Matt Giteau in the Pursuit of Happiness

I was not a Matt Giteau fan. Let me put that out there.

Even in the wake of the Robbie Deans-inspired sulk photo that was unfairly splashed across every paper in the eastern states in 2011, it wasn’t Giteau’s apparent attitude that bothered me.

It was more his increasing propensity to drift across-field, and the loss of the piratical derring-do of the 19-year-old that was taken on a Spring Tour by Eddie Jones way back in 2002.

When Australia lost to Samoa at ANZ Stadium in 2011, just eight weeks out from the Rugby World Cup, the fact that Giteau scored 18 of Australia’s 23 points in a losing side couldn’t paper over the cracks that had appeared in his game.

The Samoa Test match was characterised by brutal tackling and one of the recipients was Mark Gerrard playing on the right wing for Australia, who was whacked into next week by Alesana Tuilagi, courtesy of a crossfield drift and indecisive pass from Giteau, which gave Gerrard to Tuilagi on a plate.

Giteau was looking, and playing, like a shell of a man. His chat was gone, his body language poor and his head was down. The normally cheerful and impish grin was replaced with a permanent scowl, the scowl of a man who hates where he is and what he is doing.

But it wasn’t always this way. In 2010, I spent a few days at the Brumbies watching the players train and observing methods across the organisation. In one of the training rooms at the old Griffith facilities was a leaderboard of sorts.

It listed all sorts of stats not normally seen during match coverage – total metres run, most tackles for the season, players’ player for each match, try assists – all sorts of things. And what stopped me short was that for the vast majority of them, there was one short word in the box next to the stat… “Gits”.

Not only was Giteau proficient, he was popular. He was as present in the popularity stats as he was in the ability ones. Not surprising for a player who made his Wallaby debut in 2002 before he had played Super Rugby, scored a hat-trick in his first Rugby World Cup start in 2003, and who was nominated as IRB Player of the Year in 2004.

It wasn’t for nothing that he was described as ‘one of the most talented players of his generation’.

But after a decade of international rugby, Giteau’s dream run was derailed by Wallaby coach Robbie Deans. A quiet man of few words, used to the more conservative New Zealand rugby player, Deans found it hard to come to terms with Giteau. The feeling was mutual. Most players thrive on loyalty from their coach, but Deans made it clear to Giteau early that his seniority counted for little, that his attitude needed adjusting and that there were plenty of other selection options.

A rattled Giteau responded by veering between two extremes, sometimes playing the anonymous distributor, and others wildly overplaying his hand. Neither was particularly successful. The fans longed for the old Giteau, footloose and fancy free, bouncing on his toes and then scything through a gap with that long, low Mercedes stride.

But it wasn’t to be. Not long after the Samoa debacle, and despite a magnificent fingertip grab to recover a Scott Higginbotham pass to score, he was told he was surplus to requirements for the 2011 World Cup.

Not only that, but he was forced to sit on the sidelines until his Wallaby contract ran out. No-one was particularly to blame for the vagaries of contracts written years before, but a 90-Test Wallaby has rarely been so poorly treated.

And so, off to Toulon, where, instead of understandably and predictably subsiding into pleasant anonyme Francaise, Giteau inexplicably reinvented himself.

As Brendan Gallagher wrote in The Rugby Paper last year, “From that crushing nadir Giteau, still only 31, has now reached a point where he is arguably playing the the best rugby of his life and is more settled than at any stage of his stellar career. Almost without noticing he has already logged up 80 appearances with Toulon, won a Heineken Cup, (and) reached two French Cup finals…”

It wasn’t only the journalists that noticed. The great players already knew what they had in Giteau.

Jonny Wilkinson in 2014: “”He’s exceptional. I don’t quite know how a team ever let him go in Australia to come over here (Europe). Since he’s been here he’s done nothing but bring this team up, become better himself and make us all better players.”

Of course, the root of Giteau’s continued good form was a rewind to that humility and work ethic which saw him top the Brumbies’ stats boards several years earlier. As Giteau himself said at the time, “I had some blame in [the way I left Australian rugby]. The way I portrayed myself was probably a bit childish and lacked a bit of maturity.”

“I hadn’t been in that situation throughout my whole career. Then, when I was out, I reacted quite poorly and am a bit embarrassed about it, now that I have slept on it. I was a bit childish. But it could have been handled a little better [by the ARU].

“I started from what I thought was the bottom here and just tried to improve and get the respect of the players and win things – that really humbled me.”

The beauty of the Giteau resurgence is that it is not just philosophical, but actual. Watching Giteau’s Toulon matches, it is rare that he doesn’t do something excellent at least once per match. It is essentially impossible to watch him play 80 minutes without seeing him slice up a defensive line like his 20-year-old self.

The grizzled realists will predictably and boringly point to any number of factors – Toulon has a huge and accomplished forward pack, European rugby has more space, the defence is nowhere near Test level, and so on.

But to point to the shortcomings of European rugby (vastly overstated by the way), is to ignore the joyful reality, that Matt Giteau is back, baby.

The speed is still there and so is the step, all the more effective for its quirky left-footedness. The lefty goalkicking too, no doubt honed by several seasons of close-quarters coaching from the master Jonny Wilkinson, is as good as anything anyone will field at the World Cup. And the option taking, sleight of hand and long, flat passing is better than ever.

But it’s not the running or passing or kicking that signals problems for international opposition this year. It’s the smile. Giteau is at his most dangerous when he is confident, relaxed and enjoying his rugby. At Toulon, it is no accident that the dangerous Giteau laughs often, and is equally often surrounded by his appreciative teammates.

Paradoxically, Giteau is no longer seeking the limelight of popularity, but at Toulon it finds him because he is playing wonderful rugby, and simply revelling in it. A humble champion is mostly irresistible for fans and teammates alike.

Can Giteau win a World Cup for Australia? It’s the wrong question really, and in any case the answer is squarely in the hands of the forwards and the rigidity of their scrum. But if they manage to hold up an end and provide their backs with ball on the front foot, then Australians of all stripes can be glad that the ball will at some stage find its way into the hands of MJ Giteau.

Calm, mature, humble, professional, ridiculously talented and playing happy rugby. Regardless of what eventuates from here, Giteau is a formidable addition to any international midfield.

And so, I’m a Matt Giteau fan. Let me put that out there.