Gavin Henson: Worst Advised Professional in the World?

There is no question in anybody’s mind that Gavin Henson is an imbecile. That has never been in doubt, and any argument to the contrary would carry with it the reef of the imbecile in itself. But the news that he was fired in drunken disgrace from the Cardiff Blues for an offence that, all reports suggest, amounts to little more than drunkenly flinging ice cubes around an aeroplane cabin, suggests that his boozy misconduct wasn’t the only problem.

In a sport such as rugby union, planes and alcohol have never mixed particularly well: players in the “good old days” were known to start brawls in mid-air and force aeroplanes to make emergency landings in alternative countries. While that was definitely the amateur era, a bit of ice cube flicking sounds a little bit tame to be getting sacked for. Certainly some of his team mates felt so, with Casey Laulala tweeting that the management had shown themselves to be “amateurs” in their handling of the affair, a chirrup that was hastily retracted once it became obvious that insulting such trigger-happy management might not be the most prudent course of action. 

No, it’s clearly something else. Henson has throughout his career had only one thing to live or die by - his performances on the field. This may sound obvious for a professional sportsman, but it isn’t, really: he, peculiarly bereft of even the slightest grain of charisma, has no personality get-out clause. Even Gazza could make you feel sorry for him. Even the most toxic of sportsman can, by showing just a fraction of a normal person’s expected quota of self awareness, be forgiven the earth and awarded a book deal, all for demonstrating little more than the expected social capabilities of a lobotomised sewer-dwelling rodent.

It’s unfortunate for dear, simple Gavin, that he appears to be advised by morons pointing him towards a life entirely unsuited to one as pitiably charmless as he. During his extensive, tortuous media engagements of recent years, he has shown himself to be the very last person you think of as having the requisite personality for a media career. Nor has he ever looked as though he really wants to be pursuing it when he is doing so. Once so imperious on the field of play, he even managed to look awkward on The Bachelor, a TV show entirely based around him. No doubt his advisers told him he’d be stupid not to do this - a pretty penny earned for a few weeks’ lounging around among a gaggle of sickly-scented airheaded wannabes who were never quite interesting enough to make it past their first Big Brother audition. But while it did little for his future prospects as a media personality, it did yet more lasting to his already decrepit rugby reputation, another painful blow delivered deliberately to his bruised career.

So, Gavin (poor, helpless, knuckleheaded Gavin), has found himself in scenarios his emotional skillset cannot take. Since his early emergence with the Ospreys and his briefly brilliant career with Wales, he has been the star player looked to by others. The MVP, automatic pick, a natural talent. But with every celebrity sojourn, and every payday-chasing short term move of clubs, he has found himself having to prove himself before he even gets on the pitch - and his rugby ego doesn’t like it. At Saracens, Toulon, and the Blues, he has had to work from the ground up, something his temperament seems uniquely unsuited to. Not averse to hard work by any means, Henson is a shy man (yes, even with the orange skin) and as fragile as any, and he has shown how hard it is to learn humility and grace in your late twenties having been proclaimed a prodigy a decade before.

It’s hard to feel sorry for him. But you have to wonder who the hell is giving him advice. Clearly bereft of any IQ, and needing smarter people to make his decisions for him, he appears uniquely let down by the age of professionalism. With a celebrity relationship in his back story, leeching advisers see endorsements and media money, and an ongoing media presence that will endure simply due to who his ex is. Meanwhile the player, once such a shining light of the Welsh team, watches his ex-team mates romp to a World Cup final and a Grand Slam, wondering whether he might have been better off sticking to the rugby, and leaving the TV work for retirement. This shy, fragile, mercurial talent may never play on the big stage again. And the worst bit of that? He’ll be on our TV screens more and more.