The international awe with which the late great Jonah Lomu was held may have come as a surprise to many New Zealanders; even Buckingham Palace chipped in with condolences as the world lamented the loss of this rugby colossus.
I had some inkling of his potential popularity back in 1995 while holidaying in Florida. We were on a mini-bus and I recognised the South African accent of a man sitting in the front seat of the vehicle next to the driver. To initiate a conversation I leaned over and said to him “Remind me again, who won the Rugby World Cup?” He swung round and in a friendly manner demanded to know where I came from. When I told him New Zealand he said “Sorry Kiwi, we did.”
To our amazement the bus driver, who was an African-American, said “No, the real winner was rugby.”
Naturally the South African and I wanted to know just how he could make such an utterance, both assuming that no one in America would have been the slightest bit interested in rugby, but he claimed that the contest was well-publicised and widely viewed.
The conversation almost instantly turned to Jonah Lomu and his role in the triumphant All Black win over England which must have been played and replayed on sports shows to a worldwide audience. The impact of the images of that one game would have set Jonah up for life.
It’s an absolute tragedy that his life was such a short one.
Jonah didn’t feature much in the final against South Africa in 1995. The Springboks managed him masterfully that day, herding him into the middle of the field where he could be lowered to the ground by the loose forwards rather then letting him skirt the outer fringes of the field where he might have wreaked havoc.
And always, when someone as instantly recognisable as Lomu dies, there is a great outpouring of acclamation and glorification. Unlike others however Jonah received much justifiable adoration when he was alive, yet he seemed to have kept his feet on the ground and his outward humility was admirable.
Of course he wasn’t perfect. Three marriages before he turned forty seemed excessive, but my disdain for his “boom-boxed” car is perhaps more of a reflection of my lack of tolerance due to ageing than a serious misdemeanour on Jonah’s part.
But as rugby correspondent Paul Lewis wrote “He was known for the ferocity of his running on the field and his gentleness off it, a dichotomy prized by rugby people and perhaps the natural state of a Pacific Islander.”
I couldn’t possibly comment on his prowess as a rugby player; I’m not really qualified to talk about sport.
I gave up cricket when I found facing a fast-bowler was like standing on the runway at Masterton’s Motorplex and when a car is 22 yards away, trying to get out of the way.
I stopped playing rugby because of illness and fatigue; the coach was sick and tired of me.
The last time I participated in any sport was when I went skiing and broke a leg.
Fortunately, it wasn’t one of mine.
I had some inkling of his potential popularity back in 1995 while holidaying in Florida. We were on a mini-bus and I recognised the South African accent of a man sitting in the front seat of the vehicle next to the driver. To initiate a conversation I leaned over and said to him “Remind me again, who won the Rugby World Cup?” He swung round and in a friendly manner demanded to know where I came from. When I told him New Zealand he said “Sorry Kiwi, we did.”
To our amazement the bus driver, who was an African-American, said “No, the real winner was rugby.”
Naturally the South African and I wanted to know just how he could make such an utterance, both assuming that no one in America would have been the slightest bit interested in rugby, but he claimed that the contest was well-publicised and widely viewed.
The conversation almost instantly turned to Jonah Lomu and his role in the triumphant All Black win over England which must have been played and replayed on sports shows to a worldwide audience. The impact of the images of that one game would have set Jonah up for life.
It’s an absolute tragedy that his life was such a short one.
Jonah didn’t feature much in the final against South Africa in 1995. The Springboks managed him masterfully that day, herding him into the middle of the field where he could be lowered to the ground by the loose forwards rather then letting him skirt the outer fringes of the field where he might have wreaked havoc.
And always, when someone as instantly recognisable as Lomu dies, there is a great outpouring of acclamation and glorification. Unlike others however Jonah received much justifiable adoration when he was alive, yet he seemed to have kept his feet on the ground and his outward humility was admirable.
Of course he wasn’t perfect. Three marriages before he turned forty seemed excessive, but my disdain for his “boom-boxed” car is perhaps more of a reflection of my lack of tolerance due to ageing than a serious misdemeanour on Jonah’s part.
But as rugby correspondent Paul Lewis wrote “He was known for the ferocity of his running on the field and his gentleness off it, a dichotomy prized by rugby people and perhaps the natural state of a Pacific Islander.”
I couldn’t possibly comment on his prowess as a rugby player; I’m not really qualified to talk about sport.
I gave up cricket when I found facing a fast-bowler was like standing on the runway at Masterton’s Motorplex and when a car is 22 yards away, trying to get out of the way.
I stopped playing rugby because of illness and fatigue; the coach was sick and tired of me.
The last time I participated in any sport was when I went skiing and broke a leg.
Fortunately, it wasn’t one of mine.
It had been a hectic morning in Palmerston North , getting Tigerlil's bike serviced, then an eye check for new specs. I was looking forward to a good cup of coffee to smooth out the stress levels. On this day we were at Robert Harris on the Square. Because it was lunch time there was a bit of a queue and because I have a phobia about standing in lines, my beautiful Wahine did the honours. The coffee was good, strong and black, I'm not a man for frills. I was watching the world come and go when suddenly you and your good lady walked in and sat down. Now if it wasn't you, it was your doppelganger. I mulled over interrupting your lunch, but you were enjoying your custard square so much I decided it would be gauche behaviour on my part to invade your space, so I let the moment pass. I will have to wait for another opportunity to introduce myself and express to you the pleasure your weekly column in the Wainews has provided me over the years. We are a of similar generation and your perceptive take on life rings many bells for me and provides as many laughs. If it wasn't you and were elsewhere on this day, may I suggest, you missed a magic moment with that custard square.
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Mark wahlberg