Tales of the Honey Badger Read online

  BEFORE WE GET STARTED

  In order for the ship to reach its next port, it has to consider the weather. Wind (like people) comes from all directions. It hits you head-on to slow or teach you and from the back to encourage you to realise your potential. Waves come in the form of family illness, non-selection and self-doubt that test your resilience. But there are also waves of success – reward for your hard work, and one must ride these with humility and awareness of who you are and where you came from.

  Social media and journalism are like a submerged reef, waiting for you to make a mistake. The public (even those who support you) can’t help themselves but to splash your actions over the web.

  After nine years playing professional rugby, I can say the real gift that came to me in the form of refreshing rain is that of giving! Firstly giving back to those who put the wind in my sails. Then giving people the energy they gave me, red skies and cloudless starry nights. The whole Badger business would be nothing without these people.

  This story began with inspiration drawn from my old man’s video tapes showing him running around mad as a cut snake with his head taped up. I think because he never spoke about it, I was all the more intrigued about his former life.

  I played under 7’s for the Sunnybank Dragons. The only game I can remember was having a penalty try awarded against me for tackling in a two-hand touch game (worth it). The next time I played was in high school under my two coaches Mr Rhodes and Mr Bricknell (both good fellas). Our school comp was short and fairly average and being the only palangi (white boy) in my team, I had to step up. They were big kids, some with beards at 13. That could be why we smashed every other team in the comp by 60. By year 12 I had finally grown enough to assert occasional dominance at training.

  For two years I would fly up to Bundaberg to play important games for the Buccaneers alongside my brother Luke. In 2005 my two older brothers and I won the Grand Final and after the game, Mr Wise (a Randwick scout) approached my bro Luke. Between them it was organised to launch me to Sydney for a trial. A big thank you to both Luke and Mr Wise for sorting what would be the beginning of a tough road.

  Arriving in Sydney I was greeted by Keith Homes who put me on to the accommodation and a contact for work. Thanks Keith for the work you did for the players and club, a lot of it went unnoticed and unrewarded.

  I began work in a factory for a bloke who was a hair-raising bit of gear, Carl McDonald. Amongst the players this man was feared as any backchat would result in his already red face going crimson and his hair would somehow turn whiter followed by 400m sprints for all. This man gave me a job and put me on a demanding additional training schedule. Tough man in the game, but outside of that, a generous good bloke who would go into bat for ya.

  After my training I was ready to take on the trials for the Australian Sevens coached by Glen Ella. Glen took a chance and picked me as the only Colts player for the Dubai and South Africa tour where it turns out he’s a good bloke that you can have a beer or seven with, thanks mate.

  I signed my first rookie contract with Western Force coaches John Mitchell and John Mulvihill. Thanks to Mitch for my first crack at Super Rugby and Mulvers for being a coach that was one of the boys as well.

  Robbie Deans selected me for my first Wallaby squad and for my debut versus the Pumas. It took a couple of years of convincing him but not a bad Kiwi in my book. He recently coached the World 15 which I was gratefully part of, thanks mate.

  Thanks Snoz for the Commonwealth Games, didn’t learn much except how to get loose, it was great. Ewen McKenzie, aside from how the Ireland incident with the ‘Dublin Six’ was handled, he’s not a bad bloke – you never know what someone’s going through so be kind to all. Michael Cheika, you understand the importance of the mind and incorporate that in training well. Thanks for teaching me those things. If you pick me for the RWC I owe ya a beer, if not we can still have a beer but we won’t talk about it. Thanks to Shogo Mukai San of Coca Cola Red Sparks for making it possible to play two seasons a year. The current coach of Cola has been great and has enabled me to continue with my commercial opportunities, thank you Tomo San.

  My Commercial Partnerships Manager, Josh White, has worked tirelessly behind the scenes to align me with the right opportunities and helped shaped the path for the days after rugby. He’s like family to me, and even though he likes to ride me like Seabiscuit at times, I appreciate the effort, thanks mate.

  I met a bloke, Blair Frendin ten years ago in Colts and I’m still good mates with him today. He dealt with my shit behaviour during the stressful tough times of rugby and always offered his time and energy when needed. We’ve been on a few tours over the years but the best is yet to come, thanks Blair balls.

  Girlfriends, they turn up unannounced and teach you a few lessons about girls and about yourself. Recently I did a little reflecting on past relationships and I realised I’d been an ungrateful muppet at times. Thanks girls for putting up with me during those youthful stages. It turns out, don’t try change a girl, she’s beautiful in her own way.

  All my family has had something to do with any success I’ve had, but just to name a couple (not enough pages in the this book) Liz and Joe, I’m sorry if this brings unwanted attention but I just want to say this whole media rubbish doesn’t mean anything compared to how much I respect you two. It’s humbling and empowering how you face adversity, I love you so much and thank you for (unknowingly) teaching me about life and its obstacles, you two have given me strength in times I had none.

  Mum, although your religious beliefs are pretty strong, you have shown wisdom and faith on what’s important. You have put up with a lot – having eight kids is a big effort. I’ve missed you Mum, know that I love you and you will always be in my prayers.

  Dad, you’ve had a lot to deal with and have held the side together well. We are all grateful and I really appreciate your help with this book. You’re a weird unit and part-time mad bastard and I hold you dearly.

  A massively important part of this book’s completion comes down to the great work of Josh Rakic. I’ve got the grammar and spelling skills of a 9 yr old, so Josh R was put under enormous pressure – hey, they say that’s where diamonds are formed. I don’t care what they say about ya, I think you’re alright. Your pressie is in the mail.

  And finally to ABC Books and HarperCollins, should be a good book, but I’ll thank you when it’s out, to avoid the embarrassment.

  Can’t hear a fat lady, I’ve got some gear planned for the future, stay tuned.

  The Badger

  CONTENTS

  Foreword

  The first Cummins

  The turning point

  Sevens selection

  Something stinks

  United Arab Mankini

  A Force to be reckoned with Part: 1

  Origin of the Honey Badger

  The road to Rainbow Beach

  Lolly thief

  Can’t tell me nothin’

  Rocking up to Randwick

  CSI: Matraville

  Working for the man

  Race for glory

  Test debut

  The rescue

  Dingo deadlock

  Kaboom in Cambodia

  The new boy snaps a hamstring

  Making a meal of it

  Water birth

  Wheely-bin break-in

  Rice experiment

  Spider bite!

  Drowning with the sharks

  Trouble in Dublin

  Shark bait

  Rodeo moon

  Boating balls-up

  High seas battle

  Buccaneer spirit

  Longreach, far-out!

  Bush bashing

  Duck!

 
Anything for a buck

  Guinea pig island

  Feathered terrorist

  Badger on safari

  Sonny Bill’s golden shoulder

  A Force to be reckoned with Part: 2

  Postcard shot

  Dad and the Big C

  Mongolian adventure Part: 1

  Mongolian adventure Part: 2

  Mongolian adventure Part: 3

  Tackle practice

  The caffeinated cashier

  Quick fire

  The unexpected

  Billabong hopping

  All Blacks black eye

  Spider’s web

  Thong theft

  Barbarians vs Australia 2014

  Orphanage

  Budgie smugglers

  Fruit bats

  The ideal date

  Christmas in Japan

  A final word

  Photo Section

  Copyright

  “HOLY TOMORRA. HOW GOOD? BLOODY, YOU BEAUTY.”

  Translation: ‘I’m too excited to speak coherently.’

  FOREWORD — THE BADGER’S TONGUE

  Nick Cummins is a one-off. He’s a fast fluent footballer. He’s a fast fluent footballer with a fast fluent tongue. He’s a fast fluent footballer with a fast fluent Australian tongue. It’s the combination of those properties which makes him unique.

  If you interview a footballer at the end of a game, most of them are too exhausted to go much beyond reliable clichés: ‘We knew it was going to be a tough one, they took it down to the wire, the boys dug deep, we’re glad to have the 3 points’. Or the 4 points, or whatever. To be sure, to be sure. Let them head off to the showers.

  Nick Cummins is quite otherwise. Not for him the stolid cliché. He’s a larrikin both in sport and in English, a spontaneous sports bard. His language has moments of startling poetry. It crackles with the unexpected, or with nuggets of Australian colloquial English. Like the origin of his nickname. He saw a video of a honey badger – a notably feisty small animal – attack a lion:

  ‘He tore the canastas off the big fella’ and the lion retreated, bled out and died. It’s the implacable determination in the face of odds that gave Nick Cummins his Honey Badger name, and some of the character of what he does on the football field.

  The Badger is a terrific example of the sense of play and fun for which Australian English has become famous. He interviews with a characteristic grin and obvious enjoyment. He’s a showman, on and off the field, on and off the tongue.

  His style of talking has three main features.

  The first part of his repertoire is rhyming slang. Australians got this from the Cockneys in the East End of London, and it’s taken unshakeable root Down Under:

  ‘I just saw the line, pinned me ears back and ended bagging a bit of meat in the corner there, which was tops!’

  ‘Meat’? Meat pie – try. Like ‘Give us a Captain Cook’ for ‘give us a look’. That’s the ordinary kind of rhyming slang. Then you take away the rhyming word, so ‘Give us a Captain’ is all you get, and you have to find a likely captain, aka Captain Cook, and then rebuild what the person is saying, or not saying, from the rhyme. That’s what HB does: he doesn’t say ‘meat pie’, but he deletes the rhyming word and we have to do the work to recover the rest.

  The second feature of the Honey Badger’s talking success is the simile – comparisons using the words ‘like’ or ‘as’. This is another famous feature of Australian English. We have hundreds of them: ‘mad as a cut snake’, ‘strong as a Mallee bull’, ‘as useless as . . .’ with many useless things to follow, some not in the best taste.

  As with rhyming slang, the Badger pushes similes to the limit. ‘Off like a bride’s nightie’ means that someone has gone or left in a hurry. But that’s not enough for HB. He teams it up with another common Australian expression:

  ‘Last year we were all sizzle and no steak, but now we’re off like a bride’s nightie.’

  Political correctness? Ignore it:

  ‘As straight as a Mardi Gras.’

  Social comment?:

  ‘As full as Centrelink on payday.’

  RSPCA?

  ‘Sweating like a bag of cats at a greyhound meet.’

  And the third property of his talk is cheerful, wilful, perverse, good humoured leg-pulling and irreverence:

  ‘You uh ever heard of that bible story of Samson and Delilah? – Well, it’s got nothing to do with what I’m doing, so...’

  The Honey Badger’s speech is deliberate, whimsical, teasing, good-humoured, quizzical and prolific. He’s playing to the audience in language the way he plays to the audience on the field. He knows he’s being provocative, and invites us to join the joke.

  And what is the motive behind all this fun with language? As he put it:

  ‘It’s a bit of genuinity, if that’s a word.’

  And why not?

  Roland Sussex OAM

  Emeritus Professor of Applied Language Studies

  University of Queensland

  FORCE V TAHS POST-MATCH:

  “YOU GOTTA BE LIKE A MIDGET IN A URINAL - YOU GOTTA BE ON YOUR TOES.”

  TRANSLATION: ‘With many establishments having forgone the classic trough in favour of the individual wall-mounted urinal, people who stand shorter than average are left with no choice but to stand on their toes to relieve themselves without making a mess of the bathroom or themselves.’

  THE FIRST CUMMINS

  1987, Australia. It was a year of many firsts in this great land of ours. Austen Tayshus’ mate Boomer rang from a mobile phone for the first time, Kylie Minogue – whose advances I’ve reluctantly refused on several occasions – shot to the top of the charts with ‘I Should Be So Lucky’ and we co-hosted the very first Rugby World Cup.

  Of course, the star-studded Wallabies lost to France that year and coach Alan Jones put the desperate plea out to the entire nation to offer up their first-born sons for the good of the cause.

  And that was good enough for my old man, Mark. Within a matter of months, I broke the line for the very first time on October 5, 1987. Okay, so the maths doesn’t quite work out. But as you’ll find out in the 200-odd pages to come, I rarely let the truth get in the way of a good yarn. If this book were a movie, it’d be prefixed with ‘based on true events’. And named something powerful like Unit: Rip and Tear.

  I WAS A BIG UNIT. HIT THE EARTH AT AROUND 10 POUNDS AND WASN’T SHORT OF ADMIRERS IF I REMEMBER CORRECTLY.

  Admittedly, that’s probably not the greatest segue back to the day of my birth on that glorious October morning in Port Macquarie. But it paints a picture, nonetheless.

  I was a big unit. Hit the earth at around 10 pounds and wasn’t short of admirers if I remember correctly. Some say babies can’t remember that far back but I never forget a good break.

  And from what I’m told I was hard on the tooth from day one, loved the tucker and loved life. I was No. 4 of eight kids – just missed out on the medal.

  Mum gave Dad a full backline but demanded a stop to it at No. 8. And I don’t think he’s ever quite forgiven her for not going the extra mile and producing the forwards to complete the roster. But with Bernadette, Luke and Nathan in front of me and Leish, Lizzy, Jake and Joe behind me, we weren’t short of a scrum.

  Life was pretty simple. Dad was a schoolteacher and Mum occasionally did some part-time teaching, too – the woman hates sleeping is the only thing I can surmise – so we had plenty of holidays to the beach and no shortage of company.

  The old man played rugby for Port, so I was introduced to the game at an early age. But what I remember most is that he’d pull a hamstring to get off the field and home in time for Hey Hey It’s Saturday! With our starting 10 plus whichever friends and relatives were playing off the bench, our lounge room had more chairs than Officeworks. And when Hey Hey! was on, there wasn’t a spare seat in the house. Personally, I didn’t have a Scooby Doo what everyone was laughing at but I just took the lead from which ever kid was next to me. />
  Tweed Heads soon became home before the old man finally got sick of staring at rooms full of kids. We made the shift up north to Brisbane where he got into the pool business. Shameless plug: When you want to turn your backyard into paradise, call Amazon Landscapes on 0418 192 619.

  Better yet, prank call the bloke. He loves that.

  Anyhow, suffice to say, we weren’t short of a pool growing up and some bloody big ones at that. I remember one in particular, with a giant cave and waterfall to boot. There was something about being in a cave that just felt right – primal. It resonated with me. And, of course, it was a perfect hiding place from which to scare the living Brad Pitt out of any poor bugger that thought they’d take some time out to enjoy the serenity. What a buzz!

  I DIDN’T MIND SCHOOL BUT I WAS NEVER GOING TO BE A ROCKET SCIENTIST. HELL, THE WORLD HAD HEAPS OF THOSE ALREADY.

  I was slowly becoming one of the big kids. And I was loving my rugby. In fact, more so because it was an excuse to get out of the classroom.

  I didn’t mind school but I was never going to be a rocket scientist. Hell, the world had heaps of those already.

  Even back then I looked at things a bit differently to everyone else. I could always be relied upon – and still am – to ask the questions that no one seemed to be able to answer – like, if a tree falls in the woods, does a bear hear it?

  So rugby was never the be-all and end-all for me. It was simply an escape. I played a few games at school and got a start in the Queensland Schoolboys II team. With a big islander population, I was the token white unit in the side. And alongside those big lads – who had more muscle tone at 16 than I’ve managed to attain even now – I looked premature by comparison.

  Our coach, Mr Hopenoa, was a good bloke and taught me a lot. But by the time school finished I was no stand-out. I never envisaged turning rugby into a career.

  I worked for the old boy doing landscaping but just as Cain killed Abel, the hard work was killing me. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I was like an immigrant Nigerian in the heart of Sydney – lost, and hoping for millions in inheritance from my long-lost royal relatives.