The Roar
The Roar

Advertisement

The best way to remember Jerry Collins

5th June, 2015
Advertisement
Jerry Collins was killed along with his wife when a bus crashed into their car in southern France. (AFP PHOTO / FILES / GIANLUIGI GUERCIA)
Expert
5th June, 2015
65
13140 Reads

The news hit harder than Jerry himself. One could scarcely believe that a man so strong, so vital and so immovable had been spirited off the face of the Earth in an instant. We didn’t even get the chance to tell him how much he mattered.

The Maori legend speaks of Maui, the great fisherman who stood in his South Island canoe and hauled up the enormous North Island fish from the depths of the sea.

Jerry Collins might have been Maui: rugged, tough, unyielding, capable of hauling up a continent from the ocean floor.

But the defining story of Jerry Collins’ career is not the withering hit on Colin Charvis, the rattling car-crash on Thinus Delport, or the rhino-like run which scattered French tacklers like nine-pins.

It’s his nondescript little stint with Barnstaple in Devon, England, just weeks after the Rugby World Cup in 2007. There’s a lovely online news story about it – no match footage, just Collins warming up with the plumbers and the labourers.

The thing that hits you about the footage of Collins in Barnstaple RUFC second XV kit is that if you didn’t know who Collins was, you’d have no idea that he was a current All Black.

If someone pointed it out to you, you’d never believe that just two weeks before, Collins was playing in a World Cup for the greatest rugby team in the world, and that a few weeks later, he’d be turning out for the Barbarians against South Africa.

Why? Well, he wasn’t particularly huge, or enormously buffed. He wasn’t giving orders, or talking much at all. He wasn’t pumped up, skipping around like the big pro. He was just trucking along with the odd shy grin on his face, going through the oldest of old-school warmups – the same sort of old-faithful toe-touches-and-run-across-pop-passes warmup that you could find at just about any amateur club in the world around 11:30am on a Saturday.

Advertisement

The fact that Collins was warming up for Barnstaple at all was a miracle. He’d been spotted by Kevin Squire, then Barnstaple RUFC Director of Rugby, in a cafe in Devon while on holiday. Squire, who admitted that he’d just been “looking for a selfie” with Collins, struck up a conversation with the great man, and eventually invited him down to Barnstaple for a visit.

Two or three days later, what do you know? Up rocks Jerry Collins and hangs out at the club. Runs a bit of a clinic for the juniors. Has some drinks at the bar. Strikes up a friendship with the Kiwis playing for the club. And ends up asking Squires if he can play a game.

Of course, Squires knows that Collins can’t play for their first grade, he’s not even registered in the UK. But maybe he could play for the seconds or thirds? No worries, says Jerry. That’d be sweet.

And so the Barnstaple second XV run out that Saturday with pound-for-pound the hardest hitting 6 in the history of world rugby, against the weekend warriors from Newton Abbot rugby club, who were no doubt experiencing a little bit of looseness around the bladder at kickoff.

They needn’t have worried. Collins didn’t go full bore, maybe scored a try. Just ran and tackled and rucked and laughed with the rest of the team, enjoying being one of the boys, playing for the joy of the game.

It’s a beautiful story, brought about by the generosity of a humble man. A generous spirit by all reports who, when he is talked about in the wake of his tragic death, is remembered as a man who never forgot his roots.

Quiet chats with fans in hotel foyers. Undercover matches with his mates at Porirua when not on duty with the All Blacks. Coaching clinics with kids. A rare bridge between the professional and amateur rugby worlds – a man who knew what the true spirit of rugby was all about.

Advertisement

Of course, it goes without saying that Jerry Collins will be long remembered by those who saw him play. Who could ever forget the granite shoulder, the surprising footwork, the shock of blonde-tipped hair and the wonderful gap-toothed grin.

But his special kind of humility and appreciation for the rugby grassroots deserves to endure. And what better way to remember him than to build a lasting bridge between the pro and amateur games. All it would take is for the professional unions to make one simple change to their contracting.

Every year, every player in the national team goes into a ballot. Every grassroots club in the country can enter the draw. And on different occasions during the year, each player goes and has a week with their club, lives with a clubman, goes down to junior training, trains with the seniors, and then lines up in a lower grade game on the weekend.

The cost? Nothing, perhaps a few travel expenses. The risk? Minimal, and certainly no more than the risk of a week of pro training.

But what an incredible upside. Imagine unifying the two sides of rugby, the haves and the have-nots, the pros and the laymen, the entertainment and the audience… One week at a time.

Just think of clubs taking bus trips to watch ‘their Wallaby’ in action at Test matches. Wallabies fondly remembering their week with the Gunning Galahs, and waving to their mates from the Cobar Camels in the crowd post-game. A celebration of rugby at its inclusive best.

And all in the memory of a great All Black, and an even greater rugby man.

Advertisement

So take the lead ARU. To help you along, we’ve already got a name for it – Jerry Collins Week.

As for you Jerry, well mate, our stunned silence says it all. We just can’t believe you’re gone. It’s inconceivable.

But we’ll never forget you, and we’ll never forget what you taught us – that the strength of rugby is the strength of the rugby family brought together.

Haere rā Jerry Collins.

close