Will Greenwood
How it feels to have a rugby legend as a dad
When my old man taught me drift defence in a caravan park, he knocked me out
Owen Farrell and Andy Farrell are going to get the full glare of the spotlight today: Owen as England’s driven captain who wants to be the best in world, playing for the world’s best team; and his father, Andy, as the rugby league legend who turned to union and is now masterminding Ireland’s charge at the Grand Slam.
I know, having trained with Andy back in the early 1990s at Wigan, and occasionally running around with Owen in England camps 25 years later, that both will put blood to one side. Neither will blink in sending the other one towards defeat.
Some people question how easy it is for family to park emotions when they face each other. My experience is that they can be kept in check because there is an understanding that comes from closeness, from time spent together, from the knowledge that it is only about the game.
Trust me, I know. My father, a former England captain and coach in the 1980s, never let me win at anything. I hated it at first, whether it was five-a-side football, 400-metre repeats at Preston Grasshoppers, getting me out in the fathers-sons cricket match, or taking me to the cleaners at cards.
But I would not have had it any other way. I would never have had any success without him, and his early training sessions stuck with me. Dad disputes this, but when he taught me the drift defence in a caravan park, he knocked me out. The session relied on you not cutting back but passing down the line. I could not help myself, and when a gap appeared on his inside shoulder, I took it. I woke up a minute later with my father reminding me that cutting inside was not allowed because in a game the cover defence would pick me up. For our training, the cover defence was his forearm.
I learnt, and in 2003, when England won in New Zealand, Ben Cohen and I kept out Justin Marshall, Carlos Spencer, Ma’a Nonu, Tana Umaga, Mils Muliaina and Joe Rokocoko from a midfield scrum with a six-on-two overlap.
My father is the best coach, mentor, critic, enforcer, fitness adviser and No8 I ever had. There is nothing he does not know about my game. He would give me incredibly neat and accurate notes on all my matches, every touch analysed, always hunting for the perfect display. The closest I got was 95 per cent in Bloemfontein with the Lions. Even as my career faded, we never stopped searching for 100 per cent.
We both still look for it today in the England team and it will be no different for the Farrells. Owen will know the debt he owes his father and the way that his attitude to the game has been shaped from so early. Andy will expect no favours.
Today they go head to head – though back in 2008, they almost managed to play for the same side. In 2008 Owen was 17 and Andy was 33, and both were on the bench for Saracens, then coached by Eddie Jones. The idea was for the two to enter the field of play together.
Hollywood could not write what happened next. When the call came, young Owen was on the toilet. Andy went on, broke his thumb and was replaced by Owen. An extraordinary end to their joint, and short-lived, playing career.
I was luckier and managed to get three games with my father – we won them all; twice for Preston Grasshoppers fourth XV, and once for the invitational Anti Assassins.
My favourite memory was playing at Vale of Lune, knee-deep in mud, against a fly-half who smelled young blood. He got his first tackle in early – and very, very late – and ran off laughing. He did not count on my father, who cornered him on the centre spot. As the fly-half cowered on the floor, my old man stuck two fingers up his nostrils, dragged him up, bellowed “stand up and take your punishment” and lamped him.
My dad is proud to say we hold the father and son England try-scoring record with 32 (he has one) but the Farrells have their own records to write tomorrow.
Owen is the player who embodies this England generation’s spirit. There is always a risk of the father overshadowing the son. I was always known as “son of Dick”, and early on there were questions about my selection, as if it was just pandering to the old guard. As a player you have to believe in yourself and know that in the end your talent will speak for itself. This is where Owen has shown both his determination and his mental strength.
My father will tell you that his proudest moment of my early career was when he read a newspaper article mentioning “Dick Greenwood, father of Will”. The view had shifted, and he was in the back seat.
That is the situation I am hoping to see this weekend. When the final whistle is sounded, I want Andy to look over at his son with immense pride for a job well done, for having grabbed the spotlight and for having secured a hard-fought victory over his old man.