The Bach­e­lor Nick Cum­mins is known as a lar­rikin, so is he se­ri­ous about find­ing The One, asks HOLLY BYRNES

Sunday Tasmanian - Tassie Living - - TASSIE LIVING -

Is lar­rikin Bach­e­lor Nick cum­mins re­ally look­ing for The One.

WHEN for­mer rugby in­ter­na­tional Nick Cum­mins was named The Bach­e­lor, cyn­i­cal types ques­tioned whether the sport­ing char­ac­ter would take his search for love se­ri­ously.

Asked about the crit­i­cism and the 30-year-old re­sponds in the style of his al­ter ego, the Honey Badger.

For those not fa­mil­iar with the pedi­gree of the nick­name, it emerged around the same time as an At­ten­bor­ough­esque an­i­mal video, which went vi­ral back in 2011.

Voiced by a sassy US co­me­dian called Ran­dall, he gave the crit­ter plenty of at­ti­tude and a ‘don’t give a s---’ catch­phrase to be used when fac­ing any of life’s chal­lenges.

Like, say, be­ing at­tacked for sign­ing up for a dat­ing show as a way to build your pro­fes­sional brand, in­stead of gen­uinely want­ing to find a real mate.

The Honey Badger sniffs: “I don’t see how (sic) I should be of­fended,” he drawls. “Opin­ions are like bum holes. Ev­ery­body’s got one and for me per­son­ally, I’m happy I did it [The Bach­e­lor].”

Be­sides, Cum­mins boasts, the ap­proach by Ten to fol­low for­mer pop singer So­phie Monk as the for­mat’s next celebrity sin­gle­ton was not the first time he’d been of­fered the chance to find love on re­al­ity TV.

“When the op­por­tu­nity first came along I said, ‘No, I’m not ready’,” he says.

Get­ting over his last, six-year re­la­tion­ship with glam­orous Nor­we­gian artist Mar­tine Strom Thomassen – which ended 18 months ago – was rea­son enough for his stalling.

Af­ter time went by and

pro­duc­ers asked again, he ex­plains: “I had a bit of a think about it and thought, ‘You know what? I think this has come about right now for a rea­son. There’s some stuff here I’ve got to learn and ex­pe­ri­ence’.

“You sort of think, ‘Well, [dat­ing] on TV is a pretty big thing, with all the cam­eras … if you’re al­ready un­sure if you’re over things, or over past re­la­tion­ships’,” he ram­bles.

“As time goes on, your mind has time to process it and you think, ‘Yeah, you know what, I’m over it. I’m healed … let’s go’.”

He warned his for­mer livein girl­friend about his Bach­e­lor com­mit­ment, but adds: “She’s awe­some and we’re good friends [but] I don’t want to drag her into any­thing she doesn’t need to be in­volved in.”

Par­tic­u­larly ap­peal­ing about the TV ex­per­i­ment, he says, was the chance to find “that spe­cial some­one in an en­vi­ron­ment where they don’t know about all this [pro­file].”

“They [con­tes­tants] don’t have ac­cess to the net,” he says. “They don’t have any pre-con­ceived ideas about who I am. They just see me and take me for me, right when I’m stand­ing there in front of them, hav­ing a yarn to them.”

Be­yond rugby cir­cles, Queens­land-raised Cum­mins had won broader ac­claim back in 2014 when he traded in his Wal­la­bies jer­sey for a lu­cra­tive play­ing deal in Ja­pan to se­cure the fi­nan­cial fu­ture of his then-ail­ing sin­gle fa­ther Mark and seven sib­lings.

He would leave the lo­cal code a cult fig­ure, earn­ing no­to­ri­ety for his post-match in­ter­views which he coloured with Paul Ho­gan-style slang.

It would lead to other en­dorse­ments, most no­tably for a men’s un­der­wear brand which saw him tool­ing about in TV com­mer­cials, wear­ing only a sweat­band and his jocks.

A se­ries of books, writ­ten as the Honey Badger, were also telling of the cock­i­ness he as­sumes as the fear­less lothario – chasing laughs and women.

Still, Cum­mins hints the women who did recog­nise him on The Bach­e­lor ap­par­ently got short shrift. “A cou­ple knew a fair bit but I sup­pose that didn’t re­ally do it for me, eh?” he says.

“If some­one knows all this stuff, I al­most turned away from it a lit­tle bit. But if it’s a fresh start, then I’m into it.”

The right woman will also have to share him with the wilder­ness, his other great pas­sion – the ba­sis for his Na­tional Geo­graphic se­ries

Mean­while In Aus­tralia; and a nec­es­sary part of main­tain­ing his zen. Af­ter film­ing wrapped on

The Bach­e­lor, Cum­mins was chop­pered into a ‘se­cret’ spot in the Kim­ber­ley for some precious “alone time”.

“This world’s bloody crazy and caught up in the wrong stuff,” he preaches.

“Ev­ery­one’s so stressed out and I need to get into na­ture, get away from peo­ple. Re­set, recharge the bat­ter­ies and then come back in and spin a few yarns and boost the morale.”

For any lady in his life, his sales pitch as a po­ten­tial part­ner is part Oprah, part rugby coach.

“I’m hon­est, ad­ven­tur­ous and I’m big on progress … with re­gards to de­vel­op­ment men­tally, phys­i­cally, spir­i­tu­ally in a re­la­tion­ship sense,” he states, in all se­ri­ous­ness. “Grow­ing as a be­ing and a team.”

Game on, ladies.



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