Keith Lightfoot Blogosphere

Ask, and you will be given what you ask for. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened. For everyone who asks, receives. Anyone who seeks, finds. If only you will knock, the door will be opened Matthew 7:7, 8

Raymond and Mary came to New Zealand via a government assisted immigration package to help colonise this far flung part of the new British Empire. Their two children John, aged four and Keith aged two, accompanied them on this long and sometimes painful voyage.

My mother always told the story of her arrival in this freshly birthed nation and how she wept on the railing of the boat as she saw the shanty towns and tin shacks that lined Wellington harbour as they sailed slowly into what was to become their new life.

For many years New Zealand trailed the world in some aspects of technology and television was only introduced to New Zealand in 1960 and finally arrived at our house in 1968. Because there was no TV to watch during much of our youth, our weekends consisted of spending time as a family, goofing off at home, fixing our old cars when we were older or watching dad constantly fix his car, hanging out with friends, heading off on picnics, kicking a ball on the beach, boiling the thermette on the side of the road and always-always drinking lots of hot tea.

When the weekend came, the idea of leaving our house to watch a live rugby game was unheard of, primarily because no one ever thought of the idea. Despite living and working in New Zealand, my parents were definitely still very English.

Surprisingly my brother John, played rugby quite well in his senior years at High School and even got a favourable mention in the local newspaper, I am not sure how he learnt the rules, maybe he spent time with his friends observing and discussing the game, maybe he just paid more attention at school than me.

When my turn came to play a “compulsory” High School sport, I naturally chose rugby, it seemed the logical selection given the success of my brother and that everybody else I knew was also in the team. Looking back I have come to realise that the first time I ever saw a whole game of rugby was when I was actually in it and it was certainly the first time I had worn shoes with prongs sticking out of the bottom of the sole.

You can imagine how bewildered I was on this paddock full of bristling young men, all running about in different directions, vigorously tackling each other, furiously kicking the ball, and generally leaping about, seemingly with no consistent pattern or intent.

The expression on our coach at my first practice still lingers in my mind after all these years, I sometimes wonder what he said to his wife when he got home after experiencing me! Part of his job was to decide what to do with this enthusiastic, scrawny blond haired, fair skinned nerd who seemed somehow fascinated by the simple act of walking up and down the sideline in his newly borrowed rugby boots.

It was finally agreed that I would play the position of Lock, maybe they thought it was the location where I could cause the least damage, and it certainly could not have been because of my size, speed or strength. We jogged about for a while at practice, then a scrum was called, some people disappeared and formed a line stretching across the paddock, others scrunched down and suddenly I was faced with the back side of seven pairs of shorts, all wriggling and squirming as the boys jostled one another for some advantageous position.

The coach looked at me, waited for a moment, and then said “Well! Get your head in there!”
I looked at the mass of jiggling young bums, looked back at the coach and said “Where?”
“In there!” he said, not quite so softly this time.
“Won’t they mind?” I asked timidly.

Eventually we managed to get my head in amongst all the other heads and the scrum began in earnest. People pushed, people grunted, swore, heaved, slipped, recovered, pushed again and scrambled for the ball with their feet. I just kept my head inside the excitement and watched with amazement. Then just as fast as the scrum was formed, it was gone!

Everybody scattered across the stud tattered grass, some running in groups, some seemingly running alone, people were yelling “Pass the ball”, “Go Bruce!”, “Come on!”, then the whistle sounded again and it was back to the scrum of many bums.

At one point in the game, or it might have been one point in the season, I was standing in the middle of the paddock, or recovering from a mad ten metre dash to absolutely nowhere, when the ball actually floated high in my direction, I glanced about, nobody seemed to be near, I vaguely heard the throb of approaching rugby boots and voices saying something about leaving the ball alone; this was to be my proudest moment!

Steadying myself and keeping my eye on the tumbling ball, I captured it cleanly in my arms like a true professional and simultaneously called at the top of my voice “Mark!” Then I waited with a suppressed smile for the accolades and respect of my team mates. The sound of the whistle blowing meant nothing to me until the referee yelled “Off Side!” very close to my ear, which was swiftly followed by my team captain scowling as he passed and saying ”Just leave the ball alone Lightfoot, don’t touch it!”

Bewildered and hurt I handed over my precious leather ball and went back to running needlessly and aimlessly about the paddock, always making sure I was far enough away from the action to avoid any damage.

Fate interjected during a future game and once again I found myself alone and in direct line with the cascading ball, the sound of thundering shorts were not far away, but it was time to make a swift decision. Using superb balance and poise, and remembering my past lesson, I stepped neatly away from the ball and watched as it bounced and rolled away, finally to be swept up by the heaving mass of hairy legs and overflowing testosterone.

When the whistle finally stopped play, my team captain sauntered over, his muddy face matching his clothing, scowled again and said very loudly “Why the heck didn’t you catch the ball?” Then walked back to the centre of play. The rugby season was one of the longest few months of my life. I felt lost and alone, never depressed, but certainly confused, mainly because I could not figure out how everybody else seemed to know what to do.

Looking back after all these years, I have come to realise that there are two very important lessons in all of this.

All of us are guilty at some point in not asking for more clarification when we know in our hearts that we should and also for not taking enough time to make sure the person we are coaching truly understands what we are saying. To ask for more explanation is seen as a weakness in many of us, so instead we bumble our way through our career, social and family life, only to recognise that things could have been very different “If only we had asked and asked and asked, until we understood!”

My coach and my captain had no possible way of knowing how little I knew, and nobody bothered to find out. They would have assumed that any boy growing up in New Zealand would at least know the fundamentals of rugby. It is worth remembering that there was no television, or computer games that a person could watch to even get a visual overview of the game. There was no blackboard or paper discussion with diagrams and explanations regarding the movement of the players.

When one is embroiled in the game, the only view you get is the people closest to you and the row of bums during each scrum formation. Whenever I watch Braveheart I am reminded of how little perspective the sword wielding warriors actually have of the bloody battle once it commences.

People use the expression “You can’t see the wood for the trees” and it is extremely important to step-back occasionally from your personal and business life and take a moment to really see where you are heading.

To this day I maintain (tongue in cheek) that “I could have been an All Black” if someone had taken the time to mentor and coach me.

Footnote:
I was fortunate enough to speak at a motivational seminar in Brisbane in 1997 and took the opportunity to invite my old school friend and “fellow Lock” to listen to the talk. The “school boy rugby” story was part of my presentation and I could see him laughing with the audience as I unveiled the truth about our time together on the paddock.

As we drank coffee afterwards I said to him “I bet you did not realise how bad at rugby I was until you heard my story tonight?”

He looked at his wife, smiled a wonderful smile and between bursts of laughter he said “Keith you should have heard what we said about you in the changing rooms!”

It is probably just as well I did not!
Authors Note:
This story is included in my book “Thank God it’s Friday” (www.thankgod.co.nz)
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