David Leggat: Grim week needed chuckles

A silent vow was taken last Monday that certain words would not appear in this space today.

In no special order, words like tackle, dangerous, Umaga, O'Driscoll, shoulder, Tana and Brian.

But there you are. It was the week that was, neither the All Blacks nor Lions camps covering themselves in glory as they reflected on the (wrongly) single most discussed issue of the first test.

When the focus should have been on a slashing All Black performance and a dire Lions effort, it wasn't. The eyes and ears kept being diverted. Let's not go down that road again. Enough's enough.

But wait, it's time for another press conference, yesterday morning with the aforementioned Umaga and his coach, Graham Henry.

And on a Friday, six days after the test, that means there's still time for once more round the block on You Know What. Not so much the incident but the googlies, Henry tossing a barb at the Lions spin surgeon Alastair Campbell.

"I guess that's what he's paid to do," Henry said of a series of different voices singing the same song this week. "But it must be very irritating for people to read the same thing every day."

This show was different because there was some humour.

The week has been dominated by men with grim, hunted demeanours. Quips, bon mots, laughter have been in desperately short supply.

There is none at the Lions top table conferences. And, fair dues, they have been in a distinctly unfunny predicament this week.

But yesterday Umaga and Henry were able to smile.

Umaga answered a question by referring to "the Welsh team ... sorry please don't put that down". To which an English journalist, the joker in the pack, responded: "So, Tana, where do you think the Welsh will pose problems tomorrow?"

A moment or two later, Henry said: "I just hope England ... sorry".

Henry was asked if he was a coach who used the approach of pinning up the ugly headlines on the dressing room wall as motivational tools.

"No, I guess we've grown up. There wouldn't be enough wall space to put all that crap on anyway."

So a mix of humour leavened with some grit, and it drew chuckles, in part because we all needed it.

Press conferences are strange affairs. Invariably they are filled with a concoction of truth, half-truths, innuendo, hints, avoidance of anything tricky and dead-set lies.

Out-and-out honesty is rare. When Richard Loe copped several weeks holiday after decking Blues forwards Richard Fromont and Zinzan Brooke in a fiery five minutes of a Super 12 game several years ago, he fronted up after the verdict.

It's a fair cop, I did it, they deserved it, no complaints, I'm off to the farm, see you in a few weeks, was the gist of an amiable few minutes.

A renowned firebrand American football coach, Mike Ditka, once gave a press conference after an unhappy day out. "Yes! Next question. No! Next Question. Yes! Next Question." And so on.

So they come in all shapes and sizes, even the Clayton's press conference, the one you have when you don't really have one.

In those memorable soccer days of the 1980s, the All Whites arrived in Sydney for a World Cup soccer qualifier.

Assistant coach Kevin Fallon was first through Customs, to be met by a large group of journalists.

The blunt-talking Yorkshireman (is there any other kind?) eyed them all then asked: "Are you lot journalists?"

Yes.

"Are you all Australian?"

A quick check over the shoulder. Yes.

"Well you can all ... off then," before trudging towards the bus.

And finally, because it's too good to leave out, the New York Yankees assembled at a press gathering in the 1950s.

When the wife of New York's mayor approached serial language-mangler Yogi Berra and told him "you look very cool today, Mr Berra," he replied, "Thanks, you don't look so hot yourself."