Peter Sloane, an All Blacks hooker, says he once bawled out his Hikurangi club flanker for allowing Sid Going, Mid-Northern’s halfback, to bump him off in the tackle in a game at Whangārei. 

Later in the match Sloane faced Going running round the front of a lineout. “When I was sitting on my butt on the deck,” says Sloane, “I realised why the loosies found it so hard to tackle him.” 

Sidney Milton Going, Super Sid to headline writers and Milt to his family, who died on Friday aged 80, was an All Blacks great, and one of the most exciting footballers to ever play the game. 

As Sloane, and international players Going faced in 29 tests from 1967 to 1977 found, Going was startlingly powerful. His strength came naturally to him. He never darkened the doorway of a gym. But I once interviewed him in a changing shed in Whangārei, and got a good idea of why he could shrug off tackles from men who towered over him. He was only wearing a pair of shorts, and his upper body would have been envied by Arnold Schwarznegger. 

Going was so old-school he wasn’t big on pre-season road running either. Just after he’d retired he said he hated road work so much he sought out every pre-season charity game he could find, and got fit by playing. 

Sid Going appears for the All Blacks against the Springboks in 1976. Photo / Photosport 

As a child growing up with four brothers in the Maromaku Valley, north of Whangārei, he learned early how to deal with rugby’s physicality. He’d say, on the family lawn “there were no beg pardons. We’d hit each other really hard”. 

As well as rugby and family, the other great love of his life was the Mormon church. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints chapel at the end of Marlow Rd in Maromaku was central to him. 

He spent two years in Canada in the early 1960s as a Mormon missionary, switching to basketball. But on his return rugby quickly called again. 

He was soon a fixture in the Northland side, and by 1966 was challenging for an All Black position. But he faced huge competition from Chris Laidlaw, a more traditional halfback with an impeccable pass. 

When he was finally given the chance, Going could produce extraordinary moments at the highest level. In 1968 he scored two solo tries in the first 30 minutes of a test against France at Eden Park. 

Many of us lucky enough to see Sid and his brothers, Ken and Brian, play together for Northland and the New Zealand Māori side will always believe a game-changing chance was missed by the All Black selectors of the early 1970s. The Goings’ Northland coach, Ted Griffin, swore that together behind an All Black pack they would have torn the world’s best teams apart. 

Halfback Sid Going hoofs the ball during the New Zealand vs Southern Universities match during the All Blacks tour of South Africa in 1970. Photo / NZ Herald Archive 

There’s never been a magic act quite like the one the trio used to put on, with just a footy ball for a prop. “Going, Going, Going, Gone” was the headline after one dazzling triple-scissors try for Northland. 

They all had speed, skills and strength. But together they had something even more potent, a list of 30 or more carefully planned, well rehearsed moves, with every single one named. 

The best, they called “The Special”. 

This is an outline of how it worked. Sid passes wide to Brian. Ken works a scissors pass with Brian. Meanwhile Sid is tracking Ken, who would work another scissors with him. Now Sid has the ball from the final scissors pass, and scores the try. Occasionally one last defender, by luck or good management, was still in the way, so one more pass, or a step, was needed. 

“The Special” almost made Northland the only provincial team to beat the 1971 Lions. But Sid thought Brian was likely to be caught and didn’t pass, and for once he struck a fullback in JPR Williams who was able to haul him down. The Lions sneaked in 11-5. 

One of the many likeable aspects of Sid the rugby player was that, with his devout religious beliefs, he never swore, on or off the field. Talk with him when he was passionate and adjectives like “blinking” or “flipping” might appear, but never anything more vulgar. 

Sid’s startling range of skills was probably best displayed in 1972 at Eden Park for Northland, when a penalty to win the Ranfurly Shield from Auckland was awarded. 

Earlier in the game Sid had botched a tap kick and Auckland scored a try, so brother Ken, the usual kicker, was still angry. “You take the kick,” he snapped at Sid. “Okay, I blinking well will,” said Sid. From 45 metres out he kicked the winning penalty. 

Super Sid was a nickname that fairly defined the man. 

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