Smiling adversity in the face of
He scored a try for Scotland in a World Cup opener but now Matt Duncan is facing his biggest challenge... living every day with the scourge of MS
IT is a greeting heavy with acceptance but laced with hope. ‘Whenever I meet Roger Baird and he asks me how I am doing, I always reply: “Still stuck on the wing, waiting for a pass”,’ says Matt Duncan of his encounters with his fellow Scottish winger of the past.
It is a salutation that gathers increased significance when one listens to Duncan reflect on the past and consider the future.
At 60, he is the player who scored a try in Scotland’s first World Cup match in New Zealand in 1987. He is also a man who has to contend with multiple sclerosis.
‘I am lucky,’ he says repeatedly as the chat ranges from a delayed start in rugby to the lessons of a visit to prison to an ill-fated trip to Bermuda before that World Cup. There are gentle, constant hints to what formed his character. He suffers from an illness but is not defined by it.
He moves more carefully now but the powerful upper body gives a hint of that rampaging Duncan of old who appeared unstoppable in sight of the line. His speed in these crucial yards was matched by his progress on the rugby field.
‘I came to it late. I was about 15 when we finally played it at school,’ he says of his time at Douglas Academy in Milngavie.
Yet within three years, he was playing for West of Scotland and within a decade had made his debut for Scotland. He played for his country 18 times, scoring seven tries.
This ascent to the elite was achieved with commendable alacrity but not without setbacks.
‘I did my ankle very badly and that cost me nearly two years and then in the eighties I did my shoulder,’ he recalls.
‘They took a bit out of my hip and put it into my collarbone,’ he says with an air of soft reminiscence that is the preserve of the truly hardened pro.
Yet Duncan, of course, was an amateur. As Scotland prepare for their first match in this year’s World Cup, it is educational to listen to the memories of that first global tournament when we could have been kings, or at least princes, to the All Blacks.
But, first, Duncan recalls how he almost never made the trip to New Zealand. ‘Ah, the Bermuda Four,’ he chuckles.
Duncan, John Rutherford, Ian Paxton and Iwan Tukalo accepted an invitation to travel to the island for some bounce matches.
‘Basically, we had been told by the SRU when the season ended not to play until the World Cup.
‘But then the Bermuda trip came up. So we had to refuse that? No, we went on the QT. It all went splendidly until John did his knee.’
Rutherford’s injury could not be concealed. ‘He flew back into Edinburgh with Iwan on one side of him and Ian on the other, trying to conceal the fact he was on crutches,’ says Duncan.
‘But it all blew up. We were summoned to appear in front of the SRU and told we were not going to the World Cup.’
The authorities relented, perhaps because Rutherford and Paxton were Lions and Duncan and Tukalo were the starting wingers. The crucial match of the tournament — almost certainly as in the case against Ireland tomorrow — was the first group match.
‘Scotland and France were the strongest sides in the Five Nations at that time,’ says Duncan. ‘But we knew we could beat them.’
It ended 20-20, with Gavin Hastings missing a kick at the end and France scoring a controversial try.
Duncan, though, made his mark. His try should have won the match. He took a short pass from Roy Laidlaw and, with a mixture of guile and strength, contrived to cross the line.
‘It was an amateur game then but that doesn’t mean we did not practise,’ he adds. ‘Roy and I had done this a load of times.
‘It was ball from a breakdown and we knew that if he made a step, the defender would make a counter step to defend.
‘That would give me the half yard. I remember it well. It was not a straight pass and then I am over .( Pierre) Be rbizi er (scrum-half) tried to cover and didn’t commit. He hung back. I changed my line to take him out. I took contact and went over. The thrill of it was not just scoring but knowing something we had practised had worked.’
Duncan, whose head was spouting blood as he went over, has reasons for regret. ‘The French try was controversial. I was having treatment and our players expected the ref to stop the game but (Serge) Blanco took a quick penalty to score,’ explains Duncan.
The draw proved fatal. France went through as top of the group to meet Australia en route to the final. Scotland faced the All Blacks, the ultimate winners.
‘That should have been us,’ says Duncan of a berth in the final. ‘It is not just a romantic notion.
‘We were good enough to get there. No one was beating New Zealand in the knockout phase. Most of the guys went souvenir shopping before the game. Our chance had gone.’
LIFE was successful in the glare of elite sport and in the contentment of family life and a fulfilling job in local government. But there was a shadow. ‘My mother and father split up when I was young. I didn’t know my dad,’ says Duncan. He did know his father had multiple sclerosis.
‘I had a few signs,’ he admits. When? ‘Even when I was playing rugby, I was on the lookout for anything that might suggest MS. It is not hereditary in the strict sense but there is a familial link. I was aware of the possibility. There was that shadow.’
But how early did he suspect he might have the condition? ‘I had a dull ache when I was 19 or 20 after a game. There was also a patch of numbness in my leg. But I rationalised it by saying it could have been anything — and it could have been. But I was hellbent on playing rugby. Frankly, I did not want to do tests. I didn’t want to know.’
Twenty-five years ago, he had brief paralysis in his arm. Tests indicated MS was a possible cause. Finally, the truth became inescapable. He had secondary progressive multiple sclerosis.
‘It is my excuse for being a bad golfer,’ he says. This commendable attempt to make light of the situation is typical of Duncan. He is, however, candid
about how his condition has affected him. ‘I have a slight tremor in my arm. I sometimes need to hold on to furniture while moving about and my handwriting is not so good,’ he continues. He praises his wife, a retired teacher, for her care. ‘I need the odd top button done, sometimes more,’ he says smiling. His buoyant spirit is underpinned by his experiences. ‘The first time I saw people doing weights was when we visited a prison in New Zealand during the World Cup,’ he says. ‘The prisoners had broom handles with five-litre drums filled with water on either end. They were making the best of it but prison is an awful place. I felt so lucky that I could just walk out.’ There is a moment of reflection before he adds: ‘I am on the Children’s Panel. I do secure visits. I always find it hard to get my head around seeing a young person in an institution. This starts as soon as you arrive. You have to hand everything over, mobile, keys etc. ‘But then you are inside and you ask where to hang your jacket. It goes over the chair. You are told there are no ligature points. You realise why. I wonder what perception of the world a young person has because of this.’ His aim is to make the world better for these children though he would never be so pompous to articulate it so. He prefers action. This can be seen in his attitude to life as it is, not how he wants it to be.
‘I have taken up kayaking,’ he says. ’I am damned if I am not going to do anything. I use the kayaks where you can sit on top as they are more stable. I always loved fishing as a kid and used to cast the rod off rocks at Wemyss Bay. I will fish off the kayak, maybe get a bit of cod for breakfast.’
There is that enduring mixture of acceptance and hope. It is not an untested philosophy. It is how he lives his life, whatever is thrown at him. Matt Duncan, still on the wing, still waiting for a pass.
I’ve just taken up kayaking... I’m damned if I’m not going to do anything