t have TV replays….

Keenan Wagner and Joshua Jack had fine games on their respective wings and sent balls criss-crossing the Rondebosch goal-mouth. After another near miss of flailing Wynberg sticks, I asked Chris Wren-Sergeant, the Rondebosch coach, if we couldn’t claim a ‘half goal’ for every near miss. According to my reckoning, the score would then be 6 half goals + 1 genuine (?) goal to their two genuine goals. The Rondebosch answer was to hammer in a humdinger with a minute to go.

The records will show that Rondebosch won 3 – 1, but those of us who watched know that Wynberg (with the half goals) were really the winner 4 – 3. It was a great morning which was rounded off by a gutsy and passionate display by the first team rugby later. I thoroughly enjoyed our Saturday morning visit to the ‘Bosch!

I was able to re-live my rugby career with my own son a few years back. He was playing for Westerford 3rd XV against Somerset College and came off the field with a smile on his face and panting with exertion. ‘How did you enjoy that?’ I asked him.

‘It was great, Dad,’ he enthused. ‘I nearly did a tackle.’

Isn’t schoolboy sport wonderful?