Donal Lenihan on 'Unbreakable': We laughed at old times, secretly relieved we could all still do so

What was revealed over the course of a fairly harrowing 60 minute watch was the level of physical and emotional damage visited upon what was, on the surface, a hard-nosed, mentally strong and highly committed group of “unbreakable” men. 

What has transpired in the 21 years since Jonny Wilkinson delivered one of the most celebrated drop goals in the history of the game with just minutes left to play in the second period of extra time is deeply concerning.

Seven years after the game turned professional and with rugby still coming to terms with what that new found status actually entailed, this storied group of players have become representative of the fallout from a sport going through a massive transformation.

There was an assumption that professional rugby players had to train so much harder than their amateur equivalents which, in time, resulted in bigger, stronger and more explosive athletes. Inevitably mistakes were made with far more emphasis on prolonged bouts of physical contact in training in the week leading into the game at the weekend that simply wouldn’t be tolerated by the modern player.

As a consequence many of that first batch of professionals ended up broken, both physically and mentally, with a number currently dealing with the after effects. Some were luckier than others.

Lewis Moody was a fearless back rower with Leicester Tigers stationed, more often than not, on the England bench behind the world class trio of Richard Hill, Neil Back and Lawrence Dallaglio. By his own admission, he lost count of the number of times he was concussed in his career.

The documentary clearly shows him being knocked out in two separate incidents in the 2003 pool game against Tonga, the first as early as the second minute and again just after half time. Thankfully protocols are such that that scenario wouldn’t be tolerated now with a real understanding of just how serious that second impact syndrome can become.

Moody spoke about the macho image surrounding such incidents at the time. He acknowledges that medics insisted he should leave the field but he absolutely refused to do so. In time it was recognised that players needed to be protected from themselves. Thankfully Moody looked fit and well despite having absorbed so much punishment. You just hope it remains that way.

Unfortunately others weren’t so lucky, the most tragic coming to light when Vickery went to visit his close friend in that England front row, hooker Steve Thompson, who was diagnosed with early-onset dementia and probable chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) four years ago.

Not only does he not remember anything about their 2003 triumph, he doesn’t recall any of their seven week sojourn in Australia or the victory parade attended by over half a million people on their return. Far worse than that, the 46 year old often struggles to remember the names of his kids.

The third member of that England front row, loose head prop Trevor Woodman, was probably saved from himself by having to retire due to a chronic back problem within a year of the final. Woodman admitted that his world fell apart. “When that's taken away from you, the next person takes your shirt, you lose that identity. I'm 28-years-old, what do I do?” 

Operating away from the coalface, directing operations at half back, Wilkinson became the most recognisable face of that champion England team. The fact he kept his composure to deliver the most iconic moment in English rugby history set him apart in the eyes of the public, even from inspirational captain Martin Johnson.

The ironic thing is you couldn’t come across a more reluctant hero. The ultimate perfectionist, Wilkinson was two years younger than Ronan O'Gara on that 2001 Lions tour but ahead of the Cork man, not only in terms of international experience, but in the forensic way he prepared for games.

O'Gara was blown away by Wilkinson’s dedication and work ethic. He returned from the tour with a different perspective of what was required to make it to the very top. What many didn’t appreciate at the time was the inner demons Wilkinson faced on a regular basis. He found it very difficult to switch off and admits to never getting to know his English teammates properly.

On that 2001 Lions tour, I vividly recall getting a phone call from one of the Lions management team who, while everyone else was resting up on the afternoon prior to the opening test in Brisbane, was with Jonny going through his regular place kicking routine on the eve of the game.

When I arrived it was clear things weren’t going well. The fact it was a very blustery afternoon didn’t matter one bit to Jonny’s preparation, which wasn’t going according to plan. He wasn’t striking the ball as well as normal and couldn’t get his head around what was going on. He was in a state of panic.

Despite all efforts to calm and reassure him, he wasn’t handling things well. It was the first time I recognised that, despite everything he had accomplished to that point in his fledgling career, he wasn’t the confident, self assured young man I had imagined. It was then it dawned on me that he had only just turned 22.

The following day Wilkinson played a starring role in a victory over the reigning world champions but ever since I came to realise just how intense a character he was. Even by the time the 2003 World Cup came around, Jonny still hadn’t learned to switch off.

In the documentary Wilkinson reveals that “for me, the intensity, the focus was my strength but it was also very much pushing me on the edge of the cliff. I was suffering from a disconnection with myself. With that comes the anxiety and panic, then comes the confusion and the depression”.

He admits to never talking to anyone in the camp about it leading the likes of Johnson and Dallaglio to admit that they, as senior players, should have had his back a bit more. The plain truth is that nobody had a notion about mental health at a time when being seen to be mentally fragile in any way was a big negative. How you went about dealing with pressure or anxiety was never even acknowledged not to mind spoken about.

Sadly, as the documentary edges towards the finish, Vickery explains that on top of having to recently declare bankruptcy, he too has probable CTE with scans confirming the damage. He’s not alone with another 388 rugby union players taking a class-action concussion lawsuit against World Rugby, the RFU and Welsh Rugby Union.

I’m often asked if I’d have liked to be a professional rugby player. My response is always the same. I would have loved to explore how much better I could have been given the chance to train on a full time basis and dedicate myself to becoming the very best version of myself. That said, I wouldn’t swap any of my career for the ancillary benefits that accrued to the generation of professional players that immediately followed me.

On the eve of the recent Australian game I was delighted to attend a dinner marking the 150th anniversary of the IRFU, affording me the opportunity to catch up, to share a pint and a laugh with several of my former international teammates.

A photo taken on the night alongside Hugo MacNeill, Trevor Ringland, Michael Bradley, Philip Danaher, Michael Kiernan and Mick Galwey captured a happy gathering even if, with the passage of time, it’s hard to distinguish between the backs and the forwards.

Thankfully, the overriding injury legacy from our time at the top of our amateur sporting days - Galwey was the only one to straddle the transition from amateur to professional - was more confined to a decent collection hip and knee replacements.

Of far greater importance, everyone was able to reminisce and share fond memories of cherished times, on and off the field, spent in each others company. We laughed at old times, secretly relieved we could all still do so. 

You get the sense from the 'Unbreakable' documentary that a number of our English World Cup wining counterparts would gladly trade their 2003 winners medals for a bit of that normality. 

I find that deeply sad.