attention, then the Lions, and get a bit more attention, then you start winning for England and people want to start writing about you, then you win the World Cup and get even more attention.
Fame happens gradually so you get used to it; you slowly become accustomed to the fact that more and more people know who you are. You grow with it and it becomes normal.
Having said that, I think you get local fame much quicker in a place like Gloucester where they’re rugby crazy than you would in other places. If you’re a rugby player, you can’t do anything in Gloucester without people knowing all about it. The place is a rumour mill. Even if you didn’t do it, you probably did! Everyone knows everyone’s business. It’s nice in many ways but it does mean that you can’t ever escape from rugby. That’s what comes of being in a rugby town. That’s what I learnt. You have to take it on the chin.
As well as the on-the-field rugby changing as a result of professionalism, things were changing in the organization of the club as well, and in April 1997 Tom Walkinshaw came on board as Gloucester’s new owner. He was immensely rich and had a proven pedigree in sport through his work with Formula One, so was considered to be the ideal person to lead us through the change to becoming a fully professional club. You tend to forget that rugby becoming a professional sport made a huge impact on the administration of the clubs as well as the players.
The clubs had been ticking over previously, taking in sponsorship money at a fairly low level and using it to make minor alterations to the grounds and pay a skeleton staff. Now, suddenly, the clubs needed to make a lot of money to pay the players properly. If they couldn’t pay the players decent salaries, other clubs who’d found millionaire backers would step in and sign them up. Every club needed a rich individual, and preferably one with good business sense, to keep them afloat while the sport went through its transition to professionalism.
The year that Tom Walkinshaw came in was the same year that I went on a Canadian tour with the Colts which raised my profile down at the club and through the rugby world generally. This was heightened when I played my first England A game.
England A was a huge step up for me. I hadn’t been at Gloucester long, so was still adjusting to the step up that involved. Now I was in the England A team. Back then, England A was a bigger stepping stone than it is now; it was the definite link level between the clubs and the England team and few people would find themselves playing for England without first playing for England A.
The first game was an ERC (England Rugby Clubs) XV v New Zealand game at Ashton Gate, Bristol’s ground. They had Sean Fitzpatrick and Olo Brown in the side. I couldn’t believe it; I’d be playing against my childhood heroes. There’s something so amazing about taking the field against people you’ve admired from when you were a young boy. Olo Brown was immense - he had this huge presence on the field. Scrummaging against him was an awesome experience because he just doesn’t go anywhere. He’s solid.
The other great experience was seeing the haka up close. I’m a big fan of these rugby traditions and it was great to see it being done right in front of me. I stood on the pitch with my great heroes in front of me, watching the haka with 20,000 people in the crowd - unbelievable. A real privilege. On my side, there were Dave Sims, the Gloucester captain, and Tim Rodber, another great hero of mine.
Clive Woodward had become England coach and had got rid of the old guard, so guys like Rodber who’d had fantastic careers had fallen into the A-team on their way down. Rodber would bounce back and be in contention for the 1999 World Cup, but at that moment he was being tested by Woodward to see if he had what England needed. It was such an honour to run out alongside him and the other A-team players. I spent the whole time listening carefully and learning. I was like a sponge trying to soak up every bit of information and to benefit from everything I was hearing from these guys who’d been there and done it. Looking back, the selection for England A was a crucial moment in my life, and a big break for me because it would mark the start of my career really taking off.
The second A-game was at Welford Road, home of Leicester and their fortress when it came to club rugby. It was great to go there and not be booed and jeered by them all. It was here that I ended up getting the nickname ‘Raging Bull’. The name came about because Mark Allen, the New Zealand prop, was known as the bull, and apparently when he played at home everyone made the noise of a bull and would shout, ‘The bull’s in the farmyard!’ when he ran out. In order to counteract that, Clive Woodward said, ‘Well, we’ve got a raging bull here, his name’s Phil Vickery.’ Because I was brought up on a farm, the guys loved that name for me, and it stuck. There were obviously lots of farmyard references from my teammates and much laughter as they all took to calling me by my new name. But I grew to like being called Raging Bull and I’ve even called my range of clothing after it, and this book!
Welford Road was an amazing place to play because we had all this support. It’s not a great place to go when you’re playing against Leicester, because obviously you have very little support from the crowd, but I do remember how great it was when we went there with England and had them all on our side.
There’s no doubt that my stock rose as a result of playing for England A and I learnt something that I’d never realised before - that life is very competitive when you rise through the ranks. Suddenly I was the person to beat, the person that other props wanted to do better than in matches because I was the young, up-and-coming England prop. I remember playing Bath soon after the England A game and John Mallett was chasing me around, and working hard to look better than me. I knew I’d have to up my game. I felt I had to prove myself every time I played. People were looking at me as the guy knocking on the England door, not as the friendly, slightly tubby farmer who’d come on up from Cornwall. I was being taken seriously by other people and I had to start taking myself seriously. Well, not too seriously, because I’d never do that, just more seriously than I had done up until that point.
After the fantastic experience of playing for England A at Welford Road, it was back to Gloucester with a series of tough matches one after another. The standard of rugby being played in clubs had already begun to improve since the arrival of professionalism. Defences were harder to penetrate and players were starting to get fitter. The game was tougher than ever.
I remember playing in a particularly hard-fought match against Leicester at Kingsholm. Back then they had Richard Cockerill, Martin Johnson, Neil Back and a plethora of international players in their side. They had a particularly good pack so I knew I would have my work cut out. In this match in early February I remember the scrum going down badly, and the referee telling us to stand up. As I did so, Graham Rowntree gave me an uppercut right into the side of my jaw. Bloody hell it hurt. I still remember the pain today. I managed to get through the rest of the match and woke up to a very sore jaw the next morning. I decided that next time I saw Graham Rowntree he’d pay for that punch.
A couple of days later, I was at home one afternoon when I had a call from John Fidler. He told me that the England coach had been on the phone and wanted me to go to the Petersham Hotel in Richmond to join the international rugby team. ‘They want you to play for England,’ he said. ‘You’ve done it, son. Well done!’
I suppose I should report that the world spun on its axis as soon as John said those words, but the truth is that I was so worried about how on earth to get to this hotel in London that I didn’t have time to get excited about my selection for the national side. I know that for most people winning an international cap would be a most special moment in their lives, so I wish I could describe it as being thrilling and exciting but, genuinely, the only thing going through my mind was … London?
