Deception. What is it?
As a single word it conjures an all too perjorative response. Everything from pea and thimble confidence tricksters to Enron and Lehman Brothers.
But what deception means enirely relies on context. Shakespeare used it in myriad ways; from the playful to the horrible.
And if we wish to rid deception of it’s horrible, perjorative face, we need only to turn to sport. In sport, deception is the most prized and celebrated of skills. Think an equisitely disguised Federer dropshot, or Bekham bending it like, well, Becham. Who knew what McEnroe would do at the net.
But, in sprort, was there ever a greater practioner of the art of deception than Shane Warne? Warne boasted that renowned cricket tragics Elton John and Mick Jagger had both said that if they could not have been themselves but could have been anyone else it would have been him! And who is to doubt it? Certainly, when Jagger wrote a quarter of a century before the ‘ball of the century’ that “(s)he was practised in the art of deception” he could not have had someone better in mind than his later friend from down under.
But if, in a Shakespearian way, all our lives are a series of comedies and drama, it seems to me that deecption can take all forms at different moments. But to say that each moment was independent and not influenced by any other would, it seems to me, be wrong.
What about rugby?
At its best (not in the forwards mind you) rugby can be beautiful. It can be deciving though. In fact, to be great, it must be. Just as a line of ballerinas can decive you into thinking they are swans, great rugby players decive you into seeing the world as it is not. Jason Little ran seemingly slowly, but his smooth movements were such that he was on the trvaelator at the airport while everyone elase around him was moving at normal pace.
And so to a friend of mine.
Kent Bray was as beautiful a rugby player as you would ever hope to see. And, boy, could he decieve. Going one way – no he’s not. Passing to the left when charging to the right. Making holes in defensive walls that noone saw like pushing a baggage trolley through platform 9 3/4!
I played rugby with Kent. So, to a degree, I am a bit like Will Carling! But we played before he was a superstar. I occasionally got to pass the ball to him and marvel in what he did with it.
If you Google “Kent Bray Rugby” you will find photos of him. Each of them reflectling a steely determination.
And decpetion and determination are common bedfellows. The most determined individual game of rugby I ever saw played was by Kent on the day following the death of his brother, Scott. I did not know Kent then, but had marvelled at his brilliance in pasy games. The deception of that day was that to most who were there they were unaware of the grief of the boy wearing jersey 15; and he was going to play the house down. And he did.
When the game was won and there was nothing to lose, a final kick at goal proved too much. He lost his steely composure and gave way to his grief. His great conspiritor in all matters of deception on the rugby field, and another friend of mine, Clem Domic, took (and missed) the goal.
Kent went to England, played rugby at the highest level and forged a career in banking on the back of his training as a lawyer and studies in finance at Oxford. I have no doubt that the determination I knew in him took him to those places.
But what of his capacity to deceive? That mercurial ability to make something appear other than it is?
Kent, by his own courageous confessions, has spoken of the addiction to cocaine he developed when working in banking.
He has completely changed his life. He has spoken, though, of how friends and family did not see what was happening. One wonders how the capacity to deceive and bedazzel on the rugby pitch translates to other aspects of life. Like defenders in a backline, they stood there seeing their own reality while he deftly stepped off both feet into another.
Kent’s is a redemption story. I was overwhelmed with admiration for that 17 year old in 1981. I am even more so now.