Mastering the fear of failure

An unspoken job description of being a sports hack is that you are also an inadvertent armchair psychologist.

This tends to show itself in the almost Freudian links sports writers can unearth from a comment as weather-beaten as "we'll take it one game at a time".

I cut my Armchair Psych 101 teeth at the 2003 World Cup on one Jonny Wilkinson, who will quit all rugby when the French Top 14 season ends.

Like most of his peers, the former England flyhalf and current Toulon captain had little to say when a dictaphone was thrust under his nose, but he was a wonderful canvas for amateur psychologists.

On the surface he was the unflappable England standoff who made his international debut at 18 and had a reputation as a 10 who cut opposition players in half.

He was also known for a brilliant tactical kicking game, the ability to drop-kick with either foot, and having last missed a kick at goal when he played for Newcastle under-14s.

But it was his obsessive-compulsive training habits that made him an interesting case study.

England team-mates found him mildly irritating because he was forever nagging the team's best passer, catcher, stepper, etc, to help him become better at that particular skill.

"Wilko" was also infamous for putting in a full training shift, not to mention a punishing kicking session on days like Christmas.

That was the thing about Wilkinson: most people sometimes took themselves out of their comfort zone - he lived there.

The 2003 World Cup revealed that the main reason for his unrelenting work ethic was a crippling fear of letting his team-mates down.

It could be argued that as a result, he worked so hard at his skills that he was almost able to execute them on autopilot.

Nothing hinted at the possible neuroses attacking Wilkinson more than his goalkicking style - a half-prayer, half-squat effort that had his kicking leg twitching furiously before it approached the ball.

Because he wasn't an off-the-cuff player, free-attacking teams Wales and Samoa nearly induced him into a meltdown at the 2003 World Cup.

Such was the dip in form that Mike Catt literally had to baby-sit his flyhalf from inside centre for a while in that tournament.

But Wilkinson came good at the right time by scoring all the points in the 24-7 semifinal win against France and nailing a dropped goal with his weak foot to win the final in extra time against host Australia.

Consequently, I have always seen Wilkinson as a poster boy for that often maligned breed of successful animal - that which succeeds because it is terrified of failure.

But Wilkinson's love for the game would show after that World Cup when a cruel run of injuries - fuelled by a punishing training schedule and not sparing himself in contact - left many thinking the then wealthiest player in the world would retire.

Not only did he come back to play in two more World Cups, he found a happy rugby home at the rather un-English Toulon in the south of France - and he led them to their first Heineken Cup win last year.

When it comes to it, he won't be considered to be on Dan Carter's level because he lacked that cheek that sets gifted flyhalfs apart.

But Wilkinson was a man you went to if you wanted to get things done (just ask Toulon owner Mourad Boudjellal).

This could be more amateur psycho babble on my part, but I reckon Wilkinson dragged himself to a greatness others, and not necessarily himself, saw in him.