In former All Black Sam Whitelock’s new autobiography, View from the Second Row, written with respected sports columnist Dylan Cleaver, he’s the first to admit that his communication style isn’t exactly ‘overly demonstrative’. For example, describing the build-up to the 2023 Paris World Cup final, he writes: “I’ve never been one for extroverted displays of emotion. It’s just not how I’m built.” It’s a statement that perfectly reflects the View From the Second Row reading experience. 

The book is staunchly laconic and always keen to get to the point. Whitelock epitomises the quintessentially stoic All Black, reminding us that in his role as unflappable world-class lock he always seemed far more comfortable letting his on-field actions do the talking. And true to form, over more than three hundred pages, this man of few words doesn’t necessarily say very much.

That’s strange when you consider how storied the events of his long career were, and how much one could say about them.

His playing days read like a compelling fairy tale, only in reverse. After scoring two tries in a positively Roy of the Rovers-esqe debut, Whitelock helped the All Blacks achieve back-to-back World Cup wins. But after 2015, as iconic players departed, he became a leader in a team that were quickly losing their aura of invincibility, especially after crashing out of the 2019 World Cup. From there the All Blacks lurched into a moment of infamous coaching instability with Ian Foster eventually acquiescing to Scott Robertson, the people’s choice.

The wheels really were coming off in this period, and Whitelock was in the box seat. He reveals he was among the players who petitioned for Foster to initially remain, an example of player power he now feels uneasy about. Meanwhile, in and around this he was instrumental in helping ‘Razor’ Robertson win a scarcely believable seven consecutive Super Rugby titles with the Crusaders. But despite his unique view on every facet of that drama, he remains as tacit as ever, and very little dirty laundry is aired here. 

To his credit, he’s much more forthcoming about how he felt playing under Steve Hanson, who comes across as an amusingly gruff, vivid character. The ex-policeman’s old school methods rubbed Whitelock up the wrong way several times. One incident with ‘Shag’ stands out, as he ‘absolutely lined up’ Whitelock in the team review with ‘the full hairdryer treatment’: 

‘Andrew Hore came up to me after to see how I was going, because, in his words, he’d never seen anybody take that sort of roasting before. I was pissed off and confused but I was a big boy and could handle it.’

It’s a great section, and more of this would be welcome. But mostly the focus is kept squarely on the footy, side-stepping any big bombshells or surprising thoughts and feelings. Cleaver does make a smart play by interviewing family members to round things off. The recollections of Whitelock’s mum and three similarly talented brothers provide a welcome funny, fresh perspective - a nice injection of warmth to the whole tale. 

In-depth recollections on Whitelock’s on-field playing career are abundant, more than enough to keep rugby fans enthralled. And with this in mind Whitelock and Cleaver’s detailed read isn’t by any means boring; it’s just guarded, with much left unsaid. Don’t look here for hot takes. 

Some sports autobiographies, Andre Agassi’s Open for instance, find visceral ways to reveal more about the player and the sport. Others become hagiographic tomes, as revealing as a Kane Williamson press conference. 

Whitelock flirts with the former but drifts towards the latter, as if aligned with the cloistered, impenetrable spin of the All Black PR machine. As a player he was an unquestionable champion. It’s just a bit of a shame this last word on the incredible career of our most capped All Black reads a bit like a closed book.