JK reveals keys to 1987 World Cup win
It all seems so natural now, the four-year build to a World Cup, the plans, the strategies, the selection conundrums, the rise, the fall, the prospects. Every country buys into that cycle, works their way towards the goal, striving for the summit. So much energy, so much revenue with 80 per cent of the game’s funding derived from the profits from the tournament. It is big business.
As Japan 2019 hoves into view, it is remarkable to think that there were so many sceptics before the first event in 1987. Many in the more hidebound northern hemisphere believed it would be the thin end of the wedge and would herald professionalism.
It did, eight years later. But the demand was there. The latent interest was there. And the game needed it, particularly in New Zealand, which had been riven by controversy across the early years of the decade.
As the 1987 tournament prepared to open at Auckland’s Eden Park, All Blacks wing John Kirwan was aware that the ramifications were enormous.
‘‘Rugby was in trouble, on a real downer,’’ said Kirwan, then a 22-year-old ‘‘Baby Black’’, the sobriquet given to those who had been pushed forward into the test team after the rupture from the non-sanctioned New Zealand Cavaliers tour to apartheid South Africa the year before.
‘‘The 1981 South Africa tour to New Zealand had split the country here at home, with demonstrations and divisions even within families. The game was crying out for some unifying action, a moment, something to rally round. The World Cup was a saviour, especially for and in New Zealand. It is probably the most important World Cup in that regard, for New Zealanders at any rate.’’
Kirwan was set on establishing himself in the All Blacks. That was one of the prime reasons he had not
joined the Cavaliers in South Africa, the other being more straightforward as well as admirable. ‘‘I didn’t agree with apartheid,’’ Kirwan said.
Kirwan hit the ground running. His weaving, darting length-of-thefield try against Italy, one of the best tries ever scored, set the tone.
It looked instinctive as Kirwan took the ball inside his own 22 and set off upfield, past one, two, three and many more Italians. If they looked as static as trees in the wake of the wing, it is because, in Kirwan’s mind, they were.
‘‘I used to work in my dad’s butcher’s shop in Auckland and he told a pal of his, a footballer, Neville Denton, that I needed some work on my running,’’ recalls Kirwan.
‘‘So, Neville picked me up from the shop and took me to One Tree Hill, a volcanic-topped park in the city. He told me to run at 100 per cent through the trees. I stepped the first and hit the second. I can tell you, it hurt. I couldn’t do it, step and maintain pace. So, we went there every night for six weeks until I could do it, get my timing right, work out distance and keep my pace up after the step. That’s exactly how I saw the Italians – as trees in my way.’’
Only 13,000 were at Eden Park that day to witness Kirwan’s stunning score in person. Within hours, the footage had gone around the world. The World Cup had its first star, it had its raison d’etre. Sixteen teams had arrived in New Zealand and Australia in May 1987, most of them unsure of what might eventuate. Now they knew.
‘‘The All Blacks were ready, maybe more ready than most,’’ said Kirwan. ‘‘We may have had jobs but we had specific training programmes, gym sessions all mapped out by a famous coach back then, Jim Blair. He used football drills, all about speed and footwork. It was innovative stuff and took New Zealand all the way through to 1989, on a record run of 23 matches unbeaten.
‘‘It was the first time we’d ever done the haka on home soil. We had to have a special meeting about whether it would be allowed. Then we had to practise it. Buck [Wayne] Shelford had to give me private lessons, told me I was too much of a disco dancer.’’
Ksemifinal,’ he said. ‘In this hand, a ticket to your home. Also here in my right hand is 100 years of All Black history. In my left hand, is the letting down of all those who have worn the shirt. Choose which ones you want’.
‘‘Then he threw all the tickets in the air and walked out. That was our training run. You know, we did go well but there was pressure on us. We were considered unofficial world champions before the tournament, so if we didn’t close out the deal, it would have been a huge blow to our reputations.’’
The final itself was a routine affair with New Zealand far too strong, far too savvy for France. The All Blacks ran out 29-9 winners with tries from the peerless flanker Michael Jones, David Kirk and Kirwan himself, who finished the tournament with six tries.
‘‘We played a good brand of rugby, evolving from what John Hart had been doing with Auckland that season.
‘‘It was far more all-court rugby than used to be the norm and was the basis for our ongoing success. It brought a new style of game to the world.’’
And the world approved. The amateur sport was on its way towards professionalism, but did the All Blacks of 1987 feel different?
‘‘Nah, most of the boys went back to work on the Monday,’’ said Kirwan, who was paving the way for a new generation with commercial endorsements for companies, a change of beat from the family butcher’s.
‘‘Joe Stanley was a concrete truck driver, John Gallagher a cop, Craig Green a roofer, John Drake a banker, Buck was in the navy and Sean Fitzpatrick was a builder. You know, there was more relief than joy in the dressing room that Saturday night, a certain flatness, that classic anticlimax. As in, what now? What do we do next?’’ Work towards the 1991 World Cup was the answer. The 1987 tournament was a game-changer.
‘‘You know, we did go well but there was pressure on us.’’
John Kirwan