Adam Hastings

A teammate, seeing yet another journalist waiting to speak to Adam Hastings, ponders aloud if he is “the only player that plays for Glasgow”. Dave Rennie, Warriors’ deadpan coach, wanders past, sipping a mug of piping-hot soup, and offers his own suggestion: “Make sure you kick him in the nuts!”

Adam Hastings was six years old when his mother was diagnosed with the chronic and relentless scourge of Parkinson’s. Aged just 39, the uncontrollable trembling ravaged her body, destroyed her sense of smell and flayed her confidence.

Diane Hastings lost around three stone in weight as the constant shaking leeched away tissue. She hated leaving the sanctuary of the family’s Edinburgh home, sensing curious eyes and judgemental stares wherever she went. Each morning brought uncertainty and anxiety. How bad would the symptoms be today? What hell would Parkinson’s visit upon her next?

“I slag her off now, but I used to go for food with her and I’d turn around  and next thing I knew she’d be nearly under the table because she’d been shaking so much,” Adam says. “She didn’t like going out in public. She couldn’t drive. She used to get really self-conscious, even though no-one cared.”

Three years ago, Diane underwent a procedure called deep brain stimulation. Electrodes inserted into her brain deliver pulses to specific areas of the organ. The surgery transformed her life and assuaged her symptoms, allowing her to vastly reduce her medication and rebuild that fragile confidence. She could go to Glasgow and Scotland games to watch her boy, even travelling to Japan for the recent World Cup. She ran a leg of the London marathon in 2018 for a charity that helps fellow sufferers and their families. “She dealt with it really well,” Hastings says. “She’s been amazing, really inspirational. But I’d encourage anyone if they have Parkinson’s to try and get the operation because it’s been life-changing. 

“The only thing now is she’ll get a bit tired at night time because you’ve got this charge stimulating your brain to stop you shaking. But other than that, she’s dandy. She’s put a bit of weight on again – she was very skinny because obviously you’re moving a lot – and she’s so much more relaxed, it’s amazing.

“She’s so happy, she always gets the giggles at dinner time – just out of the blue, she’ll start pissing herself. It’s honestly bizarre. My auntie’s  even worse and when they’re together, they’re awful. We’re all sitting there going, ‘God, here we go again’. She’s just got that energy about her that you love to see and she brings the best out in us.”

Hastings, now 23, is a brilliant young fly-half and the play-making sorcerer of the Glasgow side. He is also a seriously hot media property, hence – when Rugby Journal is waiting to speak with him – his team-mate asks if we realise there are other Glasgow Warriors to converse with. 

While we decline Rennie’s suggestion of giving him a nudge in the crown jewels, the obvious inference in the Kiwi’s barb is that his fulcrum could do with being taken down a peg or two. You look at Hastings and his hair sculpted with surgical precision, blindingly white incisors and tanned sinew and wonder if he is as vain as his image suggests. He could be a model or a footballer or a Love Island contestant. In the week of this interview, he has been fretting over the angle of his nose, puffy and yellow after a bang to the chops delivered by an Exeter Chiefs forward.

“The physios came on and I was like, ‘Just tell me if it’s broken, please!’ They were saying, ‘It’s not broken, Adam’. I wouldn’t let it go. ‘No, just please tell me.’ I thought they were lying to me, because I thought they were thinking that I wouldn’t focus if they told me it was broken.

“[Glasgow prop] Petrus du Plessis had his [nose] across his face the week before and all I could think about was that. Straight away, I looked at the big screen and it looked half-decent. I tried to push it back but nothing happened, it was just swollen. It’s gone down, hasn’t it? A little bit?”

What you find with Hastings is not arrogance or swagger, but a revealing vulnerability. There’s confidence to him – of course there is – but there’s maturity, modesty, a boldness to confront his flaws and lay bare his fears. He talks candidly and impressively about mental health, social media abuse, Diane’s fight against Parkinson’s and how carrying the most famous surname in Scottish rugby scrambled his head.

He can be sheepish too. In running through the gamut of tattoos adorning his forearms, he fidgets and guffaws and looks wholly embarrassed by what he has chosen to have etched on to his skin.

“I’ve got my Scotland cap number 1094 in Roman numerals. Me and Blair Kinghorn had just got back from the 2018 summer tour when I’d made my debut and we were just hanging about Edinburgh one day. I asked him if he wanted to get one and he said ‘yeah’. Happy days. I’ve got a few crap tattoos but that one’s alright, my best one.”

His eyes drift to the table and he toys with his wrist, chuckling about the memory of an almighty ink-related stitch-up.

“I’ve got some doves here, bit random. Me and Ali Price were bored on our day off. We were sitting having coffee for about three hours and I was like, ‘Do you want to get a tattoo?’

“I went and got mine and I came out and he’d gone! I think he was going to get one but it was taking far too long, so he went home. And then I’ve got this lightning bolt here. Me and Blair got matching ones – again, during summer, on a day off. 

“There’s one I kinda wanted before but I’m not too keen on it now. It means nothing, literally. I just saw it on Instagram and thought, I’ll get that. I got it, and two weeks later I was like, why did I get that? I’m an impulsive guy, y’know? 

“I’m sure I’ll get a few more, but I don’t think I’ll get a sleeve. I think you need to be a lot bigger than me. You need to be massive – and I’m not.”

Appearance is important to Hastings. He knows that the hair and the teeth and the tan will earn him a savaging from his peers and may generate a very false public perception, but he knows too that they do not define him.

“You see footballers all dressed head-to-toe in whatever, designer clothes, and they’re all very well-groomed. It seems to be the culture there. In rugby, it’s a lot more laid back and that’s probably why I get the piss taken out of me.

“I’m a big believer in look good, feel good, play good. I think it’s definitely important. If you don’t feel good going into a game... and look, it’s a little thing, I could go into a game without a bloody haircut, but it feels nice.”

That crafted thicket of black hair is becoming notorious in Scottish rugby circles, so much so that it even has its own Twitter account. The page, mercifully, has become much less fertile since Hastings got rid of the flowing back-combed bouffant that needed a thorough reshaping at every stoppage. 

“It still exists but I think they’re not pumping out as much content since I cut my long locks.

“I don’t know what I was trying to do there. Since I chopped that off, they’ve slowed down a bit, which I’m quite happy about. I don’t enjoy that attention but I don’t hate it. You’re going to get a bit of stick. I found it quite funny.”

All that caper is good value, but there is a sinister element to the athlete’s life online. Social media can be an important vehicle for fans and players to interact, a platform for growing and sharing the game, but it can also plunge people into a cesspit of spite. As a fly-half – and a Hastings – he can be a lightning rod for criticism. 

“Social media is brilliant in terms of seeing anything at the touch of a button, you see more of games, good things that people do in games, fans can interact with players and vice versa which is a good thing.

“But you get boys getting bladed on Twitter for doing one bad thing, which I think is very unjustified. Look, I did it when I was younger, I’d watch Liverpool and slag off a Liverpool player if they missed a kick or whatever.

“When you’re a 12- or 13-year-old I can see it, but when you’re a 35- or 45-year-old man with three kids and you’re slagging off someone for missing a tackle, it’s just a bit fucking ridiculous – sorry.” 

In 2014, Hastings was a dazzling sixth-former at Millfield School, the palatial Somerset institution that counts Sir Gareth Edwards, JPR Williams, Mako Vunipola, Chris Robshaw and Scotland’s own Huw Jones among its alumni. He was hoovered up by Bath, where he played academy rugby, won Scotland Under-20 honours and took his first tentative steps as a professional. He gorged himself on the wisdom of George Ford and Rhys Priestland, and made a handful of first-team appearances. Three years later, he left for Glasgow in search of game time and a better crack at forcing his way into the Scotland reckoning.

 In those early days, he couldn’t help but be drawn into a self-indulgent cycle, seeking validation and craving praise. Like a kid peeking beneath the wrapping paper on Christmas Eve, he would rush back to the sheds at full-time and scour the internet for comments about his performance. 

“I remember my first few appearances – straight away, I’d get in the changing room and search my name and see what people said. People say you shouldn’t be worried about it, but everyone is. You want people to see you as a good player.

“At the start of my career, I was playing well, so I’d be lying if I said I didn’t read it. It was nice to read all these people saying nice things about you. It’s a confidence boost, it’s positive, but it went the other way at some points as well when I had a bad spell.

“When you have a poor game, especially for your country, you do get a bit more heavy stick. It can definitely bring your confidence down. I’m much better now – if I read those things, I’m better at blocking it out, but I’m much better at just avoiding it altogether.”

The vitriol was felt most keenly in December of 2018. He threw two interception passes that cost Glasgow 14 points in a punishing loss to Scottish rivals Edinburgh. 

“That was the worst Christmas I’d ever had – I couldn’t get it out of my head, and because you have that lay-off period, you’re not back in training, I was literally just sitting at home on my phone the whole time thinking about it. It was a horrible time.

“Even after that, I remember Finn Russell got injured and then Pete Horne started ahead of me for Scotland in France and I was just so gutted.

“I had a few tweets from complete randoms. It was tough. But on the other side, you’ve got senior boys looking after you, putting an arm around you, and they know how good a player you are. I think I was in the best environment for that kind of encouragement.

“Ali Price was really good with me. He’d kind of gone through similar with the interception he threw against Wales in the Six Nations. We just went for a few beers that weekend and he just talked me through it and really settled me.

“I spoke to Rens [Rennie], I got dropped a couple of weeks later and he just said, ‘Look, we’ve not lost faith in you, we’re just taking you out of the limelight for a wee bit’. That made it feel easier to take. 

“That was a really tough time but I think I’m much better for it and it was probably a blessing in disguise. I like to think I’m quite good at getting over mistakes and I’m not scared to try the same thing again.”

It wasn’t always so easy to shrug off errors. There were times when insecurity would envelop Hastings, he would gaze out of the bus window en route to games and wish he could trade places with the thronging fans enjoying their pints and laughs free from pressure.

“It helped that when I first got my chance at Glasgow last season I went really well straight away. That was huge. You hate to think what would have happened if you’d had a couple of shockers and how different it could be.

“But I think I always had demons at the start of my career, little thoughts and doubts. When I step up to hit kicks now, I’m not thinking, ‘what if you miss? What if you miss?’. Because, honestly, I used to stand over the ball and think, ‘don’t shank this, don’t shank this’.

“You’re obviously scared of what you haven’t experienced. Even now, I do get nervous on the bus going to games, and you have second thoughts, have I done enough, have I prepared well?

“But everyone gets that and you’ve just got to remember all the hours you’ve put in. After every session pretty much I’ll do kicking of some sort or handling or maybe a bit of tackling.

“Now, even at the start of games when the adrenaline’s pumping, I still feel very confident. Whether that’s just repping it in games or training, I think it’s been a huge difference in my mentality. I’d say I think I’ve got better ability-wise, definitely, but my mentality has grown even more than my skills.”

When Hastings first broke through, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid facing the inevitable association with – and the virtual interrogation about – his father as he tried to forge his own career in the game. Gavin Hastings was a colossus clad in blue, a rampaging deity who defined a generation of Scottish rugby. He captained his country, captained the British and Irish Lions, and his influence and status extended well beyond the boundaries of the sport.

Father and son are extremely close. But as a teenager, he couldn’t shake the notion that his coaches were picking him because of his surname, not his skills.

“When I was younger, I definitely thought that – maybe up to U16s. But you get to a certain point when you know you are a good player and back yourself and coaches aren’t that daft. I didn’t get picked for my first year at U20s and that was a blessing in disguise, then I knew they weren’t just picking me because of my dad.

“I always knew I wanted to go down the rugby path because Dad did it and I wanted to do it too. I couldn’t have asked for a better childhood. He was really loving, he always wanted the best for me and my sister and my mum. 

“He’d always encourage me, never pushed me into anything. He and my mum took me kicking down at the park whenever I’d ask. They’ve both been brilliant.

“My dad had this old VCR tape of a film they did on him and it was all his highlights and they chatted through games and stuff. I used to sit and watch that loads, must have watched it 100 times. And obviously my uncle  [former Scotland & Lions centre Scott] and gran and grampa were in that. I used to smash that when I was younger.

“He always  tries to be funny but we all just slag him off, our family. Awful dad jokes. When he introduces me to new people, he just tries to slag me off straight away, so I just have to have my wits about me and go straight back. He enjoys embarrassing his son but he’s also secretly very proud – and he does tell me sometimes.”

Nobody was prouder than Gavin and Diane when Hastings made his international debut two years ago, when he helped propel Glasgow to the Pro14 final in May and shone in Japan despite the horrors of Scotland’s campaign. His game is flourishing and he is breaking new ground in life away from rugby. A few months ago, he bought and furnished his first flat in the city’s cosmopolitan West End.

“It’s just a bit of a lad pad at the minute. A big telly, massive sofa, the kitchen is never used. I just need a woman’s touch now so I can get some artwork and ornaments.”

There’s even chat of forming a clothing label with Kinghorn, his best mate and Edinburgh’s loping full-back.

“We’ve got quite a few ideas. I think he’s made a website. It’s going to be called Rona Szn – like Corona Season. We’ve got cool writing and stuff. We won’t put that on every t-shirt, that’ll just be a certain line.

“We’ve got loads of ideas, but I think obviously with the social media, that’ll benefit us, you can pump stuff out there. I don’t know if anything’s going to happen there but we’ve just chatted about it.”

On the field, there is much to accomplish. This interview took place before the cataclysmic and murky departure of Finn Russell from the Scotland camp less than two weeks before the Six Nations. Starting more Tests is high on Hastings’ agenda. With Russell in some form of exile, and Hastings in the form of his life, the championship has presented a wonderful opportunity.

And he longs to win something with Glasgow. Only recently has he banished the memory and the anguish of that desperately tight Pro14 final loss to Leinster in the city’s cavernous Celtic Park.

“I’ve watched it six or seven times. I had it on record in my house. The recording is gone now; I had to delete it for my own mental good. I couldn’t watch it at the start, it was just awful – I honestly could not watch it.

“I cringed at some of the things we missed. I had a pass to Sam Johnson and he would have scored. There are so many things we should have scored off or stopped them scoring.

“You’ve got to watch those games. We’ll go through all of my bad games more than the good games because there’s more to learn from them. That used to keep me up at night, but I’ve gotten over it now.

“Hopefully as a player in the next few years, I’ll have a lot more international caps behind me, hopefully a couple of titles. I would love to win some silverware at Glasgow.  Starting for Scotland is a huge goal of mine, so hopefully I’ll be there. Who knows? I was playing for Currie the year before I made my Scotland debut, and I couldn’t have imagined what would have happened the year after.

“That’s the beautiful thing about sport. Anything can happen. But it can go the other way as well so you have to stay grounded.”

Grounded off the paddock; soaring on it. The years ahead will be an exhilarating ride.  

Story by Jamie Lyall

Pictures by James Pfaff

This extract was taken from issue 9 of Rugby.
To order the print journal, click here.