‘Growing up Kiwi meant knowing that Colin Meads was the man’
The death of our greatest All Black marks the end of an era for the Kiwi architype.
SUCH is the hallowed place of rugby in New Zealand, you can measure your lifetime by the playing careers of great All Blacks.
My primary school years I associate with Bryan Williams who unleashed his magic on the wing during the 1970s. The 1980s began with the great Mark Shaw who finished his career just as Michael Jones arrived to change the way loose forwards play.
The awesomely fun 90s were dominated by Sean Fitzpatrick, Zinzan Brooke, Joe Stanley, Jeff Wilson, and of course Jonah Lomu. This millennium kicked into gear with the careers of Dan Carter and Richie McCaw, while older rugby fans would still speak of players such as George Nepia, Bob Scott, Don Clarke, Sir Wilson Whineray, Sir Brian Lochore and Ian Kirkpatrick.
I wasn’t of the generation that got to watch any of the older legends so their greatness was conveyed through the fond way their playing days were remembered.
But with Sir Colin Meads, who played his last game when I was two years old and still in Samoa, it didn’t matter.
Such was the high regard in which he was held, that his greatness was just one of the things that came with growing up in New Zealand. Along with the accent and a tendency to introspection, growing up Kiwi meant knowing Colin Meads was the man. I learned his nickname was Pinetree before I even knew what a pine tree looked like.
My first sight of him was in TV commercials. I would gaze at them fondly and regret we lived in suburban West Auckland and not on a farm, where we could try out the fencing he was endorsing.
In 2000 I was a journalist for New Zealand Rugby World magazine when it ran a survey on the greatest All Blacks of the 20th century. Even though in those 100 years, the All Blacks featured some of the finest rugby players to grace the planet – including most of the names I listed earlier – Meads was named number one.
It seemed like he, more than most, epitomised the legend of All Blacks as unsmiling giants, who would do anything to win.
Consequently, when I met the legend himself a few years later, I have never been so nervous to meet someone in my life.
My mate Nathan Rarere and I were hosting pre-test rugby coverage for TV3 and Meads was our special guest.
He was polite, genial, loved yarning and was as down to earth as the grass on his King Country farm. He was the same off-camera as on, and had a handle of beer in his hand the entire time.
New Zealand battles to be multi-cultural, sophisticated and modern – famous for more than just rugby. But in the early years when there was only two TV channels and all radio was on AM, it was champions like Meads who – along with Sir Edmund Hillary – helped set the template for the Kiwi character: humble, hardworking types who liked to win, but not go on about it.
I’ve read that certain events are like ‘‘invisible membranes in time’’. They mark the end of one era and the beginning of another.
Sir Colin Meads’ passing feels like more than the passing of an All Blacks legend. When he is laid to rest tomorrow in his beloved Te Kuiti, it will feel like the end of an altogether different era of life in New Zealand.