WARREN ALCOCK
have to create an answer. Unlike law, it was a little bit lonely in that respect. You just didn’t have people that you could lean on for advice.” There were several lawyers, such as David Howman ( later the directorgeneral of the World Anti- Doping Agency) and David Jones ( chairman of the Takeovers Panel) but they largely left the industry early to focus on other roles. “Now I’ve been doing this 21 years, we’ve actually got an industry now . . . to the point I have so many people contacting me wanting to get into it, wanting to know what subjects to take, how to get there. I have friends whose kids want to do what I do and theoretically they can now.” Opportunities are greater for those with a legal background. Apart from that, “you’ve just got to want to do it and have a few contacts”. Initially, the business involved Alcock and friend Bart Campbell, now owner and chief executive of the Melbourne Storm, who introduced him to Lou Thompson. “It was just the three of us. My focus has been on player management but, as we have developed, we have had to be innovative to create new areas of business to exist alongside player management which, to be fair, has been mostly Lou’s role.
“I think if I’ve done anything well, it has been picking my business partners. The same applies to coowning the Salt bar and restaurant at St Clair with Mark and Kirstin Scully, and Alex Aerakis,” he says.
The main New Zealand office of his firm CSM is in Parnell where there are about 19 staff, although numbers will grow for the upcoming Lions series.
The firm employs about 800 people in 19 countries and has former Olympic 1500m gold medallist Lord Sebastian Coe as chairman. hile negotiations are part of Alcock’s daily life, it is not just about the money; there is also a certain pastoral care element to the role.
“Some players rely on you more than others. You have broad- ranging conversations with some players around life and life after rugby.
“You’re the everything person. Some players will ring you late at night because [ they] just need someone to talk to. Often we can help, sometimes we can’t.”
Alcock has just one nonsportsperson on his books; he manages Victoria Cross hero Willie Apiata. He initially turned down an approach, saying he was not confident taking on someone outside his field of expertise. But he did agree to meet him.
“We agreed to meet in a cafe in Pokeno and Willie roars up in his hot rod with his big beard and his hair everywhere . . . looking like a cowboy. Once he started talking, I was spellbound by him.
“Walking away from that meeting, I just thought, ‘ How can you say no to him?’ In the end, I said to Willie, ‘ Let’s try it but you have to be honest with me. At any stage if you get frustrated with me, you have to tell me. I’m making it clear I haven’t been involved in the world you’re in’.”
Alcock moved from dealing with the rugby union to talking to government ministers.
“For Willie, the awarding of the Victoria Cross changed his life overnight. He joined the most secretive part of the New Zealand Army, the SAS, only to become the most public face of it.
“The difference is rugby players enter into their field knowing that if they become a good All Black that notoriety comes with that. Willie was awarded the Victoria Cross and the spotlight came with it and suddenly his life was changed.
“I get a phenomenal number of requests for Willie [ more than McCaw] but for the most part my role is saying, ‘ Sorry, he’s not available’.