Ernest Arthur Rex Pickering

Surname:

Pickering

First names:

Ernest Arthur Rex

Known by:

Rex

All Black Player No:

589

All Black games played:

All Black years:

1957 - 1960

Clubs:

Frankton

Provincial teams:

NZ XV 1958
Waikato 1958, 1959, 1960, 1961, 1962, 1963, 1964, 1965
North Island 1958, 1959
Regional Trial 1959
NZ Trials 1960
Nth Island Trial 1958, 1959, 1961
Centurions 1958

Provincial captain:

Waikato 1962, 1963, 1964, 1965

Biography:

1957: AB's: Flanker [5], No 8 [1] - 6 tour games - 4 tries (12 pts)
1958: AB's: Flanker - 1 test
1958: NZ XV: Flanker - 1 game
1958: Nth Island: Flanker - 1 game
1958: Flanker - 11 games
1958: Nth Island Trial: Flanker - 1 game - 1 try (3 pts)
1958: Centurions: Flanker - 1 game
1959: AB's: Flanker - 2 tests
1959: Nth Island: Flanker - 1 game - 1 try (3 pts)
1959: Flanker - 10 games - 1 try (3 pts)
1959: Nth Island Trial: Flanker - 1 game
1959: Reg Trial: Flanker - 1 game
1960: AB's: Flanker [9], Lock [3] - 12 tour games - 3 tries (9 pts)
1960: Flanker - 3 games
1960: NZ Trials: Flanker - 2 games
1961: No 8 - 12 games - 2 tries (6 pts)
1961: Nth Island Trial: No 8 - 1 game - 1 try (3 pts)
1962: No 8 - 11 games - 1 try (3 pts)
1963: No 8 - 10 games - 2 tries (6 pts)
1964: Flanker - 11 games - 3 tries (9 pts)
1965: Flanker - 12 games - 1 try (3 pts)

Sub Total: AB's: 21 games (21 pts)
Prov: 80 games (30 pts): Others: 10 games (9 pts)

Total: 111 games (60 pts)

Born: 23 Nov 1936
Died: 5 Jul 2016

NOTE: This site shows Men's rugby history data from 1957 to 2025. In the Women's game it goes back to early 2000s. I am working backwards to earlier years as time allows.

Endorsement

When the battle scars have faded
And the truth becomes a lie
And the weekend smell of liniment
Could almost make you cry.
When the last rucks well behind you
And the man that ran now walks
It doesn’t matter who you are
The mirror sometimes talks
Have a good hard look old son!
The melons not that great
The snoz that takes a sharp turn sideways
Used to be dead straight
You’re an advert for arthritis
You’re a thoroughbred gone lame
Then you ask yourself the question
Why the hell you played the game?
Was there logic in the head knocks?
In the corks and in the cuts?
Did common sense get pushed aside?
By manliness and guts?
Do you sometimes sit and wonder
Why your time would often pass
In a tangled mess of bodies
With your head up someone’s......?
With a thumb hooked up your nostril
Scratching gently on your brain
And an overgrown Neanderthal
Rejoicing in your pain!
Mate – you must recall the jersey
That was shredded into rags
Then the soothing sting of Dettol
On a back engraved with tags!
It’s almost worth admitting
Though with some degree of shame
That your wife was right in asking
Why the hell you played the game?
Why you’d always rock home legless
Like a cow on roller skates
After drinking at the clubhouse
With your low down drunken mates
Then you’d wake up – check your wallet
Not a solitary coin
Drink Berocca by the bucket
Throw an ice pack on your groin
Copping Sunday morning sermons
About boozers being losers
While you limped like Quasimodo
With a half a thousand bruises!
Yes – an urge to hug the porcelain
And curse Sambuca’s name
Would always pose the question
Why the hell you played the game!
And yet with every wound re-opened
As you grimly reminisce it
Comes the most compelling feeling yet
God, you bloody miss it!
From the first time that you laced a boot
And tightened every stud
That virus known as rugby
Has been living in your blood
When you dreamt it when you played it
All the rest took second fiddle
Now you’re standing on the sideline
But your hearts still in the middle
And no matter where you travel
You can take it as expected
There will always be a breed of people
Hopelessly infected
If there’s a teammate, then you’ll find him
Like a gravitating force
With a common understanding
And a beer or three, of course
And as you stand there telling lies
Like it was yesterday old friend
You’ll know that if you had the chance
You’d do it all again
You see – that’s the thing with rugby
It will always be the same
And that, I guarantee
Is why the hell you played the game!

By Rupert McCall

Credit: Sutton & Epsom Bs

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