Peter Jackson
Once upon a time, during the early stages of his seven-year reign as France head coach, Bernard Laporte strode out of the dressing-room and made a bee-line for a gaggle of visiting reporters. “You,” he said, accusatory finger pointing unmistakably at me. “You are a bad man. Very bad man.’’
Not that long before, after an awards ceremony in London, we had been shooting the breeze in a West End hotel. “Tell me,’’ Laporte said, tapping his watch which showed GMT fast approaching one in the morning. “Where is Clive Woodward? Is it possible he is on the training pitch at this time?’...