The involvement of former All Blacks' coach John Hart with the Warriors has been good for both parties.
Hannah Johnston/Getty Images
Since rugby union went professional, its relationship with rugby league has gone from cold war to peaceful co-existence. The current All Blacks line-up includes two former league stars, and coaches and players in both codes openly express their interest in and enjoyment of the other. The cross-fertilisation is evident in the number of ex-league defence coaches at the Rugby World Cup.
Even so, the sight of former All Blacks coach John Hart in the Warriors coaching box during the NRL grand final prompted mixed feelings. Although Hart’s involvement with the Warriors seems to have been good for both parties, one still has the sense he was driven to league, as opposed to going of his own accord.
Following the All Blacks’ semi-loss to France at the 1999 World Cup, Hart accepted responsibility, resigned and flew straight home to face the music. And discordant music it was: a magazine put his face on the cover with the word “Guilty” underneath; spectators at Addington Raceway threw things at his horse; he received hate mail and death threats.
The reputation he had built up over a 25-year coaching career was systematically trashed. An entire book was devoted to this, quoting anonymous All Blacks. His success with the All Blacks in 1996-97 was put down to inheriting a great team, a sneer that could equally have been directed at Fred Allen and Alex Wyllie, but never was.
It’s worth comparing Hart’s Tri-Nations record with Graham Henry’s: under Hart the All Blacks won three Tri-Nations titles in four years, winning 69% of their games; under Henry there have been five championships in eight years and a 70% winning record.
When Hart went to the Warriors, he could have paraphrased Jim Anderton’s parting shot on leaving Labour over Rogernomics: “I didn’t leave the Labour Party; the Labour Party left me.” What Hart did say was “I was surprised at how isolated I became, and how quickly”.
The whole shameful business brings to mind another of rugby’s forgotten men, France’s Jacques Fouroux. Both were halfbacks in their playing days, though Fouroux captained his country 23 times whereas Hart sat on the Auckland bench more often than he played. Both were assertive, self-confident men to whom leadership – and coaching – came naturally.
Despite being the smallest player in international rugby at 66kg and 1.63m, Fouroux bossed around one of the biggest, meanest forward packs ever assembled. They called him “le Petit Caporal”, after history’s most famous example of short-man syndrome, Napoleon Bonaparte. Fouroux became national coach at 33. When he stepped down after a decade, he was on the French Rugby Federation’s committee and heir apparent to president Albert Ferrasse, who referred to him as “my son”.
But Fouroux was a man in a hurry, something else he and Hart had in common. Having treated French rugby as a personal fiefdom for several decades, Ferrasse had a despot’s suspicion of restless ambition. There was a falling out, after which Fouroux embarked on a doomed attempt to turn French rugby league from a joke into a major sport. He died in 2005, having spent the previous decade flitting from one unglamorous coaching assignment to another.
Hart’s role at the Warriors has clearly been more fulfilling, but one wonders where coach Ivan Cleary’s departure leaves him. Hart had mentored the Australian and the two were apparently close. Before the grand final Hart went public with his dismay at Cleary’s impending departure, revealing he had urged the board to extend his contract. Afterwards, Cleary said he had always had Hart’s support, but the rest of the board and the club’s owners were “happy” to see him go.
I’m far from neutral, having written two books with Hart, but rugby would be well advised to open its arms should he come back on the sporting market. If, as some commentators are suggesting, Auckland is now a league town, he has the skills, drive and personality to re-establish rugby in the City of Sails.