Jonah
I suppose Jonah Lomu's death is not a shock, considering he'd been desperately ill a few times before. It's striking how much it's clearly hit home, though, even in such a ghastly week as this. Despite my cold republican, rugby-shunning hear, I was moved by this little detail http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/rugby-union/34876711.
He was a guy you never forgot. I first saw him at the Hong Kong Sevens in 1994 - it's quite rare for a Sevens player to cross over to 15-a-side so despite the extraordinary impact he made there, you couldn't be certain.
He almost didn't make the All Black squad for the 1995 World Cup due to fitness concerns but when he got there, he changed rugby. It's simple and true. Everyone's been trotting out the line "first global superstar" this week, but it's exactly right. The modern professional game is created in his extraordinary image.
That game against England is written in my memory. I watched it at school on a Sunday afternoon - I remember so well because we were in the Drama Studio rehearsing my only ever attempt at acting - bluff Northerner Captain Webb in that legendary play 'Hamp'... needless to say, the production has passed into folklore ...
Anyway, we were desperately trying to get the play into some kind of order the week before it was shown, so we were in school on Sunday. We'd done whatever rehearsing and cocking about was required, pizzas were ordered, I vaguely remember (bizarrely) someone found a random tray of profiteroles, and those of us into sport forced the director to stop everything and watch the semi-final.
I remember the inevitability. And actually that I thought England did fine to be within 20 points. And that I was thrilled by what I was seeing, with barely any sense of disappointment that England were losing. That's how amazing Jonah was. He really burst beyond national loyalties.
Because I was playing cricket (4 for 40, 14 runs) and then actually acting in Hamp the next Saturday I didn't see the final. South Africa's win became the bigger feelgood story but I was just baffled and gutted for Lomu.
That was his peak. Fighting his illness all the way, he was still fabulous in the 1999 Cup and it was hardly his fault (he scored two stunning tries) his team collapsed so spectacularly in the semi versus France.
And then, just intermittent rugby appearances, intermittent worrying stories, as well as various great stories about what a lovely man he was (no one had to put on a show on this front after he died). His life became a story of joy against odds and survival (albeit he still looked like he was in great knick).
It's really one where it's taken him dying to realise everything he meant, how much I myself loved him. I think I always felt there was a pretty good comparison between him and Brazilian Ronaldo, but, in actual fact, he's bigger than that in the history of his sport.
He was the Ronaldo and Ali, Viv Richards and Seve of his sport. In the end, other wingers have scored more tries and more prolifically, but still, at his best, he was by far and away the most extraordinary person rugby's ever seen.
He was a guy you never forgot. I first saw him at the Hong Kong Sevens in 1994 - it's quite rare for a Sevens player to cross over to 15-a-side so despite the extraordinary impact he made there, you couldn't be certain.
He almost didn't make the All Black squad for the 1995 World Cup due to fitness concerns but when he got there, he changed rugby. It's simple and true. Everyone's been trotting out the line "first global superstar" this week, but it's exactly right. The modern professional game is created in his extraordinary image.
That game against England is written in my memory. I watched it at school on a Sunday afternoon - I remember so well because we were in the Drama Studio rehearsing my only ever attempt at acting - bluff Northerner Captain Webb in that legendary play 'Hamp'... needless to say, the production has passed into folklore ...
Anyway, we were desperately trying to get the play into some kind of order the week before it was shown, so we were in school on Sunday. We'd done whatever rehearsing and cocking about was required, pizzas were ordered, I vaguely remember (bizarrely) someone found a random tray of profiteroles, and those of us into sport forced the director to stop everything and watch the semi-final.
I remember the inevitability. And actually that I thought England did fine to be within 20 points. And that I was thrilled by what I was seeing, with barely any sense of disappointment that England were losing. That's how amazing Jonah was. He really burst beyond national loyalties.
Because I was playing cricket (4 for 40, 14 runs) and then actually acting in Hamp the next Saturday I didn't see the final. South Africa's win became the bigger feelgood story but I was just baffled and gutted for Lomu.
That was his peak. Fighting his illness all the way, he was still fabulous in the 1999 Cup and it was hardly his fault (he scored two stunning tries) his team collapsed so spectacularly in the semi versus France.
And then, just intermittent rugby appearances, intermittent worrying stories, as well as various great stories about what a lovely man he was (no one had to put on a show on this front after he died). His life became a story of joy against odds and survival (albeit he still looked like he was in great knick).
It's really one where it's taken him dying to realise everything he meant, how much I myself loved him. I think I always felt there was a pretty good comparison between him and Brazilian Ronaldo, but, in actual fact, he's bigger than that in the history of his sport.
He was the Ronaldo and Ali, Viv Richards and Seve of his sport. In the end, other wingers have scored more tries and more prolifically, but still, at his best, he was by far and away the most extraordinary person rugby's ever seen.
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