Welcome to The Breakdown, the Guardian’s weekly (and free) rugby union newsletter. Here is an excerpt from this week’s issue. To get the full version every Tuesday, just enter your email address below:
It can be difficult to articulate why people love rugby union. It’s not for everyone, which perversely is one of its most compelling features. At its best, however, it offers more ups and downs than any other team sport out there. And for those who grew up in the 1970s, the game’s most impressive, colorful wizard will always be Phil Bennett.
He was the Pied Piper who single-handedly converted some of us to the Oval Ball. As his former team-mate Gerald Davies put it on the radio after the sad news of Bennett’s death at the age of 73: “He brought all our rugby football dreams to life.” The pocket-sized illusionist, his ability, the imagination to inspire, enriched not only his own nation but the entire sporting world, specialized in the art of the possible.
That’s why all of these clips of Bennett playing rugby are such a valuable part of the game’s heritage and soul. One didn’t have to be Welsh to appreciate him, for his infidelity transcended such narrow considerations. Then there was his mischievous physique. If there was ever a classic example of David – or in this case Dai – dumping Heeren from Goliaths, it was little genius number 10.
Pelé wore the same number, of course, but even the great Brazilian’s highlights aren’t as iconic as the Barbarians’ ‘that try’ against New Zealand in 1973. It happened to be the first televised rugby match I ever watched. Neither of us were expecting much as the Fly-half, in her black-and-white striped jersey and signature scarlet socks, scooted back to her own line to collect a moody bouncing ball. His three subsequent dodges — “Brilliant, oh, that’s brilliant…” — remain the best example of turning defense into offense yet.
Modestly down to the last detail, the big man downplayed it in later years: “Had I played for Wales, I probably would have put the ball in touch somewhere down the halfway line – hopefully.” But instead he remembered how the All-Black did -Flanker Alistair Scown came flying at him during Llanelli’s famous 9-3 win over New Zealand and decided to dodge him again. By the time he instinctively flat-footed a few more black jerseys, the ‘try of the century’ scored by Gareth Edwards was already underway.
Phil Bennett: Wales and Lions rugby union legend – video obituary
So many special snapshots were taken. Not least that other ‘worldie’ try against Scotland at Murrayfield in 1977, which he finished himself, chin on the ball while lying under the post for a thoughtful moment, as if trying to process what had just happened.
The Feliinfoel council boy, whose father worked at the local steel mill while his mother worked at an auto press shop, always remained the most reserved and humble of men. Such a fragile infant in his early years that the local doctor told his father that “he will never be in the physical condition to play rugby”. But crushing people to a pulp was never his game.
One day, when Neath was playing Llanelli, he was supposed to flip the pre-game coin with the imposing opposing captain, Brian Thomas. “What is that rag doll?” said Thomas to the referee. “Send a man to throw up.”
However, this did not prevent him from captaining the British & Irish Lions to New Zealand in 1977. But what outweighed all of his later successes was the way he played. For example, has anyone ever contacted a spiral as tight as Bennett? There was something ballet-like about the way he hopped onto his supporting leg for a moment after making the sweetest contact with his outstretched right foot. At home in the garden we all tried to copy his tiptoe-shuffling goal-scoring style.
Phil Bennett’s movement on the rugby field was balletic. Photo: Eamonn McCabe/The Guardian
Of course he played in a great Welsh team. Of course he would have to do a little more work these days. But the death of ‘Benny’ should also serve as a reminder that rugby, at its most exhilarating, is as much a game of dodge as it is of clash. While every shiny stalemate needs a good, tough pack of beefy forwards to deliver that all-important fast ball, every great team needs an experienced matador to apply the killer touches.
Not that Bennett was entirely averse to plain language speaking when the occasion demanded it. While his infamous speech as Welsh captain to his team off England in 1977 sounds a bit different, it reflects the loyal, passionate Welshman inside him: “Look what those bastards did to Wales. They stole our coal, our water, our steel. They buy our houses and live in them for two weeks every year. what did they give us Absolutely nothing. We were exploited, raped, controlled and punished by the English – and that’s what you’re playing this afternoon.”
No wonder Wales won 14-9 for the second year in a row en route to the Triple Crown. And now he’s stepping into rugby heaven, having already shown us a glimpse of what those Elysian Fields look like.
Sport can be overly romantic, gloss over lackluster realities, and overly focus on ostentatious individualism. Bennett’s great gift to the world was to show that beauty, skill and pragmatism can all be wrapped in the same humble package. That it was possible to buck any trend, that size really doesn’t matter. We are all in his debt, and some of us will be forever.
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