Stuff The Silver, We’re … Going For Gold!

By Laurie Lawrence

Who will ever forget that passionate explosion of emotion from Laurie Lawrence after his young charge Duncan Armstrong, who had arrived at Seoul for the 1988 Olympics ranked 46th in the world, had just beaten three world record holders to take gold in the 400 metres freestyle final. "What do you think we came here for … the silver?" he told TV reporter Steve Quartermain, "Stuff the silver, we came for the Gold."

 

It's an attitude that is typically Australian. Why settle for second best? Never be beaten until you hit the finish line. 

Laurie Lawrence has been poolside for plenty of Australia's greatest Olympic moments and had already mentored another "mission impossible" gold medal effort with 17-year-old Jon Sieben four years earlier.

 

Laurie, more recently recognised for his Kids Alive Do the 5 water safety campaign that has led to saving many lives in Aussie pools, is also one of the country's most popular and entertaining motivational speakers. He has attended eight Olympics Games - two as a champion swim coach and six as an Australian team athlete liaison officer, a confidante and mentor of athletes from all sports. It gave him an incredible insider's aspect of what makes champions tick.

 

Over the years he has compiled some incisive interviews and provided intimate insights into not just champion swimmers but some of our greatest Olympic heroes ... from his boyhood hero Dawn Fraser, to rowers David Crawshay and Scott Brennan, hockey coach extraordinaire Ric Charlesworth, athletics middle distance hall of famer Herb Elliott and cyclists Kathy Watt and Anna Meares.

 

It's compelling reading … as a motivational tool for young athletes or those fascinated with Australia's legendary sporting DNA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emphaloz Publishing House
• Release date: Jul 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9780992448547

Book preview

Introduction

In 1956 as a fresh faced kid I was bitten by Olympic fever!

The Australian Olympic swimming team came to train at the Tobruk pool in Townsville. My father, Stumpy Lawrence, was pool manager and we lived in a little flat above the pool’s entrance. The world was my oyster. I even gave up my bed so that we could billet soon to be Olympic 100 metres freestyle champion Jon Henricks. Armed with my autograph book I drove those Australian representatives crazy and I soon knew them all on a first name basis

The coaches fascinated me - Guthrie, Gallagher, Carlile, Herford, Atkin-son. What a team! I followed them around watching their every move just like a new puppy being trained and fed with tasty treats from their master.

On their final night in Townsville came a swimming carnival like no other. That night I watched alone in the dark from my private balcony above the pool’s entrance. I sat there entranced. I saw world record after world record broken. Dawn Fraser broke two world records in the one race; Lorraine Crapp became the first woman to break five minutes for the 400 metres freestyle.

The swimming team left the town on a high. They were off to the Melbourne Olympics to dominate the swimming world. Later, I listened on my crackly transistor to every race in Melbourne as my friends won race after Olympic race.

I was bitten by the bug! Olympic fever had me in its grasp.

Many years passed and I became school teacher, swimming teacher, coach,

Olympic gold medal coach inducted into the International Swimming Hall of Fame and finally a member of the Australian Olympic team as an athlete liaison officer (ALO).

This Olympic journey spanned eight Games, starting in Los Angeles in 1984 and finishing in London 2012. I felt compelled to tell the many adventures and stories spanning these eight Olympics in the hope of inspiring many young athletes to dream big, work hard and realise that sport is a great leveller that teaches us to enjoy victory and accept defeat even if we don’t like silver medals.

Before you get into the meat of this book I want to relate a little story that happened just last week. I was coaching a group of young swimmers of which my granddaughter Evie was one. At the end of training I stepped up to the ‘Champions Chair’ and rang the bell to get parents’ and students’ attention. I shouted, Ladies and gentlemen, please cast your eyes to the end of the pool to the start of the Olympic 20 metre butterfly final between Russia and Japan.

I made up the Russian and Japanese names on the spot. My granddaughter Evie, one of the two competitors, just happened to be Mikiyama Hiroshita Yamanaka.

Take your marks ... GO! The race was on. I cheered for Mikiyama. The race was touch and go with the Russian being the victor by the slightest of margins.

I announced the Russian winner with much fanfare. The poolside audience cheered and clapped. I looked down and Mikiyama, my granddaughter Evie, was clapping.

I immediately got tears in my eyes as I have now relating this story.

I was so proud, I stopped the audience and announced to all present, "Ladies, gentleman and swimmers, I am so proud of this young girl Mikiyama clapping the Russian competitor who beat her because sport and life is about winning and losing. Everyone must learn to win and learn to lose. Thank you Mikiyama!

I wish Evie, Mikiyama, had won. I guess I still have some learning to do.

Enjoy the stories and the many pictures many from my own camera and those provided by Ian Hanson from the collection of the late Russ McPhedran.

Laurie Lawrence, March, 2020

We’re Goin’ for Gold!

‘THE BALLAD OF LAURIE LAWRENCE OF AUSTRALIA’

By Robert Raftery

It’s time ... to turn good into greatness. It’s the biggie old

mates, and we’re in it!

It’s happened! You’re here and you’re champions and

there’s gold in the wings.

You can win it!

You’re sittin’ out there and you’re suckin’ in air and you’re

heart’s in your mouth.

I can tell it!

Mate, I’m talkin’ to you, it’s Laurie, true blue! There’s gold in the air,

Can’t you smell it?

You’ve done the hard yards, you’re the cream o’ the crop,

You’re a fighter, you’re focused and you’ll pump ‘till you drop!

Tomorrow you’ll churn and the water will boil as you tear at the

air and you rip at the soil!

Now go out and blitz ‘em but be in no doubt for Australia to win

Let the animal out!

They’ll taunt you, they’ll fight you, they’ll spit in your space,

Then I watch as our flag paints a smile on your face,

As the cameras engage you and capture that tear,

and your mates all around you erupt in a cheer.

Stand proud mate and wear it by the rings and the flames

And cherish your moment of gold at the Games!

But you’re thinkin’ about home and your thoughts start to roam,

Can’t really believe that you’re here!

You’re on hallowed ground and that magical sound

and the world trembles ...

Echoes that cheer!

As that rectangled rag of our great Aussie flag rockets

above and ... you’re there!

You’re the pride o’ the fleet and the world’s at your feet and

our anthem’s shot blastin’ the air.

"Australian’s All da da da da da da da young and free

Da da da da da da da da our land is girt by sea

Da da da da da da da da of beauty rich and rare

Da da da da da da da da Advance Australia Fair."

Huh! You reckon we hated you down that long track and at

times I admit that we did!

But mate I can tell you right here and right now we’re as proud

as a parent can be of a kid.

I don’t want to tell you I love you but I’ll tell you right now I won’t fail yer!

And nor will the crew of that bloody great ship that’s just parked

out the front called Australia!

So go my golden beauties! Don’t put your gold on hold!

Now is the moment! This is YOUR time! And I love you as much as I would

were you mine!

GET OUT THERE! GET AT EM AND RIP EM APART! With the blood of

your country ablaze in your heart!

The medals are yours mate, to have and to hold.

And mate STUFF THE SILVER ... WE’RE GOIN’ FOR GOLD!!!

1. The Beginning

TOWNSVILLE, 1956

The Olympic Games were being staged in Australia for the first time. The nation was alive with expectation and pride. And far, far away from Melbourne – in humid, hot Townsville in north Queensland - a 14-year-old starry-eyed boy was blessed with a first-hand insight into the country’s greatest swimming heroes.

I first contracted Olympic fever when the Australian swimming team used the Tobruk Pool in Townsville as a training base for the 1956 Olympic Games in Melbourne. My father, ‘Stumpy’ Lawrence, managed the pool and I was a starry-eyed kid soaking up every precious second of the Olympic training camp. I remember following the great Australian swimming coach Forbes Carlile around, enthralled by his experiments with hypnosis on the swimmers. Carlile would induce the swimmers into a state of relaxation and then suggest to them that their training would become easier and easier. I watched as he hooked them up to wires and machines, made them exercise, recorded their heart rates, and examined their T-waves to test their levels of stress – all very progressive stuff over 60 years ago.

I wondered why he had them push themselves to the limit, then hooked them up to gas masks and made them suck in pure oxygen. I was fascinated, yet unaware that I was watching one of those rare individuals who are ahead of their time - a dreamer who believed in cutting his own path, not content to be a mundane follower. Little did I realise the huge influence this crew-cutted eccentric would wield on my coaching career. Later, as a young coach, I continually visited his swim centres to investigate why his team was so successful.

Vivid memories of fit and tanned swimming characters, stretching and doing light weight training around the pool before they entered and swam lap after gruelling lap in preparation for the contest of a lifetime, are burned into my subconscious.

I remember positioning myself between Dawn Fraser and Jon Henricks on the old gal-pipe railings that surrounded the 50-metre pool and watching entranced as a huge crane lifted the old football ‘Curley Bells’ (temporary seating) over the silver-frosted wire fence onto the lawn at the Tobruk Pool. A huge crowd had been predicted for the Olympic swimming team’s final time trials, and the Townsville City Council had ordered extra seating be delivered in preparation for the big night.

‘Watch the fence, young man!’ yelled my dad to the crane operator as the temporary seating arrangements were lifted over the fence and onto his precious lawn.

‘Put it down easy! Careful! Careful! You almost hit that palm tree! That’s my favourite tree! It’s taken 10 years to grow that tree! Easy, son! Go easy!’

‘Stumpy’s going off,’ Henricks observed to Dawn.

‘You go easy, too, Jon! Don’t upset him ‘til after I’ve had my massage. I want to break a world record tonight,’ said Dawn casually.

I stared up, so proud and so privileged to be sitting between two of Austral-ia’s best Olympic hopefuls. My mind wandered ...

‘Wait until I tell the kids at school tomorrow ... oh no, this is too much fun. I really don’t want to go to school tomorrow ... maybe I can tell Mum I’ve got a sore chest ... that’s it, I’ll start coughing and try to wag it again ... she fell for it today ... nah, she won’t believe me again.

‘... I could try though ... it’s so cool being around these champions ... gee, Harry Gallagher is a good coach ... he reckons Dawn and Jon will win gold medals in Melbourne ... how cool is that ... wish I could go to the Olympics ... I will one day.’

‘Yeah, Stumpy gives the best massages,’ said Henricks, interrupting my musing.

‘Wish we could take him to Melbourne with us,’ said Dawn.

‘What! A masseur on an Olympic team? You’re joking! That’ll never happen!’ replied Jon.

‘Look out for that tree!’ yelled my father again, visibly agitated. He moved closer to direct the hapless crane driver. The light-framed, scruffy, bearded youth with the roll-your-own cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth had never struck the likes of Stumpy Lawrence before and probably never would again.

‘And son, put that cigarette out. We’ve got champion athletes here,’ he added with conviction.

The young man took one hand off the controls to get rid of the offending article.

‘Watch the tree!’ screamed Dad again, waving his hands furiously. ‘Keep two hands on the wheel son ... two hands on the wheel.’

Soon the job was done, with no damage to the precious lawn or tree. The crane driver, however, was just a little worn out from his protracted ordeal.

‘Thanks, son. Well done. I’ll be here tomorrow to direct you when you come back to remove these seats,’ said Dad, looking the young man right in the eye.

‘I can hardly wait!’ replied the relieved grease-smeared crane driver, with just a hint of sarcasm dripping from his voice. Immediately, he drove 50 metres to the nearest Moreton Bay fig tree. There, he pulled up in its shade, rolled another cigarette, lit it, drew the smoke deep into his lungs and silently cursed the little bantam rooster who had just hassled him.

Finally, the pool was ready.

Dad showered, shaved, rubbed Californian Poppy hair oil through his ageing locks and sleeked them back. He was ready.

This carnival promised to be a beauty. The local radio station, 4TO, had been pushing it on air all week. Dawn had openly predicted she would break the world record and encouraged locals to come to cheer her on and farewell the other swimmers. I couldn’t believe her confidence and collared her while she was getting a massage from my father an hour and a half before the official start time.

‘Dawnie, are you really going to break a world record tonight?’ ‘Probably two,’ was her matter-of-fact reply.

‘But how can you be so sure?’ I quizzed, keen to find out more about Dawn’s world record attempt.

‘I’ve done the hard work in training.’

‘Yeah, but a world record?’

‘Look, I’ve done everything my coach has asked me to do in training. I’m well.’ ‘Yeah, but a world record?’ I kept up with the questions.

‘I’ve got the best masseur in the world,’ she replied, as she mischievously pinched Dad on that area of the body known affectionately as ‘gluteus maximus’. He kept rubbing. I kept asking.

‘But Dawn, a world record? I’ve never seen a world record before.’ ‘Well get ready, boy, you are going to see some tonight.’ ‘Do you really think so?’

‘Laurie!’ interrupted my father, and I could detect a slight impatience in his voice. I’d heard that tone before, and I knew I was getting close to a backhander.

‘Yes, Dad,’ I answered meekly, keen to keep the peace.

‘Leave Dawn alone, son! She doesn’t want to listen to your incessant ramblings. She’s got a race to concentrate on.’

‘Leave him alone, Stump. It’s okay,’ she defended.

‘But how do you know?’ I started again, buoyed by the knowledge that I now had a staunch ally.

‘I’ve been swimming fast times in training, almost world records. Harry thinks I can. If my coach has faith in me, I know I can do it.’

‘Stumpy!’ Forbes called and poked his spiky-haired head around the corner.

Ursula, his wife, was six paces behind, carrying the gear.

‘Yes, Forbes.’

‘Forbes, Dawn said she’s going to break the world record,’ I interrupted. ‘Quiet, son!’ hissed my father through clenched teeth. Then, smiling, he turned back to Forbes, who had squeezed right inside the cramped little area known as the ‘ambulance room’ which, for now, was doubling as the massage room.

‘Yes, Forbes.’

‘Stump, do you think you can put on that hot box sauna you use for your footballers for me tonight ?’

‘No problems.’

‘What do you want that for, Forbes?’ I asked. It would be one of the many questions I put to the master over the years in my endless quest for swimming knowledge. Dad kept rubbing, but I could see he was getting mad and I knew I would cop it tomorrow when the carnival was over.

‘I believe if you raise the temperature of the human muscle before exercise it will result in an increased performance level in the competitive situation. I’m hoping to collect some further scientific data on this phenomenon tonight,’ replied Forbes, happy that someone, even if it was a precocious kid, wanted to listen to his theories.

‘It won’t help if you don’t have good old-fashioned Aussie guts and you’re not fit, Forbes,’ interrupted Dawn.

‘True, Dawn,’ answered Forbes, unperturbed, ‘but let me show you some interesting statistics. Ursula, can I have the notes from the briefcase you have in that new knapsack on your back?’

As Forbes rifled through the knapsack he commented to Dawn, ‘I bought this knapsack to make it easier for Ursula to carry all our luggage.’

‘Not now, Forbes, I’m getting ready for a world record!’ snapped Dawn. ‘Really? Well if you were to raise the temperature of your body ...’

‘Not now, Forbes,’ Dawn’s voice had an impatient edge. Forbes didn’t notice.

Ursula dragged him away still muttering; Dad kept rubbing.

The crowd started arriving. Townsville turned out in full force to see the final time trials and the swimmers didn’t disappoint. They gave the locals possibly the greatest exhibition of freestyle swimming ever seen in this coun-try. Dawn swam the 110 yards freestyle in 1:03.3, breaking two world records in the one race, the 110 yards and the 100 metres.

I watched in the dark from the little balcony on top of the pool entrance, immersed in the dreams of youth. World record after world record toppled and I secretly wished I could go to the Olympics to watch my heroes compete for Australia. They would be held in front of a home crowd in Melbourne for the first time. Why couldn’t Dad take us? I wish he was rich. I vowed then that one day I would go to an Olympic Games.

I had no idea of the impact the great Dawn Fraser would have on my career as I followed her unbelievable sporting exploits. It’s funny how the dreams of youth can lead to incredible adventures.

To me, she is Australia’s greatest Olympian. Her achievements in terms of longevity and class are testament to her athletic ability. Let me list them:

Olympic gold medals in the same event (100 metres freestyle) at three consecutive Olympics.

Her eight Olympic medals places her second to fellow swimmers to Ian Thorpe and Leisel Jones (both nine) as the most won by an Australian.

Most gold medals by an Australian at the Olympics (four, tied with Betty Cuthbert and Murray Rose) until Ian Thorpe claimed five in 2000 and 2004.

Thirty-nine world records.

Twenty-seven individual world records.

First woman to break the minute for the 100 metres freestyle.

Undefeated in the 100 metres freestyle from 1956 until she was prematurely ‘retired’ after the Tokyo Olympics in 1964.

Held the 100 metres freestyle world record for an unprecedented 16 years (including seven years after being banned by the Australian Swimming Union. In fact, her world record at the time was more than a second faster than American Jan Henne’s winning performance at the Mexico Olympics in 1968).

Could Dawn have won a fourth consecutive gold had she been given the chance? Sadly, we will never know.

These historic performances do not happen by chance. Winners are very special people, special in that they are prepared not only to dream but, more importantly, to act upon these dreams. They do things that others won’t do. Winners are prepared to sacrifice, to pay the price whatever the cost. They set goals and take action to achieve them. Without action, dreams and goals are merely fantasies ... figments of the imagination which cause undisciplined, unambitious people to meander through life like flightless birds.

Dawn’s third 100 metres gold exemplified her superior mental strength and fighting qualities. She was under immense pressure from her fellow Australians, who expected nothing less than gold from their hero. In addi-tion to this she was under close scrutiny from the international media, as no athlete had ever been able to win three successive Olympic gold medals for swimming. Indeed, she was being keenly watched by the whole world.

Then, disaster. Three months before the Tokyo Games Dawn was driving the car in which her mother was killed. Dawn herself was seriously injured. She damaged the vertebrae in her neck and had to wear a neck brace for support.

One journalist wrote: ‘This accident will spell the end of Dawn’s glittering career.’

How wrong people can be when they disregard that special inner strength found in humanity and often brought out by champions. Although Dawn was emotionally destroyed by the death of her mother, she dug deep and found this indefinable quality that enables champions to get up when it seems they can’t. She somehow disregarded the neck pain and, by sheer willpower, was able to resurrect her interrupted career.

Visions of Dawn racing the American teenager Sharon Stouder, who was half Dawn’s age; in Tokyo are strong in my mind’s eye. I can see both girls power into the turn, her young rival executing a perfect tumble turn. Dawn, in complete disdain, does the old touch turn before she surges past the 15-year-old to the roar of the huge, mainly Japanese crowd.

Dawn was an integral part of the Aussie Olympic team as an official for many years. Her job was to move around among both the young athletes and the more experienced campaigners, supporting them and being a sounding board, if necessary, for any problems they might have. She is a trouble shooter and, because of her vast experience in the Olympic arena at the real coalface of international competition, where weaknesses are recognised and exploited, she has been accorded the highest respect from not only competing athletes and officials but from all Australians. I believe Dawn will be in Tokyo in 2020 in some supporting capacity.

Few know that this living legend, this former swimming champion, was out on the cross-country course in the stifling heat in Barcelona in 1992 supporting our equestrian team.

The cross-country day is unbelievable. It is a day where man and beast undergo incredible punishment. When Gil Rolton, Matt Ryan and Andrew Hoy galloped their exhausted horses into the 10-minute box for a well-earned rest, Dawn was there with coach Wayne Roycroft icing down the tired animals to get their body temperature down. Only then could horse and rider attack the final gruelling sprint over more hurdles to the finish. Is it any wonder that at the team briefing in Atlanta four years later, Wayne Roycroft was lavish in his praise of this great Australian and Olympic legend, and asked specifically for her to visit them again?

.

‘Working together is success.’

2. Unforgettable Stanley

STEVE HOLLAND, teenage ‘superfish’ of the 70s

THE Australian tradition of producing champion distance freestyle swimmers is one littered with high honours: Olympic gold medallists and 1500 metres world record holders Kieren Perkins and Grant Hackett, plus the current pin-up boy Mack Horton. Yet the most extraordinary story of an Aussie who shone so brightly, albeit briefly, was Steve ‘Stanley’ Holland, the Brisbane kid who was just 15 when he held the world’s best 800m and 1500m marks at the one time and remained for almost three decades the youngest swimming world record holder (male) in history. Laurie coached him into the history books … and would do anything to ensure he witnessed his greatest moments … anything!

Five am. The sun’s early rays filtered through the clouds, gently bathing the training pool at Carina (Brisbane) in soft pre-dawn light. The first faint tinges of pink were just illuminating the sky. A beautiful sunrise was unfolding but a group of bleary-eyed young swimmers couldn’t have cared less about that. Each one of them had dragged out of bed at this ungodly hour in a private and deter-mined quest to win Australian representative honours. Their aim was a united one - to make the 1974 Australian Commonwealth Games team to Christchurch.

The swimmers crowded around a thin slip of a boy under the pace clock at the deep end of the pool. They stretched and yawned and talked of the weekend just gone.

‘Filthy surf at Currumbin yesterday!’ the skinny kid enthused as he adjusted his goggle straps on the back of his head.

‘Too bad it was too big for you Stanley,’ chipped Norm Rabjohns, national ironman champion and Currumbin Surf Club captain. Rabjohns was the elder statesman of the group.

‘It takes a man to go out in the big stuff,’ said Norm.

‘I went out,’ the youth protested, taking his goggles off and turning indignantly to face Rabjohns.

‘Not past waist deep Stanley, not past waist deep,’ kidded Norm.

‘Norm, you know I went out to the shark nets,’ protested the young swimmer. ‘Fair go Stanley! The last time you got that far I had to take the rubber ducky out to rescue you,’ ribbed the Currumbin captain.

‘More like the Westpac helicopter!’ yelled another swimmer, keen to get in on the chiacking.

I arrived on the scene and barked: ‘Enough chatter! Ten eight-hundreds. Use the first one as warm-up.’

I had barely finished speaking when the youth known affectionately as Stanley dived into the water and started effortlessly down the first of a 200-lap training session. He had two laps on the board before anyone else started.

‘It’s the only way I know how to shut Stanley up, Norm,’ I said. ‘Put him in the water. How’s he going at the club?’

‘Good, Laurie! The boys give him a bit of raggin’ but it keeps his feet on the ground. He does his patrols same as everyone else. He’s treated as one of the boys.’

‘No chance of him getting a big head down there, eh?’ I asked.

‘No way! Fitness-wise it can’t hurt him either. He spends about six hours in the water paddling or surfing.’

‘Good!’ I mused, as I watched Stanley tumble-turn and slice effort-lessly through the water. ‘I want him to win the 1500 metres gold medal in Christchurch.’

I scrutinised his stroke as he sped away and wondered how I could give this boy the competitive edge. I studied his technique; it was unusual, but rhythmical, strong and correct. It incorporated a powerful two-beat kick that enabled his hyperextended knees and over-flexible ankles to be utilised for maximum propulsion.

‘I can’t improve that,’ I thought. ‘He’s been well-taught by his father Roy. The only thing I can give him is a philosophy of training so that he will strive to be the best athlete he can possibly be, both physically and mentally. If I can teach him to concentrate on preparing to be tops in strength, mental tough-ness and physical condition, he can always go into competition confident and prepared to race tough!’

He flipped again, splashing water over my good shoes. It stopped my day-dreaming.

‘C’mon Norm, jump in there behind Stanley. He’s six laps up on you already!’ ‘He sure is! He’s like a bloody well-oiled machine. He just doesn’t stop or tire,’ replied Australia’s champion ironman, and he dived in on Stanley’s feet. The youth looked back over his shoulder, saw Norm and gave a wry smile. With two or three hard kicks he picked up the pace. He wasn’t going to have anyone drag on him.

‘Stanley’ was the affectionate nickname given by the Currumbin clubbies to Australia’s only world record-holder at that time, the remarkable Steve Holland. In 1973, at 15, he was the youngest-ever male to break a swimming world record – a feat only surpassed in 2001 by America’s greatest ever Michael Phelps in the 200 metres butterfly. This slip of a boy with the hyper-extended knees, who was always first into the water at training, was destined to change the face of freestyle distance swimming around the world. He was single-handedly responsible for taking the world record from 16 minutes to 15 minutes. It was Steve Holland who changed all modern thinking on how to swim the event and it had all started on an eventful day at the Valley pool in Brisbane in 1973 when a young coach with bushy sideburns frantically cheered and waved on his youthful charge ploughing up and down the pool. Steve broke two world records in the one race that day - and thus erased the name of the champion American Mike Burton from the record books.

Two weeks before the 1974 Commonwealth Games in Christchurch, I flew back to my old stomping grounds in Townsville to visit my dad on Magnetic Island. Steve’s grit and talent had overcome great hardships and he was now a member of the Australian team in training for the Games. While on Magnetic Island I ran into John Lyons, an old school pal. ‘Hi mate! I’m off to Christchurch next week to my first Commonwealth Games. We’re gonna give those Kiwis a bit of stick! I’m coaching