There is no such thing as bad publicity, Hewie

Press, 17 August 1984, Page 19

There is no such thing as bad publicity, Hewie

Canterbury rugby fans will be pleased to hear that their adorable red and blacks command attention in the book on Allan Hew- 1 son’s career, ‘Tor the Record” (Rugby Press Ltd; 240 pp; 119.95). But their smiles will fade quickly when they discover that it is not the mythical rivalry between Hewson and Robbie Deans which occupies the

space. Rather it is Canterbury’s alleged brutality in its last two matches against Wellington which arouses Hewson’s ire. Of the match at Lancaster Park last winter, Hewson avers that a Wellington lock, Murray Pierce, had his jaw broken when struck by a clenched fist, and that the pattern of the game changed after his removal. Both Pierce and another Wellington forward, Grahame Duffy, who received a “withering” punch, according to Hewson, were penalised when they retaliated, but the initial offenders went unpunished.

The book also records that Hewson was knocked down by John Ashworth with a late charge in the 1982 match when Canterbury won the shield from Wellington. Neither the referee nor the touch judge saw the incident, and eventually Hewson left the field with concussion.

“Notwithstanding the Canterbury fans’ love affair with Robbie Deans, the men in red and black plainly regarded Hewson as the danger man and wanted him ‘fixed.’ Sadly for Hewson and for rugby, the plan worked.”

Lancaster Park fans are chided by Hewson for thenfickleness, so, all in all, the Canterbury lamb comes out somewhat besmirched.

However, Hewson consistently expresses admiration for Deans, and claims that their rivalry at full-back is an invention of the media. Hewson’s Oliver Goldsmith is lan Gault, an industrious daily journalist with an encyclopaedic knowledge of Wellington rugby. He and his subject are on "Hewie” and “Gaultie” terms, and this explains why the slim full-back’s personality is so well etched in the book. It also means, however, that the crux of the controversy is not gripped by the throat. Hewson’s avoidance of physical confrontations is defended through references to his slight build. The book aiuely says that the fulls preference for hasty clearances rather than grappling with the oncoming horde have led to him being branded ‘wind/ — “but that’s his approach and he dosen’t intend to change now.”

Adding weight to that is a

chapter on coaching, prepared by Hewson himself which does not include any tips on tackling. What is undeniable is that Hewson is a magnificently successful scorer at the top level, and yet has attracted an extraordinary amount of criticism. Part of the reason is that the New Zealand sporting public likes its heroes to be in the macho mould. Hewson’s delicate appearance and the frequent airing of his mouthguard have been seized on by his critics.

Hewson and Gault do not need to be apologetic. In a bizarre way, abuse of a sporting idol seems to be the measure of success in New Zealand. Ron Jarden was once advised to “get a bag, you mug,” at Lancaster Park, and on the same pitch Don Clarke was screamingly labelled “a lumbering ox.” So Hewson is in good company. Naturally enough, Hewson’s skills are highly praised in the book. lan Upston, the Wellington coach, rejects criticism of Hewson as "pathetic” and says his sort comes around

only once in a lifetime. And lan Colquhoun, the former New Zealand cricket player and selector — who was also a very good provincial five-eighths in rugby — labels Hewson’s series winning jpenalty goal against the Springboks at Eden Park in 1981 as “the great-

est kick in the history of rugby.” Hewson has had an eventful life, As a “little blighter” he was left out of the Petone team for a trip to Hawke’s Bay because lan Upston observed him socialising as late as 11 p.m. Hewson’s wife, Pauline, was opposed to the 1981 Springbok tour, and after that series Naas Botha, the highscoring South African fly half, poked his tongue out at him.

In Constanta (Rumania) Hewson actually found a fat fly in his soup, although it is not recorded what he said to the waiter. And in Scotland, Eric Watson, the then

All Black coach, told Hewson he was the worst fullback to play for New Zealand, ana might as well go home.

That was probably “Bugle’s” reverse psychology at work, although obviously it had a devastating effect on Hewson.

All these happenings, and many more, have been skilfully woven into the book’s broad fabric. The one thing missing is Gault’s own impish sense of humour. Hewson emerges as a sombre fellow. But, thinking back on all that criticism, there, probably hasn’t been much for him to laugh qbout. JKB