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'That Moment In Time'

Have you ever looked back on your life and recalled a key moment when you actually had
a chance to control your own destiny - when opportunity was hurled at you and all you
had to do was make a clear decision.

In sport, those moments occur in microseconds - when you either become a hero or an
also-ran. All told, I reckon I played Rugby for about twenty years and of all the moments
in all the games in all those years, there was one particular moment when I faced destiny
head-on - six feet ten and sixteen stone of it. An All Black man-mountain by the name of
Colin 'Pine Tree' Meads.

It was 1967; an era when there were only a couple of Test matches and the odd State
game to interfere with the essense of a Rugby winter. I was twenty and enjoying club
football with Gordon: a time when the social life of Rugby was far more important than
the game itself - when match payment was a keg under the grandstand after the game -
and a bonus was not being king-hit by the coach after he'd switched to OP Rum.

Anyway. That year, the All Blacks came here on a tour. They were known as The
Invincibles - and they were - undefeated for 18 straight Tests. For most of us average club
first graders; the ones with any intelligence, to play against The Invincibles would not be a
dream come true, but a journey into the torture chambers of Middle Earth. So we just
continued on our merry Rugby way - pre training drinks on Monday and Wednesday. Post
training drinks on Tuesday and Thursday. Pre match drinks at the Trots on Friday. Giant
post match drinkathon on Saturday. Barbecue on Sunday, to catch up on any lies we
might have missed.

Even better than that, there were no club games when the All-Blacks were playing, so the
Wednesday before the State game, I and a couple of mates drove down to Canberra to see
the Kiwis play Country and generally relax - which we did quite well. As a matter of fact,
late that night, I recall lieing on the floor of Norman Tasker's motel room as he chatted
away on the phone. (Norm was the Telegraph's Rugby writer then.) While I was trying to
decide whether I'd throw up on the carpet or make an effort to get to the toilet, I roughly
overheard the following conversation about a late change in the NSW team for
Saturday......"John Brass is out eh? Who's playing inside centre???".......Then raucous
laughter from Norm as he hung up the phone......."You're in the State team son!"

You'd have to say I was a little under-prepared for that game. A six-pack of Barocca on
the drive back to Sydney for training on Thursday night, then before I knew it, it was
Saturday and we were heading for the Sports Ground. I was the only non-international in
the team - and praying that some Lithuanian terrorist would hijack the bus. No such luck.
A huge crowd. The Sports Ground was jam-packed - outdrawing the Rugby League at the
Cricket Ground for the first time in decades. We were about to take on The Invincibles!
What was the point! Where is the logic in taking on an outfit that by definition can't be
beaten.
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In summary, the definition proved absolutely correct. We lost by a record score.......But

now to that moment. That microsecond when destiny says......it's time boy!

The score hadn't yet run away. We were still in the game. On about the half way line,
John Ballesty at five eighth called my favourite move - the one where we stand flat, he
sprints around me at inside centre, Nooky Tindall the halfback passes the ball straight to
him.....and I stay totally uninvolved. Trouble is, Ballesty tripped over and the ball came to
me. Not only that, all the Kiwi cover defence had scrambled after Ballesty - and a gap a
mile wide opened up. Not a soul in front of me. My worst nightmare had come
true......opportunity.

So. Off I sprinted. The crowd rose to its feet. I felt like a young colt gallopping through
the paddock. I could hear the chant. I could taste the beer. I could feel the slaps on the
back, and was already rehearsing my man-of-the-match interview while picturing myself in
the gold jumper of Australia.

Then I saw him - loping across from the back of the All Black scrum - the man who had
just the previous year, almost ripped Ken Catchpole's leg from his torso - the farmer from
Waikato - the man known for wrestling rogue bulls into submission - the most fearsom
lock forward in the world - the invincible of all invicibles - the giant they called 'Pine Tree'
Meads......arms spread from touchline to touchline - with a grin from ear to ear.

That was the moment. That was the split second. I had the skills. I'd practiced them in the
backyard for years. I could have stepped left. I could have stepped right. I could have
ducked under one of his windmilling arms. I could have kicked over his head, regathered
and scored under the posts. On the other hand, I might have been caught around the neck
by his little finger, which was as thick as my wrist.

To my left I could see the blond hair of Phil Smith, bolting down the centre of the field
way inside. Behind him and unknown to Phil, three salivating All Blacks converged, ready
to pounce. It was Phil or me. My death or his. I threw a long, looping pass, his eyes white
with anticipation. Then he disappeared in a swirling cloud of dust. I think he turned to
Rugby League the following year.

I've carried that guilt with me all these years - a coward in the heat of war. I'm sorry Phil!
I'm sorry! My shrink reckon's it's got a lot to do with some of my problems.

Anyway. All I can say is be firm. Be strong. Be decisive. Grasp the moment!
........Unless you don't think you should.

WARWICK MOSS