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The ‘rhino in ballet shoes’ was truly in a class of his own

SINGAPORE — Perhaps subconsciously they all knew. With several games each to go at the recent Rugby World Cup, wingers Bryan Habana, Julian Savea and Drew Mitchell all had the chance to eclipse Jonah Lomu’s record of tries scored at the quadrennial tournament, but somehow, all of them stopped short — as if to keep his memory intact while he was still around.

Former New Zealand rugby player Jonah Lomu plays with children at Rugbbyklubben Speed in Copenhagen, Denmark. Photo: AP

Former New Zealand rugby player Jonah Lomu plays with children at Rugbbyklubben Speed in Copenhagen, Denmark. Photo: AP

SINGAPORE — Perhaps subconsciously they all knew. With several games each to go at the recent Rugby World Cup, wingers Bryan Habana, Julian Savea and Drew Mitchell all had the chance to eclipse Jonah Lomu’s record of tries scored at the quadrennial tournament, but somehow, all of them stopped short — as if to keep his memory intact while he was still around.

And rightly so. In my book, none of them could hold a candle to Lomu, a devastating force of nature on the wing when rugby was transforming itself from an amateur to a professional sport.

Habana ended up on the same ­total, 15, as Lomu, but in more tournaments (three compared to Lomu’s two); Mitchell has fallen short (12 RWC tries) while Savea — the man most often compared to Lomu — will have more chances to do so, ­after scoring eight at the recent RWC, and may also do what Lomu never did — score against South ­Africa.

A recent documentary on ­local cable TV shows Lomu returning to South Africa to meet some of the Springboks who prevented him from crowning a glorious 1995 World Cup, by beating the All Blacks 15-12 in the final (a game turned into the film ­Invictus). It is one of the saddest I have watched.

It showed the current state of Lomu, who had to undergo dialysis treatment every few days, as well as the men who somehow stopped him at his prime but who said they would also always be grateful for having their name indelibly linked to his for having done so. One of them, Springbok scrumhalf Joost van der Westhuizen, is himself wheelchair-bound with ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), and their hug and parting made for poignant viewing.

That World Cup was the tournament that announced Lomu to the world, where the legend was created. Less heralded was his first overseas competition — at the Singapore Cricket Club 7s in 1993. The captain of Kaitake, NZ Sevens legend Eric Rush, introduced his young winger to me as the next great thing in the game. The truth is, Lomu wasn’t outstanding at that tournament, where his youthful naivety was shown up. There was no hint of what was to come.

It was a theme repeated the following year, when he was first selected for the All Blacks for a Test series against France.

Lomu was promising in attack, but not so good in defence or when forced to turn around quickly. The result was a famous French win, and doubts were placed in coach Laurie Mains’ mind about whether the youngster was good enough for the 1995 RWC in South Africa.

For one thing, Mains considered Lomu a poor trainer — though that was probably because of the kidney problems he did not yet know he had.

But Lomu did work hard and made the World Cup squad, in which he was not just the youngest and the fastest — reportedly a sub-11s 100m runner — but also the heaviest, at almost 120kg. Consequently, he was also usually among the stragglers in the 3km time trial.

That RWC should have always been remembered as the Lomu World Cup. But there were larger forces at play — Nelson Mandela and post-apartheid reconciliation among them — and he was big enough to acknowledge recently that perhaps the greater good was served by the Springboks winning.

Lomu was also by then a main ­attraction in rugby sevens tournaments in the 1990s, when the game was at its best, rather than the second-rate entertainment it has become now that the top players don’t play it regularly. Sevens was a form of the game he truly enjoyed, as it gave him free rein to run free, and he used it to sharpen his fitness and skills. It was through sevens that he finally won a World Cup winner’s medal, in 2001 in ­Argentina, to add to the gold medal at the first ever rugby sevens at the 1998 Commonwealth Games in Kuala Lumpur, where he was outstanding, especially against then sevens kings Fiji.

Lomu recently wondered how good he could have been had he been well over his career. That is something we will all wonder.

At his finest, he was a combination of bulldozer and sports car, or, as someone best described him, a rhino in ballet shoes. He could run through opponents with his sheer power, but he also had a swerve and speed that even the fastest wingers could not cope with. Sadly, one doctor described his career as “like a Lamborghini stuck in second gear”.

Was he the best player rugby has ever seen? Certainly not. There were many things Lomu could not do well: he could not kick, he was not a creator and he was not a great tackler (though few could get past him).

But with ball in hand, and with his power and speed, he was one of the most thrilling and effective players there has ever been. The excitement in the crowd each time he got the ball was palpable and that’s no cliche.

Most of all, Lomu was the embodiment of what non-rugby watchers imagine all rugby players usually do — that is, use their size and strength to run through, around and past others to score try after try.

The reality is that only one man has ever been that kind of player — Jonah Lomu was in a class of his own.

 

My memories of Lomu

• After the 1999 RWC shock semi-final defeat to France, and despite his obvious disappointment, Lomu was one of the handful of All Blacks to wait on the field to clap off their French opponents, who were completing a long lap of honour. The rest of his teammates had long left the field for their changing rooms.

• Tried to set a world record for loudest car stereo in the world in 2000. In Auckland, you could hear him coming long before you saw him, thanks to his NZ$100,000 three and a half-tonne stereo that could hit 160 decibels – almost loud enough to shatter glass.

 

The writer, TODAY’s executive chief sub-editor, is a former Singapore international who also played for the Singapore Cricket Club, Wanderers and St Andrew’s Old Boys’ Association at club level

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