The Prem’s top points scorer is 33, has type 1 diabetes, wrestles with OCD, has three daughters under six at home, and just told you he spent the morning chasing his insulin levels because he misread a training schedule. This is not a man who should be peaking.
Henry Slade is having the season of his life. Exeter are one win away from a Premiership final. And the man who can’t even get his blood sugar right before a session is somehow quicker, stronger and fitter than he’s ever been.
Let’s start with the thing that matters most on Saturday: Slade’s form. He’s the league’s top points scorer this season. Not bad for a bloke who, by his own admission, “had a bit of a stinker” with his insulin management today. “I had to bang some carbohydrate down me before training but didn’t quite get it right. I was a bit on the low side and didn’t feel very good. I guess it was my fault for not reading the schedule properly.”
That’s the thing about Slade. He doesn’t blame the diabetes, the OCD, the three kids or the youngest daughter, Delphine, who is not yet three months old. He blames himself for not reading the schedule. It’s almost annoying how self-aware he is.
But here’s the part that makes this more than just a feel-good story about a veteran finding a second wind: Slade is 33. In most sports, that’s when the body starts sending polite memos about retirement. In rugby, it’s when the highlights reel becomes a tribute video. Slade has responded by becoming the Premiership’s most influential back. Again.
The diabetes is the headline. The OCD is the subtext.
Type 1 diabetes means he injects himself “four or five times” a day. Every day. Match days, rest days, days when he’s changing nappies on the floor because the nappy-changing table hasn’t been invented yet. “With the last two I’ve spent hours on the floor changing nappies. It’s a nightmare getting up again. We’ve now got nappy-changing tables which are an absolute gamechanger.”
The OCD is less discussed, but it’s there. He’s open about it. You don’t get to play 100+ Premiership games without some kind of obsessive attention to detail. The disorder that makes daily life harder might also be the thing that makes him a better player. It’s a cruel irony of elite sport: the same wiring that causes pain also produces performance.
What this means for Exeter this weekend
Saturday’s semi-final is at Bath. Bath are fancied. Bath have the home crowd, the momentum, the narrative. Exeter have Henry Slade, who is currently playing like a man who has beaten everything life has thrown at him and is now coming for the Premiership trophy.
Statistically, Slade’s kicking has been immaculate this season. His distribution from 12 has opened spaces Exeter didn’t have last year. But the real shift is physical. He says he feels quicker. That’s not just talk — the metres gained and defenders beaten numbers back it up. He’s running through contact in a way he wasn’t two years ago.
If Exeter win, it will be because Slade controlled the game. If they lose, it won’t be because he didn’t try. The man has been injecting himself for 33 years, managing OCD for longer, and raising three daughters while playing professional rugby. A semi-final at the Rec is a holiday by comparison.
Bath’s defence should be worried. Not because Slade is having a good season, but because he’s having a good season while managing a body that, on paper, should have retired three years ago. That’s not a man who’s going to be stopped by a defensive line. That’s a man who’s been stopping himself his whole life and is finally letting himself go.