Jason Leonard - Jason Leonard - The Autobiography

Paul Rendall (known as ‘The Judge’) and Mickey Skinner (‘The Munch’) were my two guiding lights when I first started. Under Judge’s expert tutelage, I honed my drinking skills to a fine art, and I really was amongst the very best in the team. As you will read, Judge is one of the first people to make my all-time drinking XV. I hope he is flattered by this great honour – he should be very proud of himself. Under Mickey The Munch I learnt much about knocking over Frenchmen and putting in hard-hitting tackles, but I also remember him fondly as an expert at getting out of training runs.

In my time as a player, I think I’ve seen rugby union change more than it did in the previous hundred years, or will in the next hundred. But some things remain the same. Camaraderie, team spirit and thrill still exist in the sport at all levels. Nowadays we are paid to play, and this influences much about our preparation off the field,; but on the pitch the game is the same as the one I started playing as a boisterous Barking schoolboy. The fundamentals of the game remain intact, the people remain as they always were and the joy and pain that it can cause remain as acute as ever.

There have been low times, of course. I had an operation in 1992 which could have taken me out of the game forever. A surgeon had to cut a chunk of bone from my hip and insert it into my spine by going through the front of my neck. For that surgeon’s skills, I am eternally grateful. I had recovered by the time England next played and I ran out in white without missing a game.

There have been fun times, too – always. For all my achievements in the sport, I know that even now one daft comment and the team will take the piss out of me as readily as they did when I was a fresh-faced youngster, eager to impress. Martin Bayfield has a lovely Jason Leonard joke which is one of my favourites. It goes: why does Jason Leonard have a see-through lunch box? Answer: so he knows whether he’s going to work, or coming home. He also insists that line-outs would be a lot more efficient if I didn’t stand there looking at all the girls in the crowd! I couldn’t possibly comment on that, of course.

There have been frustrations along the way, too, like losing three Grand Slams in a row in the final games in 1999, 2000 and 2001, and the ultimate frustration – losing the World Cup final to Australia in 1991. But I’ve had my share of great triumphs too, such as the back-to-back Grand Slams in 1991 and 1992 and the tremendous Lions tour of 1997. When Jerry Guscott kicked that dropped goal I thought every prayer had been answered. He makes the drinking team, too. But even if he was teetotal I think I’d take him – just to thank him for that wonderful kick!

All the times – good and bad – have provided me with fantastic memories, and I do not regret a single second of my time as a rugby player.

I have also managed to combine having a family with international rugby, something which has been a great joy to me. Harry, Jack and Francesca, are a fantastic antidote to the pressures of rugby. When things are going well on the pitch, it’s always amusing to return to the boys who happily ignore every demand I make, kick me out of the way and generally disrespect me. It’s probably very healthy and it’s certainly great fun. Sandra, my partner, has sacrificed a great deal to enable me to keep the caps mounting up. She has played a significant part in my career and I’m grateful to her – luckily she understands what it means to me to play this game. She’s aware of the value I place on the friendships I’ve made and the happiness I derive from this tough, confrontational sport that absorbs us all so much.

In the last ten minutes of an international match, when your lungs are bursting, your legs are aching and you think you’re not going to make it through the game, you tap into a part of yourself that you’re never sure you have! You challenge yourself and force yourself to perform – for the team. People say that I have given the sport a lot, but I don’t believe I’ve given half as much as it has given me. It’s taken me round the world, introduced me to some fabulous people and created a lifestyle for me that I could never have enjoyed without it – not bad for a barrel-shaped Barking boy who only wanted to play rugby to make friends, meet girls and drink beer, is it? I hope you enjoy the book.

When I first appeared, screaming and kicking in the August sunshine on a bright and warm morning in 1968, the midwives at Upney Hospital remarked on what a quiet, sweet placid child I was. I smiled gently and cooed at the passing nurses, giving no indication whatsoever that just a few months later I would be tearing the family home apart, emptying the contents of the fridge onto the floor and smashing eggs around the kitchen.

I was the perfect baby for the first few weeks. The only sign of the size I was destined to become lay in the amount of food I was eating. Mum says that I was only 71b 8oz when I was born, but I very quickly put on weight because there was no food that I wouldn’t try. I was always hungry, always wanting to eat and never fussy about what it was. Some things haven’t changed!

I was the first of three boys for Mum and Dad, and I don’t think either of them had any idea how much work it was going to be, or how noisy family life would become with us all tearing around, wrecking their nice neat home. Suddenly, handles were being yanked off drawers, food was being pulled out of cupboards and tipped onto the floor, and everything moveable was either broken or eaten. Wanton destruction was my favourite game and, in the name of it, I used to smash everything I owned to pieces. In fact, there is just one toy in existence that I didn’t totally wreck – a Tonka truck with one side totally caved in and the other side full of dents and scrapes. It’s in an awful mess and Mum has this embarrassing habit of producing it from time to time as proof of how bad I was. In recent years I have come to dread journalists talking to Mum, in case she shows them the Tonka toy!

Mum and Dad were living in Hornchurch at the time of my birth, but we moved to Chadwell Heath soon afterwards and lived in a small, cosy, terraced house in a big family community, with my Gran and Grandad and my uncles Roy and Darren living in the house next door. Mum produced two brothers for me to pick on relentlessly – Scott who is three years younger than me and my baby brother, Russell. Having so many family members living nearby meant there were lots of big get-togethers, usually over food and drinks – we were all big eaters in the Leonard family, unsurprisingly. I think Mum must have spent most of my childhood either cooking and baking or shopping; meanwhile Dad seems to have spent all his time apologizing. On one occasion, when I was three or four, I’d been playing around with the oven in the kitchen twiddling all the knobs around. Without realizing it, I had turned the gas on. The next thing I knew was that my grandma went into the kitchen to make my tea. When she approached the oven with a match the whole thing exploded into flames and singed her eyebrows off. She says that one of them still hasn’t properly grown back to this day! My other favourite trick was kicking the heads off crocuses. Grandad had a row of prized flowers in his garden and I went up to them one day, lined my foot up and kicked the top off every one of them.

My partner in crime in those early days was my Uncle Darren who, despite being an uncle, was born in the same week as me. The two of us would play together and refuse to involve my younger brothers who seemed incredibly young and childish compared to us. Three or four years doesn’t seem much now, but then it seemed a lifetime.

I had a very happy childhood – idyllic in many ways. I was forever laughing and giggling, tearing about and causing mayhem. Home was a manic place and I was always in trouble over something or other – either because I was doing something wrong or one of my brothers was, although it was usually me! On one occasion, Darren and I disappeared up to my bedroom with an airgun and fired it at some guy who was working on his car in the street outside. It must have given him the fright of his life. Darren and I belted down the stairs and ran out of the house because we knew the guy would come looking for us. Sure enough, Dad says that a man came to the door soon after we’d gone, complaining that he’d been shot in the bottom and he was sure the culprit had been in this house. Dad had to assure the man that he would sort us out when he got hold of us.