I had a chat with our club president the other day and he said: "We want to keep you, at any price." I remember at the time thinking how strange it was that he had developed, almost overnight, a strong French accent but decided not to let it worry me. After all, this was a good day. It was when I woke up shivering under a filthy blanket in my Bath bedsit that I realised it had all been a dream.
I checked the phone for messages offering to make me the world's highest-paid player but either the network was down or nobody had called. When I arrived at the training ground I overheard some of the chaps chatting about something with great vigour and, being the king of club gossip (with David Barnes as my dutiful queen), began to eavesdrop aggressively. Slowly pieces of the jigsaw that forms the link between my unconscious mind and the real world began to fall into place.
Just like the way the last song you hear in the car on the way to work infiltrates your brain without you knowing, it seems the last bit of rugby info I had read on my laptop before bed had been absorbed. Mourad Boudjellal, the president of the Top 14 big spenders Toulon, had declared publicly that he is desperate to keep Jonny Wilkinson, whatever the price.
Gone seem to be the days of cards being held close to chests. This is a very bold statement and one that Wilkinson's agent is likely to have read while doing his very best impression of a Cheshire cat. I must say, I rather like Boudjellal's style; completely honest and completely outrageous in business terms, great to watch. Something that is worth remembering through all this, though, is that, almost invariably, people who achieve the sort of success and wealth Boudjellal has achieved are extremelyintelligent operators. His message is likely to have been well considered.
Wilkinson, since that day seven years ago, has had his fair share of criticism. He endured a crushing run of injuries and has recently been labelled by many critics as uncreative in a position where creativity is paramount. Boudjellal knows this, and he knows what loyalty means to the likes of Wilkinson. What he has offered his player isn't just cash; he has offeredhim absolute support, and this is gold dust to a man under fire.
Knowing Jonny, too, he is not the sort of man who will read this and watch the Euro signs rolling around his eye sockets. I'm sure he will, as any professional would and should, seize the opportunity to keep himself in cappuccinos for the foreseeable future, but he will not take the mickey, of that I am sure. Behind the salary, though, lies value. What value does he add and can he really be worth all that money? Yes, he can.
To play with a fly-half from the very top drawer is to experience a differentsort of rugby. They seem to be born controllers, men who find the pressure of decision-making under such duress a natural act. Professionals train for years without ever developing this instinct. This is not merely the barking of orders; this is the calm, confident driving of a human machine.I remember playing with Tim Horan (a sentence that still makes me shake my head with disbelief), and being blown away with his behaviour on the field.
"You had a run yet, big fella?" he once asked me as we ran across the field, the game going on around us. "You stay right there, mate, I'll give you a nice easy one, get the old stats up." He was so relaxed, so comfortable, that it rubbed off on me immediately. I soon realised he was like this the whole time and that we were a different team when he was playing, not due solely to his supernatural talent (which helped), but to his general demeanour. Wilkinson offers this. Yes, he can kick and tackle and pass, but he has also achieved so much in the game that he commands the attention of those around him while putting them all at ease.
Not to mention that he can boot the ball a mile and very rarely missestouch, which serves to make the front-five forwards deliriously happy at the breather it offers (no wonder Carl Hayman followed him south). The SAS seem to be, from books I have read, trained almost to be human robots. Intelligent and divisive yes, but also trained to follow an order through immediately without question. Run through that wall, boy. Yes, sir. Well this is the feeling you get when somebody like Horan, or Wilkinson, or indeed our own Butch James gives you an instruction. You believe it to be the right order and this gives you the confidence to carry it through without doubt.
So Jonny will get to keep his nice French tan and cash in at the same time. Good on him, he deserves every penny. I doubt we'll ever hear a statement like Boudjellal's again; it's not good business. But he bent the rules for Jonny, because he's worth it.
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