Green shakes, cricket bats and sledging – what it is like to play for Eddie Jones
➤ In extracts from his new book, James Haskell recalls England’s coach scaring players, a film montage backfiring, and sinking like the Titanic
When Eddie Jones picked me for England, he instantly recognised how much I loved the “fun” aspect of the game and that I could fulfil an important role in the team. While in previous regimes I felt I could not always be myself, in Eddie’s I knew exactly what my role was, on and off the field.
I had been in changing rooms that were really dry and serious, all about the rugby and nothing else, and there is much more to life than that. So, I would spark conversations and try to make things happen. I was never really part of one clique, I would bounce from group to group, trying to lift the spirits.
It is not like I was a court jester at a medieval banquet, annoying the hell out of everyone. But if there was an opportunity to take the p--- or tell a few stories, I would be in there like a shot. When I had not played well or was not feeling confident about my game, I would be more withdrawn. But when that happened, players would say to me, “Listen, we need you to bring some energy. What’s happening?”
When Eddie first picked me for England, we were ranked something like eighth in the world. So, he walked in to our very first meeting with him and said, “Are you telling me you lot are the eighth most-talented group of players on the planet?” He told us that we could become the best team in the world, but it was going to take sacrifice and hard work to a degree that none of us had experienced. At the end of the meeting, Eddie said to me, “Hask, what’s your grip strength like?” I replied, “Erm, it’s all right, I think. Why do you ask?” And he shot back with, “Because you are f------ hanging on for dear life, mate.”
Everyone started roaring with laughter, and he kept on with that stuff throughout that Six Nations. I would play well and he would say, “Hask, you are doing all right, but you are hanging on by a couple of fingers now.” Or he would slam one of those green protein shakes in front of me, while I was with some other lads, and say, “Hask, your training was s---, mate. You were looking really old. Get some vitamins into you.” But because he said it with a mischievous chuckle, rather than a serious face, like some of my previous coaches, I was able to ride with it. The other lads loved it. If he was coming after me then it was a good day.
We had all been scared when he first turned up, because he had a reputation for being fiery, so nobody dared answer him back. But as time went on, I started to gently take the p--- out of him. He would often leave camp in the evenings to attend speaking engagements or events. I would always check in with him and ask him how he was. He would say, “Good, Hask, good. Been speaking at a dinner last night.” I would laugh and say, “Excellent, just getting paid in suitcases of cash these days, are we?” He would give me a wry smile and walk off. It became our running joke. I would see him leaving in a suit and say to him, “Off to do some deals, Eddie?” He would reply, “Just one suitcase tonight, Hask.” I would send him pictures of people with giant backpacks, suggesting that with the amount of work he was doing he could do with one of these, and he would text me back, “Excellent, mate, get me one, the other suitcase is filling up fast.”
Every now and again Eddie would come to line-out sessions and start disrupting proceedings. Steve Borthwick, the forwards coach, would be trying to be all serious and Eddie would pop up and start taking the p--- out of my jumping, which would in turn have all the lads laughing. Or we would be in a meeting, Steve would be talking, Eddie would be bouncing a ball against the wall and he would then throw the ball at someone a few times to see if they could catch it. He would suddenly say to a player, “Mate, how’s your mum?”, “How’s your missus?” or, “Did you see the game at the weekend?” You could see the player thinking, “S---. Is Steve going to tell me off for talking to Eddie?” Everyone else would be looking at Eddie and thinking, “Mate, Steve’s trying to talk here.” Paul Gustard, the defence coach, would be running through some videos and Eddie would start taking the p--- out of somebody’s haircut – “Mate, what the f--- is that on your head?” – or be wandering around with a cricket
bat, pretending to hit people. I honestly could not love him more as a coach, he always struck the right balance.
With Eddie, I think most of the time it was a test: a test for the players and a test for the coaches. There were a few times that we were supposed to head down to the training centre as a group and meet the coaches early in the morning to do a session. However, they were either really late or did not turn up. Luckily, we just amused ourselves, went through our moves and took control of the time. Thank God we did because we realised that the coaches were watching us on CCTV to see if we did anything and were being self-sufficient. It could so easily have gone the other way, and we could have employed the rule we used to have at school, that if the teacher was late by more than 15 minutes you could get up and walk out. Eddie would have gone mad if we had all sacked off and gone for a coffee.