Photo: Craig is interviewed by the Japanese media after the historic game against the Springboks.
Veteran rugby journalist CRAIG RAY will be sharing his Rugby World Cup experience with us throughout the tournament. Here’s his first diary entry.
Leaving your family behind for any trip is tough but for a five-year-old who now understands the concept of time, seeing his daddy off for six weeks was too much.
My little guy, who had been so brave as we passed the final minutes before I had to leave for RWC 2015 by looking at airplanes, couldn’t keep up the bravery any longer. He clung to me as I said goodbye and his normally smiley face crumpled as he emitted quiet, heaving sobs, his hot breath and tears wetting my cheeks as we hugged. Those sobs are much worse than screaming.
Eventually my wife pried us apart, and my last view of my son was with his head buried in his mother’s neck, his little shoulders still heaving. That’s the downside of touring.
Landing only 48 hours before the Boks’ opening game in Brighton was cutting it fine and in a massive customs queue I thought I might not make it out of Heathrow before the opening ceremony. Fortunately the giant figures of Toks van der Linde and Kobus Wiese towered in the distance. They had been on my flight, seated together like two naughty schoolboys in those cocoon-like seats in business class.
In the customs line Toks saw me and waved me over. I jumped about 100 places in the queue. No one was going to argue with them, not even crusty security guards.
Staying near Victoria Station made it easy to hop on the train down to Brighton – a mere 55 minutes in splendid comfort.
I probably should’ve read the warning signs when I arrived at the stadium on the Friday for captain’s practice that Japan was taking this seriously. There were over 70 accredited media from Japan, four times as many as from South Africa.
Clearly they knew something was afoot but no one honestly believed in the seemingly impossible. Twenty-four hours later we knew differently.
On the train out of Brighton on Friday, I met two of the Samoan team management on the station platform. They were going through to Twickenham to watch their Pacific Island brothers, even if “we only get there for the second half,” they said. I hope they made it.
They were great company on the train and spoke passionately about their respect for South African rugby and how much they love the Springboks. It seemed genuine. They were also planning to visit Joost van der Westhuizen in Brighton on Saturday morning. The ailing former Bok scrumhalf was in town to be inducted in the World Rugby Hall of Fame and the Samoans wanted to honour him.
“He’s one of the greatest players ever,” my companions told me. I wouldn’t disagree.
Game day in Brighton was one of the greatest rugby days of my life. Japan’s victory was a boost for the tournament and the sport and to be in the thick of it, sitting just a few metres from the pitch behind the Japan bench, was incredible.
Of course trying to bash out 1200 words for the Sunday Times, summing up what had just happened and capturing the significance of the result, within minutes of the final whistle, was difficult. But it was a privilege too, and reminded me that I’m lucky to do what I love.
My week started with the despair and weeping of my son at the airport, which stabbed me in the heart. But it ended with tears of joy from Japanese fans and players that made my heart soar. What a difference a few days makes.
Let's Chat