Instant" Batty book bright and sometimes baffling

Press, 12 November 1977, Page 12

Instant" Batty book bright and sometimes baffling

By

KEVIN McMENAMIN

Grant Batty’s rugby career was pervaded by a sense of urgency. He burst upon the national scene as an All Black trialist in 1970 and he bowed out in equally dramatic fashion this year just two days before he was due to taki the field in the second tesi against the British Lions. Between times, Batty showed himself to be a talented and exciting footballer, the best left wing probably the country has produced since Ron Jarden in the ‘sos — albeit always seemingly one with an itch. The speed with which the Auckland sports writer, Bob Howitt, has produced the Batty biography is in tune with the bustling, business-like character Batty played on the field.

Howitt is not a nian, either, who waits for the grass to grow and he has taken the short-cut of packing the book with direct quotes, taken from taped interviews he had with Batty and his other sources. This does personalise the book, but lessens to some extent its objectiveness.

The book is also chockfull of photographs — almost 150 in fact, of which about 130 feature you know who. Batty is an uncommonly photogenic footballer, but his ever-present profile does become a little tiresome.

The pint-sized Batty is perhaps the archetype of the little man who succeeded in a world of big men. He freely acknowledges that his keenly competitive nature may have its roots in the fact that he is so often looking up to people. Yet both Batty and Howitt strive hard to diminish the firebrand image Batty has as a player. Off the field, according to Howitt, he is “modest, unassuming, considerate and not easily ruffled.” There is even a chapter in which Batty talks with

some authority on the importance of self-discipline. Furthermore, Batty claims that in his 15 tests he only once gave away a penalty, which if true would make him something of a rugby saint —and Batty, if only for his singlemindedness about rugby and his liking for mixing it with the big boys, is not in this category. Part of the trouble with Grant Batty (Rugby Press, Ltd,; 225 pp, $9.85) is that the subject had an unusually brief career for a player worthy of such attention. He had barely six seasons in international rugby and while he packed a lot into these years legends invariably require more time at the top.

“Grant Batty" (not the most imaginative of titles) begins with a very thoughtful foreword by the former All Black coach, J. J. Stewart. It contains some interesting opinions on the national game by a man who has sat both sides of the glory fence. Stewart sees the game as it truly is, circa 1977.

Batty then relates his life from the humble origins of a childhood in the Wairarapa hamlet of Greytown to adult acclaim as an international rugby star. For the most part it is good and entertaining reading, full of the sort of mental agonies and ecstasies that top sportsmen go through. The book is full of nicknames (a glossary is provided to aid the unknowing), but for the sake of the average reader surnames might have been more satisfying. "Clock” (Joe Karam), “Filth” (Frank Oliver), “Twig” (Mark Sayers) and the rest often seem like characters out of “The Magic Roundabout.” As modern fashion dictates, Batty fires a few salvos at administrators,

being especially critical of those he contends are interested only in personal gain. It is a generalisation which will ruffle few feathers. Batty may get more reaction from players he has chosen to speak ill of — Kit Fawcett, in particular. There is much bickering about the expenses paid to the All Blacks and the current All Black manager, Mr Ron Don, is not counted amongst Batty’s favourite people. Mr Don might well be horrified to learn that a letter he wrote to Batty about his expenses in Christchurch this year is printed intact.

There are also a few harsh lines about tactical modes and Batty describes the three-man scrum that the All Blacks packed down against the Lions in the fourth test at Auckland as a disgrace — “a slight on New Zealand manhood.” Two of the most interesting disclosures tie in with the start and finish of Batty’s first-class career. He tells how Ivan Vodanovich, then chief All Black selector, confided to him later that he would have gone to South Africa in 1970 if he had not left the field injured at the trials.

And this year, Batty says he actually retired before the second test team was picked, but the All Black selectors asked him to come to Christchurch to allow them time to look around for a replacement. Strange goingson, indeed.

A chapter entitled, "South Africa politically speaking,” would have been better omitted completely. Batty infers a degree of selfishness in his desire to tour the republic last year and he makes two very odd statements.

In one, he somehow concludes that the estab-

lishment of black homelands, like the Transkei, will eventually lead to total integration; and his thinking is just as woolly when he wonders why Tony Ineson, the New Zealand hockey captain who expressed his regret about the All Black tour, was willing to compete against Peter Whiting in a TV super-star series .hortly after the tour. There are one or two other surprises, not the least of them being Batty's claim that the 1972-73 tour of the British Isles and France was the happiest he ever went on. He gives his views on the famous "Murdoch affair” of that tour, but sheds little fresh light on it. Batty is very loyal to his Wellington teammates, especially his close pals. There is little doubt that he was taken aback when Joe Karam switched to rugby league early in 1975, but Karam still appears in his World XV for the years 1972-77.

More than a few readers may be taken aback, too, by Batty’s assessment of Andy Leslie as “the fastest and probably the most skilful No. 8 ever to represent New Zealand.” He also carries a weighty brief for Al Keown and if Batty is to be believed, Keown has replaced Canterbury’s Euan Hern as the unluckiest prop not to have poked his head through an All Black jersey.

“Grant Batty” is very much a book about modem rugby and in spite of its shortcomings it does convey with feeling something of what life at the top is like for a player, especially one — as Batty was in his latter years — greatly troubled by injury. But the impression that Batty is more interested in recouping some of those lost expenses is not lessened by the sight of him on the dust-cover astride a certain brand of motorcycle that he is currently promoting.