By The Guardian (Sports) | Created at 2024-09-25 07:43:27 | Updated at 2024-09-30 07:21:10
5 days ago
“I’m certainly not your stereotypical Welsh fly‑half and I don’t apologise for being different,” Dan Biggar says with a wry smile at a little restaurant on the beach front in Toulon. “I quite like the fact that I was different and did it my way.”
Storm clouds are rolling in from the sea and the atmospheric setting adds to a compelling conversation with Biggar, who, in contrast to his feisty image on the rugby pitch, is a friendly and thoughtful man. The darkening sky reminds us of Wales, which, for Biggar, “has always been a land of poets and dreamers”.
It has also long been a fervent rugby country where the fly‑half in the red No 10 shirt has often been venerated or vilified. Biggar talks eloquently about his “mesmerising” predecessors and, in his excellent new book, writes of the twinkling giants who came before him: “Barry John. The King, ghosting and gliding past defenders like they weren’t there. Phil Bennett, the hot stepper. Jinking and weaving, making time stand still. Jonathan Davies – the impish genius, turning on the afterburners, leaving scorch marks in his wake.”
But none of them could speak French as well as Biggar – or match the 112 caps that mean he has worn the No 10 shirt more than any other fly-half in Wales’s rugby history. They also did not have to endure the often vitriolic criticism that stalked Biggar throughout his long career. As he suggests: “I was too slow. I stood too deep. I was petulant, aggressive and one‑dimensional. I kicked too much and ran too little … where Barry John would paint you a picture, I’d draw you a diagram. Pragmatism over romanticism, that was me.”
That pragmatism brings a clarity of thinking that allows Biggar to talk in absorbing detail about the endless furies of Welsh rugby. He also conveys his enthusiasm for playing in France and explains why so many leading players from Wales and England would benefit from the kind of professional change that has rejuvenated him in Toulon.
Wales is never far from his thinking and, as we overlook the small and previously sunlit beach, Biggar is reminded of home. He grew up in the tiny coastal village of Llangennith on the remote edge of the Gower peninsula. Rather than being besotted with rugby, Biggar was more entranced by surfing and Manchester United.
“It’s funny,” Biggar continues, “because when people think of Wales they think of terrace houses in the valleys and streets and rugby clubs with their community feel. For me, it was completely different because we were isolated. We didn’t have a village shop, so we had to drive 15 minutes for a pint of milk. We didn’t really have a rugby club, so I’ve come full circle being in Toulon now – even if the weather is normally much sunnier than today.”
Biggar recalls that just as he grew up on the margins, he has also had to struggle to be accepted at the heart of Welsh rugby. “Even today I feel like I’ve still got to prove myself because it’s been ingrained in me. I don’t want sympathy but I had to do things the hard way, and the first five years with Wales were really tough. I had so many ups and downs and every time you felt like you’d put a foot forward, you then took two backwards.
“So I’m incredibly proud to have had more than 100 caps for my country – and to have done so in that shirt is an even better achievement. When you’re playing well, and the team is winning, it’s the easiest job in the world. But when the team is struggling it’s almost like all the problems come down to that shirt. It was the same for Neil Jenkins and Stephen Jones before me. People who know rugby understand that sometimes you can’t have any impact as a No 10 when you’re losing scrums or lineouts. But the obsession with the fly-half in Wales means that because we didn’t play well or score four tries, it has to be the No 10.”
Biggar usually shrugged off the melodrama and he says: “I actually quite enjoyed taking a bit of flak and then proving people wrong the next week. But there was one time, around 2017 when we lost to Scotland in the Six Nations, that I sat in the kitchen with my wife and said: ‘Is it worth playing No 10 in Wales because of all the baggage and shit that comes with it?’ Sometimes it feels like the No 10 shirt strangles you. You feel restricted in that jersey when things are going wrong. So you have to be mentally tough and I’m glad I broke the mould. I want people to say that I was mentally tough and had determination and fight.
“It’s a desperation to win, and desire, rather than anger. As you get older and more experienced, you know you can’t always achieve those things, so you tend to relax. I like to think you see a very different person in me off the field. But it’s a real bugbear of mine when players say nothing at the end of a game. They just give stock answers that the press officers want and it’s a waste of everyone’s time. The players have to be themselves and not be scared. Whatever you say, there are going to be people who disagree with you.
“Conversely, if you want players to be open and honest and give straight answers, the media can’t twist it and look for sensationalist headlines. But I’m not bothered about what people think. I want to make sure I’m true to myself and do the best for the teams I play in.”
There is a bracing candour to Biggar’s book. He describes the sometimes upsetting mind games which Warren Gatland used and, when the Welsh Rugby Union offered the New Zealander a chance to return as head coach in December 2022, Biggar writes: “There’s an old adage that you should never go back, and that was my initial reaction to Gatland’s reappointment. It all felt a bit retrograde.”
He adds now: “Gats’ pedigree speaks for itself. So I think in the short term it was probably the right thing because we did OK in the World Cup. The question is how will it work out in the long term? My gut says that it’s always tricky when you go back. Clearly Wales are going through a bit of pain but there’s a bit of wriggle room in terms of the off-field issues, the finances and the fact that some players have retired. But Gats is an intelligent man. He knows that if he carries on not getting results, he’s going to be at the end of the pump.”
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Biggar, who retired from the international game after last year’s World Cup, details the chaos of Welsh rugby. “Self-inflicted wounds were the WRU’s speciality,” he argues while also revealing that the economic crisis affecting the game in Wales meant that at least one of his international teammates was on antidepressants and another had been refused a mortgage because of uncertainty over his employment prospects. As Biggar stresses: “This wasn’t about numbers on a spreadsheet or abstract policies like the 60-cap rule, but about real lives.”
He was especially disappointed when some of his colleagues failed to hold their nerve after threatening serious strike action in their bitter dispute with the WRU last year. Biggar makes it plain that he and other leading players refused to play against England in the Six Nations unless a series of conditions were met.
One of their stipulations was that the rule governing the selection of players based abroad needed to be dropped. It had been the case that a player earning a living outside of Wales had to have earned 60 caps to still be eligible for international selection. In the end the number was reduced to 25 caps, which, for Biggar, was the kind of unsatisfactory fudge that characterised the disappointing compromise struck between the players and the union.
“Clearly it was a tough period,” Biggar says. “We started with a strong stance and I don’t think everybody had the minerals to follow through. They were happy to accept what was given – but I didn’t see it as a victory. I just felt it didn’t help a huge amount of people. So it was disappointing and only time will tell whether that was the right or wrong thing to have done.”
Having already won his century of caps, as well as grand slams for Wales and starting at No 10 for the Lions, Biggar says the proposed strike action “certainly wasn’t about me, because the only thing I could lose was my match fees. So I tried to say: ‘Look, this isn’t about us in the room here. This is about the next 10, 15, 20 years of Welsh rugby.’ I felt like we had a really strong opportunity to do something and we didn’t follow through with it. People have got to make their own choices, but they can’t start complaining down the line if things aren’t quite how they want it to be. I think it’ll go down in history books as a pretty dark time for Welsh rugby.”
The dire consequences continue on and off the field. “Uncertainty’s the real problem,” Biggar argues. “Things aren’t looking great and the regional sides aren’t performing overly well. But teams don’t know their budget until the last minute. The Test side are also in a really tricky spot off the back of [nine] defeats on the spin. But a little bit of grace has to be given as we lost a lot of experienced players.
“The game is in a very different place to where it was when the generation of myself, Leigh Halfpenny and Sam Warburton came through. I remember Sam and I did a piece for Sky Sports on the Wales–Australia game in the summer. We said we’re not claiming that we were perfect for Wales every week. We lost seven games on the spin for Wales too. But we knew what it takes to win. It’ll be interesting to see how the next 12 months go as Wales do have some promising young players.”
France’s Top 14 is the richest and most demanding domestic league in world rugby but, liberated from the tangled history and incessant woes of the game in Wales, Biggar would love to play for another season in Toulon after his contract ends next summer. “Sitting here today I realise how lucky we are that we can come here for lunch on a day off. Yesterday afternoon, after training, me and my wife, Alex, took our two boys down to the beach for a couple of hours. The quality of life is incredible.
“I’m 35 next month and I have seen some players who are just scratching around trying to find clubs, trying to find a job, trying to just keep themselves in the game. I know how lucky I am. So if the moment I have to retire comes in eight months or 18 months, I’m quite relaxed about it because I’ve given everything. I’ve had a really good career. I’ve experienced some highs and lows and I’m really quite happy in myself. That feels like a gift after all this time.”
The Biggar Picture, priced £19.80 at the Guardian Bookshop, is published by Pan Macmillan on 26 September
