Don Morrison has told stories about his refereeing, but nothing as dramatic as this drama-laden match in 1981.

The piercing ring of the phone at 4am woke me with a start.I grabbed the receiver at the bedside table, fumbled it momentarily and then spoke.

"Hello." I said sounding liking a man just awakened from a sound sleep.

"Don Morrison?" said a familiar voice on the other end.

"Yes." I said

"Don, Bob Jones here."

"Oh Bob!" I said with a tone that clearly reflected great displeasure to be awakened at four in the morning."Hang on a second while I go to the kitchen. I don't want to wake Trudy."

As I shuffled in my dissipating stupor to the kitchen it occurred to me that this call probably had something to do with the Springbok - USA Test match scheduled for the next day. Why else would Bob Jones be calling at four in the morning? I picked up the phone in the kitchen and sat down at the dining room table.

"Okay, Bob. What's up?"

In a hushed voice Bob said, "I need you in Albany no later than noon today. Can you make it?"

I continued to speculate this must have to do with the rugby test match, because Albany was the event venue. I responded with a succinct, "Yes."

"You know what I'm talking about?"Bob said in a way that was more a statement than a question.

By now I was awake enough to pick up on telling clues: an early morning call, a hushed voice, and very little detail. Obviously Bob wanted me in Albany for reasons he didn't want to share on the phone. I responded, "I can guess... what colour should I bring?"

"White," Bob said. "I'll meet you at the Albany Airport Sheraton Motel. Don't go into the lobby. I will come out to meet you."

"I'm on my way."

Naturally my efforts not to disturb Trudy had gone awry. She was awake and worried about why we got such an early morning phone call. I told her what little I knew about why I would be driving 150 miles to Albany. We had long ago discussed why I supported the Springbok tour of the US and there was no doubt in my mind that I would serve on this day in any fashion needed. I was still very much in the dark. Was this some sort of joke on Bob's part?Was I called to run touch, or to referee or to serve as a decoy?

And so began the saga of my appointment to referee the USA - Springbok Test match on September 25th, 1981.

I packed my kit and included every color I owned, not just white. On the drive to Albany I heard on the radio that the Evansville All Whites RFC clubhouse (in Illinois) was bombed earlier that morning and was totally demolished. No reported injuries. Apparently anti-apartheid people were punishing Evansville for offering their home pitch to host the Midwest v Springbok match that had occurred the week before. An aside: well after the Springboks had returned to South Africa it was determined that the bombing was motivated by certain Evansville club members' desire to collect an insurance claim.

As I drove to Albany I reflected on the circumstances surrounding the test match. The Springboks had endured a trying tour in New Zealand, including a rogue pilot dropping flour bombs on them in Eden Park. They had scheduled a three-match tour of America prior to their return to South Africa. Anti-apartheid sentiments ran high in certain factions of Americans, including a group led by the eminent black leader, Jesse Jackson. Other black activist groups were involved, and supporters, including some who played rugby, joined those factions. Everywhere the Springboks went there were demonstrators. The fear of violence caused the Midwest to resort to clandestine meetings and secret venues, with the match ultimately played in Racine, Wisconsin, 70 miles north of where the Springboks were staying in Chicago. The next match, Springboks v Eastern Rugby Union, was played as scheduled in Albany at Bleecker stadium on Tuesday, September 22. There were 1,000 protestors who braved the cold, pouring rain to demonstrate outside the stadium.

Anti-apartheid protestors were not alone in their desire to stop the Springboks from playing in America. Another faction was the US Olympic Committee. Los Angeles was slated to be the host of the Olympic Games in 1984, and there was concern that the Springbok tour might compromise the competition. South Africa had already been expelled from the Olympic movement. Would the black African nations boycott the games as a result of the Springbok tour? Would the Russians boycott the games using the Springbok tour as an excuse?Naturally these concerns spilled over to business sponsors and news media. Hundreds of millions of dollars were at stake. This brought more attention to rugby in America than any event prior to or following the Springbok tour.

Even the politicians became involved. The original venue for the test match was in New York City, but Mayor Ed Koch cancelled it. The game was rescheduled to occur at the same venue as the ERU game, Bleecker Stadium in Albany, the state capitol of New York. However, New York's Governor Carey decided to deny the use of Bleecker stadium on Friday, September 18.

Rugby officials were unable to seek legal recourse until Monday, the day before the ERU game. After a weekend of preparing, Tom Selfridge and ERU officials, with the support of the Mayor of Albany, were able to get a favorable ruling from District Judge Howard Munson on Monday. Governor Carey immediately appealed his case to the State Appeals Court. In the end, both the State Appeals Court and the US Supreme court supported Judge Munson's ruling. The Eastern Rugby Union would play the Springboks in Bleecker stadium as scheduled.

And the last, but not the least distraction to the Springbok tour was violence. At 1am in the morning of the day of the ERU match a bomb went off in the building housing the ERU offices in Albany. Threats of more violence abounded even though none occurred in the rain soaked ERU match. Then, on Friday morning the Evansville RFC clubhouse was bombed. Word got back to Albany almost immediately. In the wee hours of the morning the tour officials decided to move the day and site of the Test match. I received my call shortly thereafter.

My drive to Albany was filled with more thoughts than just those related to the above circumstances. Interspersed among social, economic, political and safety considerations, my mind drifted to what would matter if I were indeed to referee the game on this day. Then I would revert to thinking I was nothing more than a decoy and would not even see the match. But this was a silly way to prepare so I refocused on the possibility that I might actually be the referee. My stomach increasingly churned as a drove through a cloud of thoughts. Albany loomed on the horizon quicker than expected.

I managed to find the motel and pulled into the parking lot. I saw Bob Jones with two other guys standing with him at the entrance to the motel. I started to drive up to the entrance but Bob waved me off to a far corner of the parking lot. Bob and the other two guys strolled over to my car. Bob introduced me to Jim Townsend, a referee from New York, and told me that Jim will run touch for me. With a jolt I realized, "Whoa! If Jim is my touch judge, then I must be the referee."

In my moment of distraction I missed Bob's introduction of the third person, a plain-clothed state trooper with a walkie-talkie visible in his pants pocket. I asked Bob when and where the game would be played, and he told me he didn't know!He further stated that he didn't know if he would even be able to see the game. He said the originally appointed referee, Ian Nixon, would not make it to Albany in time for the match. I later found out that Ian was the decoy, not me. Ian was allowed to follow his original itinerary, which entailed flying from Dallas to Chicago to Albany on that day. However, when he arrived in Chicago he was told the game was over and to return to Dallas.

During my brief discussion with Bob, it became clear that he was following advice of the New York state police on how to ensure there would be no security leaks to demonstrators, media and rugby spies, all of whom were staked out in and around the motel. Jim Townsend and I were instructed to drive to check point #1 and to make sure nobody was following us.

Check point #1 was nothing more elaborate than a MacDonald's restaurant several miles away. We were instructed to drive there indirectly and watch, as best as we novice undercover agents could manage, for anybody tailing us. Once we got to the Macdonald's we were told to wait for at least an hour, making sure everybody in the restaurant and the parking lot had come and gone. It was here that I had my pre-game meal of a coffee with Danish. Jim and I quickly became the best of friends, which helped me manage my emotions related to the anxiety of the unknown, the boredom of waiting and the anticipation of the game.

The hour passed uneventfully, and we got back into the car to drive to checkpoint #2. After twenty years of silence I feel it is now okay for me to say that checkpoint #2 was Tom Selfridge's business office. Jim and I were told to await a phone call for further instructions so we camped out in the conference room and killed time. In the two hours of waiting I gave my boots the most thorough polish job they had ever seen.

While Jim and I awaited our phone call, the players were going through their own diversionary tactics to get to the match site. The Springboks who were neither players nor reserves for the test match were loaded into a bus and driven to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. In the meantime different American hosts would randomly take one or two of the player/reserve Springboks out various doors of the motel and drive them to a transfer point, such as a shopping centre. These Boks would walk through the mall, get into another car and be driven to their changing place.

While this was happening, the Eagles were sticking to their schedule to have a team photo taken at 2.30pm at a local pitch. When the time came, they all piled into a bus and departed from the motel. I am told some of the Eagles were already taped for the game. Who ever heard of having a team photo taken with the players fully taped and ready to play? None of the various factions staking out the motel seemed to figure out what was going on. Sometimes the simplest of plans can be brilliant, and the Eagles made their way to the pitch without any problems. The media seemed to be more interested in the Springboks than the Eagles, which may explain why members of the media were at the Baseball Hall of Fame to meet the non-playing Boks upon their arrival.

Once the playing Springboks began arriving at their changing place, Jim and I received our awaited phone call. We were told to go to check point #3, which turned out to be the Springbok changing place. Again, after twenty years of silence, I feel it is okay to say that checkpoint #3 was Tom Selfridge's home. Jim and I pulled up to the curbside in front of Tom's house and entered through the front door. As soon as we entered the house we knew the game was eminent. Massive Springboks were scattered throughout the house in various stages of kitting up. The sound of tape being torn could be heard above the silence and the pungent aroma of heat-providing salve was pervasive. Jim and I discretely found a vacant nook and changed into our kit.

Once we were all ready to leave two plain-clothed state troopers confirmed via walkie-talkie that the pitch and its surroundings were devoid of people. A further check confirmed the neighborhood around the house was safe. We were told to gather in the garage. Then the troopers called in the transportation. Two vans, pre ceded and followed by unmarked police cars, pulled up to the driveway. Inside the garage the atmosphere was tense. The silence was eerie. The only sound heard was the hum of the motor and the noise of the two garage doors as they electronically opened.We remained motionless as the doors slowly raised and the light of day streamed in. The doors fin ished opening, and as if the silence were a signal we all moved in one wave to vans. We boarded quickly and were escorted to the pitch, Owl Creek Polo Ground in Glenville.

We were the first people to arrive at the pitch.On one side of the road was a polo ground surrounded by thick woods. A rugby pitch was marked out in the middle of the ground, but there were no goal posts. The goal posts were kept down until the last minute in order to protect the security of the site. Instead of driving onto the playing enclosure we went across the road and up a hill to the stable and paddock area, which was out of view from the road. The Springboks began their pregame activities in one of the paddocks while Jim and I began our preparation in front of the barn.

From our vantage point we could see the pitch across the road. We noticed some folks had begun to put up the goal posts, but we saw no evidence of the Eagles. About this time I realized I had failed to pack touch flags in my haste to get to Albany. Jim was also without touch flags. In the true spirit of mandated creativity we entered the barn in search of a solution. Our solution was to tie a rag to each of two rider's crops, one for Jim and one for the Springbok tour member who ran the other touch. As we exited the barn we noticed the Eagles' bus pulling up to the pitch.

It was time to initiate the pre-game protocol, what little could be done under such circumstances. First came the boot check of the Springboks and my first decision as a referee. The Springboks had played throughout New Zealand and America under IRB Laws that had recently become outdated. The law change prohibiting a toe stud was now in effect, but all the Springbok forwards had the illegal stud. Here we were, thousands of miles from South Africa, in the middle of a muddy paddock that smelled of horse manure, and I am supposed to make some judgement like, "The game won't go on until the boots are fixed." I could just see the warm glow of appreciation if I made the Boks sit down in the muck and unscrew some silly stud. Suffice to say the game would be played with illegal boots. I made sure all parties knew of my decision before the opening kick-off.

After the boot check the Springboks, Jim and I paraded over to the pitch where the Eagles were putting on their boots. My check of these boots found no sharp edges or other items considered dangerous for the day, and thus we progressed to the only remaining pre-game chore. The coin was tossed, the choices were made and the game began. It's sad that only thirty spectators were able to watch the game live, even though a local television station was privileged enough to be notified and allowed to tape the game. The only other media present were Ed Hagerty and Albert Stevens of Rugby Magazine.

It was a competitive match with the Springboks eventually winning 38-7. Significantly, it was Eagle wing Lin Walton, an African American, who scored the game's first try, giving the USA a 4-0 lead.

As soon as the game was over the players shared congratulations and quickly piled back into the vans and the bus. I stayed behind to help take down the goal posts. While we were doing this, scores of state police came out of the woods and entered the playing area with all their riot gear in full view. I never knew they were hiding in the woods. It's ironic that the crew of policemen lurking in the woods was more than twice the number of spectators of watching the game. Fortunately, helmets, shields, clubs, dogs and paddy wagons were not needed on that day. I still marvel at the unexpected emergence of so many policemen from the woods.

The president of USA Rugby, Dave Chambers, had not participated in the early morning decision to move the game, nor was he available during the day to be notified of the change and so he missed the game. Dave cancelled USA Rugby's Friday night reception for the participants. That night and the next day most of us participated in the usual rituals of bartering for memorabilia, visiting with each other and learning about our different cultures. On Saturday evening, Tom Selfridge and the ERU graciously hosted a formal dinner at the Gideon Putnam Hotel in Saratoga State Park. Dave Chambers elected to fly home rather than attend.

Throughout the tour there was a constant threat and fear of violence. Long after that weekend I learned that the smell of "chemicals" on the day of the game had caused the employees in Tom Selfridge's office to evacuate the building and alert the bomb squad. Not all incidents were as innocuous as the lingering odor of shoe polish. Indeed, the threat at times became a reality. On the day of the Springboks' return to South Africa a demonstrator blinded a policeman guarding a South African plane at JFK airport by throwing acid in his face.

Back in Albany on the day following the match, I had one more bout with fear. Bob Jones was telling me about his experiences related to the events of the prior week leading up to the test match. One of the things he mentioned was that he was a driver of one of the vans that shuttled the Springboks around the Albany area. In view of the ever present threat of violence he said, "Think how I felt every morning when I started the van." Then later that day I was drafted as a driver of one the rented station wagons to take some of the Springboks to the formal dinner. When the time came, I opened the door to the damned car with the longest reach of my life. I started the engine with my body poised outside the car, ready to go like a bat out of hell. If a bomb were there, I would have been smoked and I knew it back then. Fear causes one to do strange things.