Eddie Butler - Pontypool, Cambridge and Wales.

He played for Wales from 1980-84, during which he won 16 caps and captained Wales. He has a successful career as a sports commentator with BBC Sport and is The Observer's rugby correspondent.

"I want to be David Beckham, 'cos all this learning is seriously, like, dull."

First, the bad news. Nothing is ever quite as glamorous as it seems. Curling a free kick into the top corner at the Bernabeu is pretty cool, of course, or playing at the Millennium Stadium for the Grand Slam, or even commentating on it, but they are not the full picture.

In everything, there is an element of drudgery. In sport it is the hours and hours of training, of killing time in the week before The Big One. Sit-ups in the January mud of Pontypool Park were never my idea of glam-rock sport. In television it is the hours and hours of sitting round while the technical bits and bobs are made ready. In learning, it is all the, yawn, boring reading and revising and reading and revising and, please, eyes, stay open.

I remember algebra. Or was trigonometry? I had a permanent 11.30am crease across my brow. Arrive library 11am; start reading 11.05am; head hits side of table 11.29am; crease spreads across forehead until mate shakes awake for coffee 12pm

The point is, it's not all a bundle of laughs.

At some stage you have to roll your sleeves up and say: 'This is going to hurt, but here goes.'

And you put up with your pet hates - algebra and sit-ups - because when the moment comes to put yourself to the test, you can find yourself doing things you never thought you'd ever be capable of doing. And that's when you start enjoying yourself.

That's what it's all about. Enjoyment when it matters. The better the preparation, the harder the training, the more demanding the chapter ... the more fun there is to be had. Fun may not be a goal in front of 80,000, it may just be the quiet satisfaction of a job well done. But it's still a glow.

OK, so I've rolled my sleeves up. What next? You know what the goal is. It may be a commentary on a Saturday afternoon. For Beckham the goal is, well, a goal. For you, an exam maybe ...

Repetition of the simple things serves as a reminder of core skills and basic technique.

Don't try and split the atom on day one. When Stephen Jones is practising his place-kicking he doesn't start from the touchline. He pops over a load of tiddlers from in front of the posts.

Build up slowly for the difficult kick from the half-way line (And then give the ball to Gavin Henson. No, no, that's another story, but even Gavin rehearses with straightforward routines.)

Rest

The second most valuable time in sport is spent doing nothing. Recharging is as important as the, say, 80 minutes of exhausting activity. The body and the brain are capable of operating at some alarmingly high revs. But they need to be given time to recover.

Don't cram. Stretch ...

Know what you can and cannot do. If you're a forward, but you quite fancy doing some of the limelight duties like covering back and drilling the ball 60 yards into touch, then that's fine. As long as you have the skills. But not every forward on the rugby field is a Zinzan Brooke. Not every big bloke can pass like Michael Owen. That's why forwards are called donkeys.

It's more important to know your limits - that point where a Stephen Jones kick becomes a Gavin Henson one - than to think that today might be your lucky day. That you might just catch it right, and who knows, it might go over.

The basics done well are 20 times more impressive than a fluke.

Besides, luck in sport only comes to people who work hard. So, here endeth the first lesson. We can't all be Becks or Gavin. But we can all enjoy a glow. Bring on those sit-ups and give it a go. And then take it easy.