Always meet your heroes
Never meet your heroes, they say. Clearly, ‘they’ never met Phil Bennett.
Phil - or ‘Benny’ to 70s rugby fans - died last week at the age of just 73. I say ‘just’ because prior to falling ill with throat cancer in 2021, Phil was as fit as a flea. A friend told me a couple of years ago about how he was walking. his dog in the park at Felinfoel - the village that Phil was born, bought up and lived in all his life - and saw someone in the distance sprinting and jinking to change direction. As he got closer, he saw that it was Phil, still sharp, still possessing that devastating side step in his 70s.
As a young boy, I was lucky enough to have a season ticket for the Scarlets and, every home game, my brother and I would go with my dad to stand on the Tannerbank at Stradey Park, meeting up with Uncle Len, cousins Mark and Mandy, and a group of associated friends. We would watch an imperious Scarlets team, marshalled by Phil at outside-half (the 10 in a rugby team). The man was a rugby genius. Only 5’ 7”, he was diminutive even by the standards of 70s players, but the skillset was unmatched. He was quick, a superb kicker out of hand and from the tee (although in those days, there were no tees, just a mound of mud crafted with the heel of a rugby boot) and saw things others didn’t, which helped him to manage a game brilliantly.
And he had that sidestep, of course. Take a look on YouTube and you’ll find plenty of examples: the one at Murrayfield in 1977, numerous examples from the British Lions tour of South Africa in 1974 and, of course, the Barbarians try against the All Blacks in 1973, which has frequently been described as the greatest try ever scored.
Phil captained the Scarlets, Wales and the British Lions, which points to his leadership qualities. As does the speech he gave to the Wales team before going out to meet England at Twickenham in 1977: “Look what these bastards have done to Wales. They've taken our coal, our water, our steel. They buy our homes and live in them for a fortnight every year. What have they given us? Absolutely nothing. We've been exploited, raped, controlled and punished by the English — and that's who you are playing this afternoon.”
He was a Welshman through and through, but he was also Mr Llanelli. The club meant so much to him throughout his life and he continued to give back to it in any way he could. As President in recent years, he would write letters to players recovering from serious injuries, sign anything you asked him to and stop and talk to fans, punters, anyone, at any time.
In the late 1970s and early 1980s, he owned a sports shop in Llanelli town centre. Jonathan ‘Jiffy’ Davies recently spoke about how he would go the shop, just to see if Phil was there. I used to do the same: so did all my rugby-playing mates. He knew that you had no money to buy anything, but he would still chat or answer your questions.
In recent years, he would be been before a match at Parc y Scarlets (where the team moved in 2008, after the closure of Stradey Park), in the lounge named after him. He’d always chat to everyone and would make the time to speak to my dad, a fellow Felinfoelian and old friend.
That he was a lovely, warm human being was obvious, but possibly the most extraordinary thing about Phil Bennett was his humility. When the tributes poured in after his death, it was clear that I wasn’t the only person who thought that he was one of the greatest players to grace a rugby pitch. I knew I biased, but when New Zealanders expressed the same opinion, it was clear to see that the consensus among students of the game was that he was as great as I thought he was. But Phil was always humble, always deflecting praise towards those he played alongside.
Here’s the ultimate example of his humility. In 2014, he authored a book, The Greatest Scarlets XV Ever. Anyone who knows anything about the club will attest that, despite the many exceptionally talented 10s who have graced the jersey, Phil is the top dog. But he’s not even mentioned in the section about outside-halves. That’s the kind of man he was.
Rest in peace, Phil.