Sean Fagan

Dally Messenger NSW "Waratahs" 1905-07

A sports writer for a Sydney newspaper wrote in 1907 of a spectacular 'move' employed by a number of rugby footballers - not to laud how great such feats were, but of how they on occasion were likely to, and in fact had, led to death!

He voiced his concerns after seeing the great Herbert 'Dally' Messenger perform his version of the "leap to glory" move in a match between NSW and the New Zealand All Blacks at the SCG.

"Keen footballers are just now speculating as to what may happen to Messenger, the tricky three-quarter of the Eastern Suburbs team, if he endeavours in other matches in which he may be engaged, to repeat last week's performance of jumping over the head of the full-back. Other well known steeple-chasers have before this paid the penalty with their lives in attempting such a feat."

On reaching a defender, who was often crouched ready to tackle or dive at the oncoming attacker, the man with the ball would leap dramatically into the air and literally hurdle his opponent. A sight which, understandably, would thrill the crowd and the growing number of sports photographers.

Our sports writer continued: "Armit, probably one of the best (rugby union) three-quarters seen in New Zealand and certainly in NSW, was a victim of this foolhardy feat. He was endeavouring to clear the head of an equally clever player in Alf Bayley when the latter rose. Armit pitched forward heavily on to his head. It was supposed at first that his neck had been broken. Such was not the case, but the unfortunate fellow sustained such spinal injuries as resulted in death a few days after."

The move was initially made popular by A.E. Stoddart of the 1888 British team that toured Australasia. The origins of the practice though can only be surmised - death in rugby games in the late 19th century as the outcome of any of a number of roughouse and daring tactics had not been unheard of.

The most celebrated exponent of "the leap" was New Zealand's Albert ‘Opai' Asher. 'Opai' was a winger in the New Zealand team that toured Australia in 1903 and was well known to Sydney audiences.

The reporter continued: "Asher, another of this class, has several times had miraculous escapes, being severely injured more than once. Asher, on account of his hurdling (habit), was nicknamed ‘Opai' after a well known steeple-chase horse. Apart from the danger that surrounds the practice, it is not football. There should always be a companion-in-arms in attendance to take the pass when the full-back is reached. Messenger will be well-advised if he does not persist in this practice - pretty though it may be."

Dally Messenger never repeated his "famous dive" and recalled for a news feature in 1940 what happened that day - he also paused to comment on the above reporter's offerings.

"The writer didn't give me over much change and I agreed with him. I was wise (not to repeat the jump). Bede Smith feinted past two players and sent me the ball down in our own 25. Coming along the (side) line right to within five yards of the New Zealand goal line, I noticed the centre and winger in front of me and the full-back a few paces behind."

"Somehow or other I dummies them. I don't know what happened really, but they stood mesmerised as though expecting me to turn tail and run backwards. Anyhow, I slipped right between the two of them and full-back Spencer, of Wellington, made a dive right at me to grip me by the knees."

"As he dived, I dived over the top of him and you couldn't hear yourself shout at the pandemonium that followed when I landed over the line for the try. I must have dived ten feet."

The Evening News reported: "The scene was indescribable nor can a description of the outburst of the cheering be given when Messenger converted."

This article is based on the book about Dally Messenger: The Master.

"That writer (talking about my dive) was correct. I've never, before or since, done anything like it. But you will enjoy hearing the sequel.

A press photographer from one of the afternoon papers came to me the next day and said, "I had bad luck Dal, I missed that dive of yours." He'd have needed to be Harold Horder himself to have got it!"

"He asked me: "I want you to get the men concerned in position for me again and do a dive so as I can take it." That made me burst out laughing! "Do you want me to bust my neck?" I asked and meant every word of it. "It's off," I said. "Go on Dal," he said, "give us a go."

"Not on your life," I replied. "That sort of thing is all right on the spur of the moment, but not in cold blood." Nothing he could say would budge me on that decision."

References.
From "The Master" (Aug. 2007)