Rugby: Hunter in the game of his life

By Chris Rattue

On Monday this week, seven days out from the Blues' first rugby training of 2000, coach Gordon Hunter lay on a Dunedin Hospital bed receiving the first course of chemotherapy to treat his cancer.

It was, he says, the happiest day he has experienced in many weeks. Hunter, who does not yet want to specify exactly the form of cancer he has, says Monday represented the first step in trying to rid his body of the tumour.

It was only three days since the medical people had told Hunter he could continue with his new assignment as the Blues' coach. Within half an hour of taking the powerful chemicals on Monday, he had a phone in his hand. Three hours later, the laptop and file were by his side.

Hunter was back at work, putting together more details as he approaches his first season in charge of the faded Blues.

"I am absolutely determined that we will not compromise the plan [for the Blues] in any shape or form ... I made that clear to the Blues board at the start," says Hunter during a Weekend Herald interview at his Andersons Bay home in Dunedin.


No point worrying


Hunter, who turned 50 the day after last November's World Cup final in Wales, says he could talk about how frightening it is to have the disease, but he sees no point.

He is a follower of what he calls the 80/20 rule, that 80 per cent of what people worry about is beyond their control so is not worth worrying about.

It would be wrong to suggest that he does not experience fear, or that he believes a cure is certain.

He was, for instance, horrified after it was made public he had cancer to hear of headlines - possibly inspired by an Auckland rugby press release - which suggested he believed he would beat the disease.

He thought those headlines would come across as insensitive to the many other cancer sufferers around the country.

Can he be cured? "I don't want to say that. It is something I have to believe in my mind, but I would never be arrogant enough to say it. I've just got to believe that."


Voice problems


Hunter and his wife Jenni, a schoolteacher, returned from their World Cup adventures in early December. The World Cup was a massive disappointment, of course, to the former Otago and Highlanders coach, who for four years had been part of John Hart's team.

But that disappointment was softened by a great 50th birthday party at a London bar owned by an old friend. The guests included one of the Hunter's two schoolteacher daughters, Rachael, who has been living in Britain.

Hunter had experienced some trouble with his voice, and after returning to Dunedin went for a checkup.

X-rays revealed some "shadows" and on December 30 medical staff at Dunedin Hospital told him they needed to take and analyse tissue samples.

Hunter received the results a couple of weeks ago.

"That's when they hit me with the old baseball bat."

It was, he says, a period of uncertainty, when "the mind is allowed to drift into negative thoughts and conjure up horrific scenarios."

During these sorts of times, he played golf, went for jogs and got out into the fresh air to try and limit the mind drifts.


No guarantees


Doctors, he says, offer the worst possible scenario at first so the patient can try and prepare for the worst.

But last Thursday they cleared him to take up his duties as the Blues coach.

Hunter says he cannot make promises about the future because the disease and its treatment are full of unknowns.

Can he undertake all the extensive flying involved in the Super 12?

Will the treatment ever take him away from his duties?

Hunter is relying heavily on medical advice which says that he can do the job, but the answers seem as uncertain as cancer itself.

Hunter says he has always believed in delegation and is extremely proud and confident of the team around him, which includes manager John Kirwan, assistant coach Frank Oliver, technical adviser Grant Fox and other medical and fitness people.

In his typically stoic manner, Hunter says: "My employers know that they won't be deceived in any shape or form."

He adds that, as with any business, those employers will have thought about "contingency plans."


Man of iron will

It would be condescending, patronising, to suggest that anyone has been prepared for the news they have cancer.

But apart from the obvious support Hunter has from family and many friends, he has an iron will borne out of events in his life. He is also grateful that his decision to have a checkup in December has revealed the disease fairly early.

"In a way it was a blessing. I'm in good health and have a strong frame of mind and very supportive family and friends," he says.

That strong frame of mind has been well honed.

About 25 years ago, he lost the sight in his left eye caused by a flying chip of metal from a home-workshop accident, which led to an 111/2-hour operation.

A prosthetic eye was made, and although Hunter reckoned the woman who made it did "an amazing job" and "it even moved properly," he eventually decided against using it.

It felt uncomfortable, and constantly reminded him of the accident. When one of his players suggested to him that "we like you just the way you are," Hunter consigned the eye to its case.

In the typical self-deprecating style of Hunter humour, he says "you might worry about looking like Marty Feldman," but with his looks "vanity isn't something we should make a highlight of."

The Hunter resilience has also been shaped by 25 years in the police force, almost all of them as a detective. There is no point in allowing issues you have no control over to fester. That 80/20 rule again.

"It's a skill I've learnt ... particularly from some of the police work I've done," he says.

"If you've never dealt with anxiety and fear ... some people couldn't handle the pressure when it did come on.

"I was involved with cases like multiple murders and dealing with hardened crims.

"I was in a job where you faced violence ... I was often working alone in my general duties as a detective. I usually carried a gun."

Among the tragedies he had to deal with was the shooting of 13 people at Aramoana by a gunman in 1990. A good police friend of his, Sergeant Stewart Guthrie, "had his head blown off."

Hunter was in charge of recovering bodies from the village and at one point was preparing to go in with his crew, believing the gunman was still alive and that they could be under fire.

Just before they headed in, Hunter heard the shots that ended the killer's life.

He was involved in the traumatic work of looking after children whose parents had been shot dead, and of body identification.

"You go into police mode," is how Hunter describes his dealing with the tragedy.

Shortly afterwards, the detective heard the sound of Pacific Island music coming from a shop and decided on his own form of counselling. He and Jenni headed to the Cook Islands for three weeks.

Police work may have toughened Hunter, but it also took its toll on his psyche.

Hunter says constantly dealing with deceit and skullduggery means you end up believing the worst of people, and believing no one. He disengaged from the police early last year.

He had already decided to let rugby, and more specifically his involvement in helping shape the lives of talented young athletes, turn his attitude around over the past two years.

"I was able to change because I was dealing with positive people," he says.

He missed coaching, and won the nod from the New Zealand Rugby Football Union and Blues when they went searching for a replacement for the sacked Jed Rowlands last year.

The rugby task he faces is tough enough on its own. Just ask Rowlands.

The Hunter team-building philosophy is fairly straightforward.

His beliefs include honesty, no matter how much the truth might hurt, great attention to detail and using well-defined lines of communication.

His attention to detail apparently has few limits. Among the research he conducted was a pile of interviews with Auckland icons about the history of the game in the province and what people believed had created the great teams of the 1980s and 1990s.

"They built up a love they had for each other to become a team that wasn't beaten very often, and their feelings for each other still last to this day," says Hunter.

He has already had to deal with the disappointment of losing Caleb Ralph to the Crusaders and Glen Osborne to France, but has a squad certainly capable of returning the Blues to the winners' circle.

Away from the rigours of the professional sporting environment, he will quietly deal with his disease and its treatment.

He will no longer have the view of the Otago coastline to comfort him, and he will be moving away from his elderly parents and his youngest daughter, Andrea.

But while Hunter is an icon of southern rugby, there is a deep respect for him in Auckland.

"There are issues to deal with ... but I'm really looking forward to teaming up with an army of friends I've got in Auckland.

"The doctors had to be sure in their mind and I had to be sure in my mind that because of the treatment, I could still coach this team.

"I've put faith in the experts, and faith in Grant, Frank and the other staff.

"We've got a lovely home here in Dunedin and it's a big call to make the move.

"This is just another test in life."