Economy with words, honest clarity endearingly charming
WHEN I said I had fallen in love, my companion was unperturbed. It is possible he wasn’t listening. His hearing is sometimes conveniently affected by years of riding noisy motorcycles.
I repeated my announcement several times during the Rugby World Cup television coverage.
I wasn’t hankering after some young rugby player with repulsive bulging neck muscles but the chubbycheeked Steve Hansen. He’s 60, so that hardly puts him in toy boy territory.
Those who know me will not be surprised I failed to notice Steve’s charms earlier, even though he’s been on the rugby scene for aeons.
It’s my indifference to rugby now I have no teenagers in the house. I was pretty indifferent to it then, although if ruck came to maul, I might recognise Jeff
Wilson, Jonah Lomu, Sean Fitzpatrick, Taine Randell,
Justin Marshall, Anton Oliver, Tony Brown and Josh Kronfeld (I was envious of his harmonica playing).
I also once declined an orange juice sample proffered in a supermarket by Marc Ellis. The look of surprise on his face at the refusal was worth it, even if it was only because I wasn’t thirsty and I had a serious shopping list to get through.
After years of listening to Keith
Quinn et al, I could pass rugby cliches 101. Make no mistake, I could get full credit for the hard yards, a game of two halves, going upstairs and rugby being the winner on the day. Hold the phone! Good night, nurse! (Oops, has that something to do with Keith flogging funeral insurance plans?) The breakdown is something which happens to my old dungers of cars, and the offside rule remains a mystery despite decades of attempts by eyerolling rugby fans to explain it.
Now, just as I have discovered Steve (it seems disrespectful to call a happily married man Shag), he is leaving the All Black coaching job. It’s the reverse story of my dating life, writ large. As soon as a bloke registered my existence, he would run a mile in the other direction.
Thank goodness I do not indulge in social media or I would already be girding my loins for a feminist backlash or a twitterstorm from the woke who might find my infatuation unacceptable or liken it to the stuff of trashy romantic fiction.
You know the drill. Ingenue falls for strong silent type. Luckily, I am too old, and Steve is only silentish. (Am I the only person with sleepencrusted eyes who detests that woke expression? Do people go around describing themselves as woke or is it only a label someone else can bestow? Who decides, and how do you make the grade? Is it enlightened or really a subtle way of putting down people who might have a different point of view? If you are woke, you can make your halo positively gleam by accusing the sleepy of hate speech.)
In an age where people feel the need to spill their guts about everything from what they ate for breakfast to faux outrage about almost anything, Steve is refreshingly succinct.
The gruff manoffewwords rugby coach is a cliche we have become used to, but Steve took the cliche and either ran with it or took it to the next level. You decide.
He sounds like the ultimate stereotypical bloke’s bloke, but he is, and he isn’t. And somehow, I found him immensely reassuring; that all was briefly well with the world when he fronted up at a media conference. It might only be a game of footy, as he so rightly said, but what he said was usually about more than that. He showed us you can convey much by not saying too much. You can also be funny, generous, even show emotion while you keep things in perspective (as long as journalists aren’t asking ‘‘disrespectful’’questions). It is only a game of footy. In I know this to be true, Steve says having tough honest conversations with yourself is important.
‘‘Every morning when we men have a shave, it’s a great opportunity to have a conversation — because there’s no lying to the person in the mirror. Once we learn that, we become better people.’’
I am not sure how all those blokes who have eschewed the razor will follow this advice, but I hope they do. He also says kindness is the most beautiful thing you can see in the world and that there is not enough of it.
That reminds me of the late great Helen Kelly, whose feisty, caring and clearsighted wisdom I still miss. I have tried to convey all this to my companion, telling him how much we all need these straighttalking public figures who soar above petty politics.
He has listened patiently, no doubt wishing I would copy Steve’s economy with words. Honestly.