In 1956, All Black Kevin Skinner had no problems sorting out a stroppy Springbok. Photo/NZ Herald
Dominic George hosts Farming First, 5am-6am weekdays on Radio Sport. Rural radio personality Dominic George vents his views here every Thursday The success of our dairy
industry could harm the nurturing of future All Blacks.
Although dairy farming continues to fill the nation's coffers, it's also possible it may be ruining our national game. Ironic, isn't it? Rugby and agriculture, New Zealand's identity forged to a large degree on both of these endeavours, and yet one could ultimately end up flourishing at the expense of the other. Let me explain.
The world lost a great All Black this week with the passing of front-rower and New Zealand amateur heavyweight boxing champion Kevin Skinner. A grocer by trade before taking up farming in Waiuku, Skinner was famed for coming out of retirement at the behest of the selectors to sort out the uncompromising Springbok props in the 1956 home series which the All Blacks won three tests to one. Rugby historians tell us Skinner was much more than that; a fine exponent of propping the scrum, a skilful athlete and an All Black captain to boot. But it's his hard man persona, rightly or wrongly, that has etched itself on to the collective consciousness of our nation. We have a soft spot for a hard man.
Skinner, was one of a number of genuinely tough New Zealand men that have worn the All Black jersey. The list is long and impressive and when you scratch the surface it becomes apparent many of them came straight off the farm. In fact, the success of the All Blacks in the middle of the last century was explained by the rural origins of the players.
The most famous of them all, Sir Colin Earl Meads, was described as "an ordinary bloke with a farm to work, sheep to shear, land to be cleared, a cow to milk". Rural identity was a key part of New Zealand's origins, and when it became apparent by the early 20th century that most people were moving to the cities, there emerged a concerted effort to laud the deeds of the pioneers, lest the so-called "urban decadence" infiltrate the very fabric of the colony. The All Blacks, along with our fighting soldiers, made sure the rural identity of New Zealand was kept at the forefront of our national image.
There's some merit in it too. I played a lot of rugby as a younger man but I maintain I've never been hit with such unrelenting brutality as befell me and my teammates in a city/country fixture nearly 20 years ago somewhere in Central Otago. I was playing for City and Andrew Hore was playing for Country. He was a menacing player at schoolboy level -- a trait he carried through to professional rugby.
The problem was there were seven other Andrew Hore's in the bloody forward pack just waiting to pummel you at every ruck and maul! After 80 minutes of that punishment, in the heat, combined with playing on a dry paddock with long straw-like grass that dug into your arms and legs like you were being administered acupuncture by Crusher Collins every time you hit the deck, it was the most merciful of aftermatch functions.
You would think with this kind of player would be abundant throughout rural New Zealand, most enjoying some club footy, some making it to the first-class level and a select few to the top of the tree.
But it was very interesting to hear former All Black Jock Ross on the Farming Show a couple of weeks ago, who made a salient point on the future of rugby players from rural New Zealand. Speaking of the halcyon days of Mid Canterbury rugby in the late 70s and early 80s, Ross made the point most young rugby players went to boarding school, came back to the farm and stayed there -- they didn't go to the bigger unions and could play for their local clubs. But, he says, the sheep have largely gone from Mid Canterbury now, replaced by dairy cows. In his view, with twice-a-day milking, this doesn't lend itself to young farmers and farm workers playing rugby or any sport for that matter.
He believes many would benefit socially and physically from playing sport and suggests these young men will look back when they're 40 and wish they'd made better use of their physical prowess, unencumbered by the burdens of age. Add to that the tanker drivers and all the other off-shoots of the dairy behemoth and there simply isn't the time to indulge in any sort of activity.
Shift work has put paid to being able to participate in anything that involves being in a set place at a set time. Slowly, the numbers will fall away, the volunteers will dry up and those little clubs that were for decades the hearts and souls of towns and hamlets around rural New Zealand will cease to exist as we turn into one giant dairy farm for the rest of the world. Lamentable.