It was an otherwise bleak afternoon. Cold. The sort of chill that slowly creeps into your bones as you sit in the concrete stand at Masteron's Memorial Park, watching the pre-season match between Wellington and Wairarapa-Bush. It was 16 years ago so the memories have faded over the details of how much Wellington won by, but what matters now is who stood out then.
Jerry Collins was 18, skinny, and extremely good. There was no question Graham Mourie would be picking him for his Lions team, and when I asked if he saw in Collins a future All Black, the former test skipper didn't even pause. "Yes, the only question is when." Is he old enough, now? "If you're good enough, you're old enough," Mourie replied.
We didn't have to wait long as Collins debuted for the All Blacks in 2001 – a debut perhaps delayed by a broken leg suffered in 2000. It was the first of 48 tests he would play for them in a career that epitomized all of the "'hard but fair" ethos New Zealand rugby stands for.
There are a million Collins anecdotes, but several stand out for me during his New Zealand-based career, which I covered in its entirety for the Dominion and Dominion Post newspapers in Wellington.
Collins was tough. So tough that he almost broke the Wellington team physio's hand as he was carried of Jade Stadium with a broken leg in his debut NPC season. "Just squeeze my hand when the pain is bad," Glenn Muirhead said to Collins. He quickly regretted the advice as a silent Collins crushed Muirhead's hand, the pain of his fracture etched also across his face. Not a sound, just squeezing.
He was also modest, sometimes hilariously so. Once embroiled in a goal line scuffle with several Bulls players at Loftus Versfeld, one of the home men fell to the ground with the drama of a football player taking a dive. Collins was close at hand so I asked him afterwards if he'd hit him. He tucked his little bit of chin fluff into his lip (as he often did) smiled, clapped me on the shoulder and said without a hint of bragging: "Jim, if I'd hit him, he'd still be asleep."
Collins was also a very generous man. He bought his parents a new house, clothed much of his beloved Norths mates in representative kit and was a regular around the club.
What he loved the most in life was to play rugby (and league). When the ill-advised resting policy was in force before the 2007 World Cup he would often rave to me about how silly it was. "We're called players because we want to play," he would oft say with a shake of his head, the lip tuft trapped to emphasise the point.
Sometimes his desire to play brought comical results. One Sunday afternoon at The Dominion league writer Peter Bidwell remarked that there was a "J Collins" in the league results. The Hurricanes had the bye that weekend and Collins had fronted for his local league team, scoring a couple of tries. Mourie later joked that he has subsequently "banned" Collins from playing league but would need a small army to enforce it.
Off the field Collins was an engaging character with a quick smile for those he liked and thousand-yard stare for those who annoyed him. He was great company, an entertaining interview and good bloke.
One pre-season we sat for a long interview in the small stand above the Hurricanes training base in Wellington. I had a new tape recorder. A digital one. It was flash and I decided to rely on that, rather than my usual shorthand so we could just chat without being slowed down by me taking notes. As I walked back to the car I fumbled with the buttons on the (never to be used again) recorder and deleted the whole interview.
I raced back to work, typed up the story from memory and then rang Jerry to explain what had happened. "I'll just read out the quotes mate to make sure you're happy with how I've remembered them."
"Na bro," he said, "I trust ya."
I said thanks then and I'll say it again now. Gone too soon, for sure, but Jerry Collins left an indelible mark on those who knew him. We need characters in this life we lead, and Jerry was one heck of a character.
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