WHAT GOES ON TOUR…

ANY TRIALIST who turned up in the Worcester Academy and inadvertently left his kitbag on someone’s pre-assigned seat would return to find it thrown across the corridor. He’d be screamed at and told to change near the toilets, writes Dylan Hartleyof his early years as a pro.

Many fell victim to a nasty game we called piano fingers. It preyed on the human desire to be liked, and involved a trialist being ‘befriended’ by one of the lads. He would give them the lowdown on prospective team-mates and slyly share fictitious secrets.

Then, when he was lulled into a false sense of security, the newbie would be advised to ask an established player how his mum’s piano lessons were going.

The pantomime that unfolded terrified the uninitiated. The lad being addressed would yell, “What did you say?” and march forward menacingly. Someone would scream, then hiss, “His mum lost her hands in a car crash.”

Richard Blaze was the star turn; he’d break down in mock tears and flee the room in apparent distress. A few others would stalk the new boy, promising retribution for his supposed callousness.

I know only of one trialist who squared up to those coming towards him. Most kids crumbled; those who ran out, babbling apologies, were done. The ‘Aaah, fooled you’ ritual when the trick was revealed was usually too late.

Human nature is strange, though; survivors of the initiation ceremony couldn’t wait to be involved in the next one.

From Dylan Hartley: The Hurt, publishedbyViking,RRP£20.