The Hardest Test Read Free Page B

It was a wonderful time, like a whirlwind: I didn’t want it to stop. I was still working for my father, which helped make ends meet in those pre-professional days but between that and training and playing at the weekend, I found I had little time left to spend with my new family.
    I’ll always remember seeing my first live Cup
    Final. It was 1985 and Gary Pearce converted a late drop goal to beat Cardiff and win the Cup for Llanelli. It sent real shivers down my spine. The whole of Llanelli seemed to be in Cardiff that day and being there was superb.
    And to think that by the end of that busy 91/92 season, I myself was lining up in a Cup Final singing the National Anthem along with players such as Phil May, Ieuan Evans, Rupert Moon, Mark Perigo and Ricky Evans!
    What a moment it was, knowing my friends and family were there in that massive crowd. We went on to defeat deadly rivals Swansea 16–7 that day, which topped things off nicely!
    You often hear of sports men and women having superstitions when preparing for a game. For instance, they may put their kit on in a certain order or listen to a certain song to get “psyched-up”. It was around the time of that Cup Final that my lucky underpants entered my life.
    I had worn these pants when playing all season. I’d developed a close bond with them, so much so that the thought of appearing in a match without them was unbearable.
    On the day of the final my wife Nicola, mother, father and brother Craig had gone down to Stradey to catch the bus to Cardiff, as is the tradition for our supporters.
    I was left at home to finalise my preparation and pack ready for the big match. I loaded my kit-bag as usual, but to my horror my lucky pants were nowhere to be seen! I decided quickly that either my father or Craig must have put them on. I rushed down to Stradey with a spare pair to catch the bus before it left. Luckily it was still there, so I boarded and demanded to see what pants they were wearing. It turned out to be Craig who was the villain of the piece. I quickly made him change into the spare pair and headed off to the final safe in the knowledge my lucky charm was in my bag. I’m certain we would have lost that day otherwise!
    Playing rugby regularly for my beloved Llanelli in the shadows of the same saucepans on top of the posts that had beckoned my father was a great feeling. Even if the journey distance was much the same to Stradey Park as it had been to Graig (they are barely a mile apart), emotionally and psychologically I had come a long way.
    Dad was always around, ready to give me advice on the game and I was never short of role models to look up to in the shape of his former colleagues and team mates who’d become close family friends over the years.
    Being born into what’s been called a “rugby dynasty” (a term that makes me cringe) didn’t automatically mean my transition into the game was easy. As rugby became increasingly part of my life I quickly learnt that having a name like Quinnell had its negative aspects as well as positive ones.
    Some people liked to assume I was only in the Llanelli side because of my name. I sometimes got into scrapes of an evening in town after a match and a couple of pints. After all, I was still a teenager at this time. And I’d be the first to admit I wasn’t always in the right. But you’re always going to have that in a small town, I guess. I was a big boy, too, and there are always people who want to have a pop to prove a point. But I learnt to avoid certain situations and environments. I began to realise that I needed to sacrifice some things in my life to get on in the game. Fortunately Nicola proved to be a calming influence on me too. We met at the right time.
    It was a similar story on the field. I recall one cup match, when we were due to play Furnace United. Sometime the day before one of the boys had heard that the Furnace players had each put £10 in a pot to