Lynagh never gave in – on and off the field
Michael Lynagh tells Rick Broadbent why he is mystified by much of England’s build-up and decision-making.
In their Twickenham townhouse Louis Lynagh looked at his father after watching the television news about England’s World Cup campaign. Stuart Lancaster, the head coach, had just spoken of inspiring a generation. ‘‘Jeez,’’ the 14-yearold said. ‘‘They put some pressure on themselves don’t they, Dad?’’
Michael, veteran of 72 caps for Australia, including the 1991 World Cup final defeat of England, nodded. He will walk to the stadium on Saturday for the rematch and talk for ITV. He likes much about ‘‘New England’’ but is mystified about reports of things such as Sam Burgess’s off-field influence. ‘‘All this good blokegreat personality stuff, well bloody hell, let’s get [comedian] James Corden in,’’ he says.
‘‘Last week he [Lancaster] made decisions that were talked about for days – [Owen] Farrell, Burgess – and now it seems they are going to change it again. More pressure. Before the tournament it was about changing a generation, but they are not gods; they’re rugby players. Why put all that expectation on them?’’
Lynagh, now 51, knows about pressure. He has a blessed life, with his wife and three sons, but there has been some dark stuff – the loneliness of the goalkicker that he says may have cost him two years of his career and, more traumatically, the stroke in 2012 that left him wondering whether to give up altogether.
‘‘If it wasn’t for the goalkicking – and the psychological pressure that goes hand in hand with it – my career could have been extended,’’ he says in Blindsided, his new book. It is a revealing insight into the ‘‘absolute ordeal’’ of goalkicking.
As for Saturday’s kickers, he thinks that Owen Farrell is the type who craves pressure. ‘‘ He wants to be in that position to win or draw the match,’’ Lynagh says as we rake over the detritus left by the defeat by Wales when England turned down a tough penalty chance and went for the winning try.
‘‘He had kicked 100 per cent that night. Even if he missed it they would get the kick back from the 22 with some time to go. But that was OK. It was the next call at the lineout that was the wrong one.’’
Chris Robshaw’s decision to go for a last-gasp try against Wales has been mocked in recent days but Lynagh knows the thought process. In 1991, Australia trailed Ireland by three points with four minutes left in the World Cup quarter-final at Lansdowne Road. He says that his team-mates had their heads down and were saying, ‘‘We’re gone’’. He disagreed and told them that they would kick off, Ireland would clear to touch and they would win the lineout and run the ball.
When events planned, he had the chance of a dropped goal to tie the match. ‘‘My attitude was if you’re close enough to kick a field goal then you’re close enough to get a try. We had worked that week on a chink in the Irish defensive pattern. We had practised it thousands of times during the week.’’ Lynagh was not meant to be the tryscorer but took his chance. ‘‘His
unfolded
as true single moment of absolute greatness,’’ Bob Dwyer, the Wallabies coach at the time, said. It is, perhaps, harsh to draw an analogy with Robshaw, but on such fleeting fine lines are long careers made and broken. Lynagh said that he had ‘‘stubborn stains on my rugby brain’’ after fluffing a kick to win the Bledisloe Cup in the summer of 1991, so he went to Twickenham the day before the World Cup final against England and realised that the wind blew in one corner and off a stand. Australia won 12-6.
He had never seen the tape of that game until this year when his father was visiting. ‘‘The kids were like, ‘Do we have to?’ After dinner we opened a good bottle of wine and watched. I had a kick and my son said, ‘Do you get this?’ I had no idea. I missed by miles. My son said, ‘That was embarrassing’.’’
His shirt from the final hangs in his office with framed pictures of green and gold, Muhammad Ali and the Old Course at St Andrews. An old Fender Telecaster guitar sits in the corner. It is a man cavecum-time capsule but Lynagh is not one to wallow in the past.
His stroke taught him that. In 2012 his cerebellum was pressing down to within millimetres of his brainstem. He talks of having to decide whether he had the strength and desire to continue living.
‘‘I thought it might be easier to just let go. Then, no, no. The sounds of the machines beeping reminded me of a Canned Heat song. There was a connection to the real world. It happened over time. I did not just sit up and think, ‘I’m going to be a miracle’.’’
Perspective comes easily, which is a good trait for a pundit. He says that Australia are ‘‘infinitely better than they were a year ago’’ but adds the caveat that they were coming from an all-time low. Are England any better? ‘‘We don’t know yet but they have not improved as much as Australia. Potentially, it’s all there – they are well organised, committed, with a good culture. Look at guys like [Anthony] Watson, [Jonny] May and [Mike] Brown – they are bloody good. But this chopping and changing is strange. It’s like every week there is this debate about who is at 10-12-13. That’s not a good position. We have seen bits and pieces but not on a consistent basis.’’
By the time Lynagh has talked the talk and walked home on Saturday, the 2015 England will be revived or reviled. ‘‘Absolute ordeal’’ is about right.
I thought it might be easier to just let go. Then, no, no. Michael Lynagh on his decision to fight the stroke that nearly claimed his life.