Rugby News & Views

Number 27 - 12th April 2010

At the end of a week in which the self-styled best league in the world, in the self-styled ‘beautiful’ game, lost its final representatives in the ‘Champions’ League, the Guinness Premiership, whose clubs once dominated the Heineken Cup, suffered a similar fate, when a brave Northampton side was  gunned down by a streetwise and savvy Munster team which knows how to win the big games – particularly at Thomond Park.
 
While football’s Premier League sought consolation from the fact that two of its teams are through to the semifinals of the second tier competition, the Europa League, the Guinness Premiership found that its representation in rugby’s equivalent, the Amlin Challenge Cup – a competition which has produced an English winner in eight of the last nine years – is down to just one. That side is Wasps, who are now chasing their fourth European trophy, two of their previous triumphs having been in ‘The Big One’.
 
Anyone who has been watching TV for the past three weekends will have seen a familiar sight – Wasps beginning their end-of-season charge. Although they were beaten at Northampton, they came out of the game with many positives, and could easily have won it. Last week, against a London Irish side which seemed intent on cheap shots and dangerous late tackles – for which Chris Hala’uifa,  a serial offender with a record as long as the swinging arm which could have taken Dave Walder’s head off, has rightly been cited – they had sorted out their finishing, to produce their first try bonus point since October.
 
On Sunday, they went up another gear, to sweep Gloucester aside, and cruise into the last four of the Challenge Cup. England might do well to take a look at their number 10 – a 22-year-old with pace, skill, bravado and ingenuity. Whoops – I forgot! Martin Johnson doesn’t like players like that. Silly me.
 
Will this late charge – helped by the return of key players, firmer conditions, and the more positive interpretation of the breakdown – be enough to win them a playoff place? It seems as if Leicester and Northampton have nailed down the top two places, and that the final two  are being contested by Saracens, Irish and Wasps, with Bath  the outsiders, who are probably too far off the pace.
 
After subjecting onlookers to months of mind-numbing tedium, with the only interest coming from betting on how early Derrick Hougaard’s first drop at goal would come,  Venter’s exiled Boers have certainly started playing rugby. Maybe they realised that the desperately soporific Plan A had run out of steam, and a Plan B was required. Whatever the reasons, they’ve suddenly discovered that you can beat teams by scoring tries. They’re in pole position for the third playoff spot, but face three tough games, to close the scheduled season – a resurgent Quins, at Wemburley, and then Northampton and Leicester, both away.
 
Irish – if there’s any justice, without the services of Hala’ufia, who should be handed a lengthy ban at this week’s disciplinary hearing - are at home to struggling Leeds this weekend.  They then  go to Gloucester, before rounding things off with a home game against Northampton.
 
Wasps are at Worcester this weekend – a place where they’ve never won. They then take on Bath at their second home, Twickenham, in front of what looks like being a huge St. George’s Day crowd, and finish their programme with the long trek to Newcastle. All still to play for.
 
The Northampton-Saracens clash promises to be very interesting, given the tug-of-war  they’re currently engaged in, over the services of the Saints prop Soane Tonga’uiha. Both clubs seem to think he’s playing for them next season, and the Watforders’ CEO, Edward Griffiths, has thrown his rattle out of the pram, moaning about April Fools. Lawyers have been dragged in, and it’s all getting very messy.
 
The aforementioned Mr Griffiths seems to like sounding off. After a recent defeat for his side, he saw fit to go on to their unofficial  supporters’ site, and berate them for expressing doubts about the team, and the Mogadon rugby they’d been producing. Anybody who has taken the time to go to these messageboards will know that the sensible, knowledgable contributors have to share them with a range of outspoken lunatics, who all know everything there is to know about the game, are the only people with sufficient knowledge to pick teams, and also boast 20/20 vision, enabling them to correct every poor decision by the officials.
 
If every anybody doubted that the malign influence of football is slowly creeping into our game, they should take a look at some of these cyber-asylums. So much hate is spouted that you could be forgiven for thinking that rugby grounds are in danger of becoming war zones. Mercifully, that is still not the case – even though considerable concern has been expressed in Ireland, about the growing animosity between Munster and Leinster supporters.
 
Realistically, these messageboards should not be taken seriously, even though many of their regular contributors clearly take them very seriously. They’ve been likened to conversations in the clubhouse, but that’s not the case. If you’re having a conversation with a bunch of mates, and some opinionated bore decides to butt in, you can either tell them to go forth and multiply, or just move away. That option does not exist in cyberspace, which allows loudmouthed idiots unrestricted access. For all its merits, the internet has also provided a platform for idiots, and rugby messageboards constitute an area where idiots really make the maximum use of that platform.
 
However, back to the rugby, and everybody must be delighted to see that tries are finally back in fashion. That’s been in evidence in the last few Guinness Premiership games. On top of those, we’ve just seen a weekend of pulsating European action, which have really restored the faith. Anybody who thought our game was boring would probably have been justified in holding that opinion, had they only watched the largely dire stuff on offer earlier in the season. Last weekend proved that, when played by sides who want to attack, few games can compare with ours.
 
For once, the powers-that-be deserve a round of applause, for bringing about the change of interpretation of the breakdown. This has favoured attacking sides, and the results are there for all to see. The big question is, would Johnson’s England now look like an incisive attacking force, under the new pro-attack interpretation? Do pigs fly?

Number 26 - 2nd April 2010

So, yet another former Rugby League player is returning to his roots, after an all too brief stab at making his way in the 15-man code.
 
This time, it’s Lee Smith, who’s been released from his contract, for personal reasons, only a few months since joining Wasps. He came south on the back of starring roles in Leeds Rhinos’ Grand Final successes, but never really had a chance to show what he could do. He only played four games for Wasps – two with the second team, and two in the LV=Cup, so never got to experience the Guinness Premiership, or European rugby.
 
Before 1995, it was not possible for a rugby league player to switch codes. As soon as rugby union turned professional, in that year, a number of league stars signed short-term contracts with union clubs – Inga  Tuigamala, Gary Connolly, Jason Robinson, and Henry and Robbie Paul. All did reasonably, rather than spectacularly, welll.
 
Since then, many league players have switched codes, with varying degrees of success. Undoubtedly the most successful convert was Jason Robinson, but the vast majority have failed to make the same impact. Henry Paul, Lesley Vainikolo  and Andy Farrell have all won international recognition with England – Iestyn Harris with Wales - but nobody could claim that they covered themselves with glory, and it’s not hard to cynically conclude that those England caps  had a lot to do with the RFU seeking a return on their investment and justifying the large sums of money they’d spent on securing their services, at a time when it was the done thing to recruit from rugby league.
 
 
Chris Ashton and Stephen Myler have both done well for Northampton. Shontayne Hape has  settled in well at Bath, and won a place in the England squad,  but the list of successful league converts remains a very small one – and for every success, there are many more abject failures. Gloucester fans still groan at the mention of Karl Pryce, brother of Leon. A few years earlier, the Sky  TV audience was treated to the sight of Bradford  Bulls star Graham McKay floundering helplessly in a Premiership game at Twickenham. That was so embarrassing as to be painful
 
Why has it been so hard for quality RL players to succeed in the union game? There are some obvious explanations. To begin with, there are four more players on the field, so space is much more limited. Then there is the fact that the game is so technical that lifelong followers are frequently at a loss to explain refereeing decisions. League is much simpler. If you’re tackled, all you have to do is go to ground, and you can hang on to the ball, without fear of being penalised. Not so in union, where the slightest hesitation in releasing the ball can cost your side three points, and  can even result in a yellow card. If you’ve spent years doing one thing, then have to completely change what you do, it can be hard to adjust. There's no shame in it. You could draw parallels with sevens stars being less successful at the full-sized game. Look at Waisale Serevi - an inspired genius in the shortened game, who never really cut it in 15-a-side, but will still be remembered as a truly great rugby player.
 
Union also makes different physical demands. While league players do far more running, and the emphasis is on moving the ball, union players have to prepare themselves for wrestling sessions, as they contest possession in contests which are often much more attritional. In the early days, league players were far fitter than their union counterparts, but that  has changed, and some experts think that, in terms of overall fitness, union players now lead the way. It’s been reported that Lee Smith was made to spend some time working on his fitness, when he arrived at Wasps – admittedly, after taking a holiday at the end of the Tri-Nations series.
 
For many years, there was talk that we would eventually see the two codes merge into some unsatisfactory hybrid. Mercifully, that still seems a remote prospect – at least in Europe. The Guinness Premiership are still seeing attendances rise, and Super League continues to do very nicely, thank you. As long as that remains the case,  we can dismiss thoughts of an unwelcome monster being foisted upon us – however much that might please John O’Neil, the CEO of the Australian Rugby Union, who is widely perceived as being the Doctor Frankenstein responsible for the hideous ELVs, which did so much to take the game back towards the dark ages.
 
Rugby Union has undoubtedly benefited greatly from the infusion of ex-league talent. As well as the players, there have been some  notable coaching successes – Shaun Edwards being the most prominent, but the likes of Dave Ellis, Phil Larder and Mike Ford have all made their marks.  All specialised in defence, which is one area where the union game has improved dramatically since professionalism – too dramatically, some might say.
 
For many years, people with too much time on their hands indulged in the pointless and tiresome debate about which of the two codes was the better/harder/more skilful one. You might as well argue about why chalk is better than cheese. The two codes have  basic  things in common, but they also have substantial basic differences, and long may that remain so. Mercifully, such debates seem to be in decline - or maybe I've just chosen to ignore them.
 
The best thing about rugby union going professional was the fact that it ended the ridiculous cold war which had been in place for so long. Players became free to switch codes, without fear of exclusion or punishment. The hypocrisy of shamateurism was laid to rest, not before time. Each of the two codes can learn from the other – and, while the pointless cross-code debates will still rear their ugly head from time to time, supporters of the two sports can enjoy their  favoured game, while casting a critical, but un-jaundiced, eye at what the others have to offer.
 
But the fact remains that it is still difficult to make a successful change of codes. There will never be many Jason Robinsons, and the majority of future converts will still find things hard. There had been high hopes of Lee Smith making a success of his move to Wasps, but it was sadly not to be. It was doubtless as disappointing for him as it was for Wasps, and lovers of both codes will echo Wasps’ good wishes, and their expressed hopes that his return to rugby league proves a success.  One thing you can bet on – the future will see many more Lee Smiths than Jason Robinsons.
 
Kipling famously said: “East is east, and west is west, and never the twain shall meet.” Substitute north and south for east and west, and his words could be used to describe the difficult transition from 13 a side to 15 – but never say never.

Number 25 - 24th March 2010
Now that the Six Nations is out of the way – well done, France – we can finally get back to the serious business of bringing the club season to a close.

No sooner had the dust settled on the 6N than Leicester’s CEO Peter Wheeler put in a case for the current salary cap of £4 million to be raised. He has a case, but so do those who oppose raising it.

The salary cap is intrinsically a good thing, as it levels the financial playing field, to ensure that big money clubs can’t rule the roost, as they do in football. It should be added that, despite that, only four clubs have ever won the league/Premiership, in thirteen years of professional rugby – with two of them claiming 11 titles between them, in those 13 years. However, those two clubs – Leicester and Wasps – have very contrasting financial positions, of which more anon.

One of the points Wheeler makes is that English clubs have done very badly in this year’s Heineken Cup, with only one of their number, Northampton, reaching the last eight. A marked contrast to three years ago, when three English clubs reached the semi-finals, and the competition had its only all-English final (Wasps and Leicester), and its last English winner (Wasps). In those three years, we’ve seen a growing exodus of English players to France. A combination of no salary cap, and the weak pound, means that salaries on offer on the other side of La Manche are far beyond what the English clubs can pay. Stade Francais are reported to pay their squad around 20 million a year – not that it’s doing them much good this season. They’re way down the table, and unlikely to qualify for next season’s Heineken Cup.

Some Top 14 clubs now have more imports than homegrown talent, and actually arrange English lessons for their French players. The French authorities have reacted to the rise in the number of imported players, by announcing a 7 million salary cap, with effect from next season. How rigidly it’s enforced remains to be seen. Creative accounting has always found a way round our salary cap. Free housing, a share in the profits from property sales, nominal PR jobs for wives and girlfriends – they’ve all been done. I’ve no doubt that the French will adopt their usual approach to rules which don’t suit them.

Last season, the Premiership club owners decided that they had to get tough in this field. At a meeting, one of their number memorably stood up and pleaded that his club had never exceeded the £4.5 million salary cap. It was pointed out to him that the cap stood at £4 million. No names, no packdrill, but we all know who it was! What is the current rate for the rand?

But back to Mr Wheeler’s case for raising the salary cap. He is in the fortunate position of presiding over the richest club in England. They probably can afford to pay their players more. Sadly, few of their rivals can, as most are still struggling to break even. The Premiership is already divided into the haves and have-nots, with the big difference between the two being ground ownership. Clubs like Leicester, Northampton, Gloucester, Worcester and Harlequins are the lucky ones. They own their own grounds – all of which have undergone impressive expansion programmes. The advantage of this is that they have a permanent revenue source – functions and banqueting provide a very profitable flow of income.

The other clubs share their grounds – the majority as tenants of football clubs – and can’t even dream of the same level of income enjoyed by the haves. The salary cap exists to ensure that all 12 clubs start from pretty much the same position. The fact that Wasps – sharing with Wycombe, with crowds nowhere near those of Leicester, renowned for paying low salaries – have enjoyed such onfield success underlines the effectiveness of the salary cap. However, few clubs have lost as many players as Wasps to foreign shores, where there’s such huge money on offer, so their chances of enjoying such sustained success in the future appear remote.

Raising the salary cap would heighten the divide between the haves and the have-nots, and we could end up with a situation like that in football, where a minority enjoy all the success.

So what is the solution? The answer, as ever, appears to lie with the RFU. The introduction of the EPS system appeared to make it worthwhile for clubs to develop English players, but that’s not how it turned out, in practice. Instead of clubs getting the agreed payment per player, the money allocated was divided up, so that clubs providing no players to the senior England squad still had a share of the pot. It’s estimated that this piece of equality could have cost Wasps up to a million pounds last season, and that’s money which may have enabled them to hang on to some of their departing stars. That wasn’t the RFU’s intention, and was the decision of PRL. Maybe the RFU should be more insistent that their money is spent in the way they wish.

It is not in the overall interests of the game if only one or two English clubs can compete financially with their French (and Magners) counterparts. The Celtic countries don’t even have a salary cap, and the Ospreys salary bill must be large enough to make their accountants’ eyes water.

The RFU is not short of money – although much more rugby like the rubbish England have been producing could see growing numbers deciding to avoid paying Twickenham prices, and that could hit HQ’s resources.

This season, a system was introduced, to reward clubs whose matchday squads had a set percentage of English and English-qualified players. So far, the money involved has been relatively small, but it’s a step in the right direction. Increase that money, and place it outside the salary cap. Do the same with the EPS money. It might still not be enough to allow English clubs to offer the sort of money available elsewehere, but it would certainly improve things. That way, every club would still have the basic £4 million, but their rewards for fielding English players, and providing players to the national team, could be passed on, in the shape of bigger salaries. Leicester would still benefit most, but things would be made a lot easier for some of their rivals, and the RFU woldn’t be paying out any more in EPS money than they already do.

On the field, congratulations to Northampton, for lifting the first trophy of the season, and booking their place in next season’s Heineken Cup – but how ridiculous is it that a tournament played during international periods, with weakened sides, should warrant a place in Europe’s premier competition? Northampton’s skipper, Dylan Hartley, has not played a single minute in the LV= Cup.

 As for the 6N, France were deserved Grand Slam winners, although the win over England was fortunate, and they didn’t look like the side which had produced such exciting rugby earlier in the tournament. Saturday’s game showed that Les Bleus still seem to have a psychological problem, when they take on England. Johnno’s men finally produced some half-decent rugby, and may well have won, had Chris Ashton not butchered a glorious try-scoring opportunity in the second half.

With the tournament now over, critics of England’s performances have been lining up to put the boot in. Quite rightly, Johnson has been spared the worst of the flak, which has been directed more at his boss, Rob Andrew. With Francis Baron on his way out, there will be change at the top, this summer – whether Mr Andrew retains his well-paid position is now the subject of considerable speculation. Don’t hold your breath.

It seems odd that the end of the season is already in sight, when it feels as if it only started a few weeks ago – but a quick look at the table shows that leaders Leicester only have five Premiership games left. Maybe it’s the fact that the Premiership has been split up into short blocks of matches which makes the season appear to have gone so quickly.

While there’s been much criticism of some of the rugby on offer this term, there can be no question that it’s been a highly competitive season. At the top, Tigers and Northampton look virtually certain of playoff places, probably with home semifinals, but the battle for the other two places is really hotting up. Saracens, who set the early pace with nine wins and a draw from their first ten games, appear to be coming unstuck. They’ve now last five of their last six, with four of those defeats coming at the hands of sides they’d beaten earlier in the campaign. You get the feeling that those sides have worked out how to tackle the Saracens gameplan, and that Sarries have no plan B. They’re still well-placed, but their final six matches include trips to Leicester, Northampton and resurgent Gloucester. After their recent defeat at Wasps, their CEO took to the supporters’ message-board, to rally the troops, many of whom had lost patience with the one-dimensional rugby, now that it is no longer bringing results. What will he say to them, if, after all the early promise, this turns to be another season of disappointment and frustration? If they do end the season trophyless, it will be no more than they deserve, for their single-minded dedication to boring the pants off everybody.

London Irish also seem to have hit the wall. They’ve only won one of their last five games, and have a lengthening injury list. They were well beaten at Leicester last weekend, and have now dropped out of the top four, after Wasps beat Gloucester.

Wasps have been inconsistent, but many of their longterm injured are set to return. They are renowned for getting things right at the business end of the season, when pitches are firmer, and better suited to the sort of rugby they like to play. The toughest of their remaining six games appears to be at Fortress Franklin’s Gardens, although they also have to visit Worcester, where they’ve never won. Their final ‘home’ game – the St. George’s Day clash with Bath, at Twickenham - could be crucial. For so long woefully inept, Bath are now firing on all systems, and only five points off the playoff places.

Things are even tighter at the bottom, where five points cover the bottom four,. – Gloucester and Harlequins now appear to be safe. Leeds have found some form, with three successive wins – the third of which, against Saracens, took them up to 10^th, and sent Sale to the bottom. Sale appear to be in freefall – they’ve lost their last four, including a horrendous thrashing on a Kingsholm pitch which was so boglike that they should have felt right at home. It looked every bit as bad as the disgraceful quagmire which is Edgeley Park – although, to be fair to the Gloucester groundsman, the pitch had been fine until a monsoon arrived, shortly before the game, leaving huge quantities of surface water.

A combination of the appalling weather, and a substandard playing surface means Sale have seven more matches to play, giving them a game in hand over their relegation rivals. The home clash with 11^th-placed Worcester, who habitually flirt with the drop, could be the relegation shootout. While nobody would wish relegation on anybody, few would miss the joys of trekking up the M6 on a Friday night, to attend games at a grim dump, whose occupants appear to have cultivated a football-type mentality, with home supporters apparently encouraged to boo opposition kicks at goal

It was recently reported that Sale had tried to persuade Jason Robinson to come out of retirement. They certainly need his skills, and anyone who was at the England-Ireland Legends match, just over a week ago, will testify that he is still a class act. He scored two magical tries, and could have scored a match-winner, had his chase after his own kick-ahead not been blocked by an Irish replacement, who stepped on to the field, so that he had to check and run around, him, enabling the defence to get back in time to beat him to the ball. What a magnificent evening it was at the Stoop, with nearly 11,000 there, and somewhere in the region of £175,000 raised for Hambo’s trust and two Irish charities. It’s reported that the bars at the Stoop enjoyed record takings, so everyone was a winner.

Five days later, another magnificent fundraising event for Hambo took place at the Battersea Evolution. A packed house of nearly a thousand people enjoyed a great evening, brilliantly hosted by the hilarious and dry Ben Kay. The next big Hambo event will the Walk4Matt2010, which will again involve all the GP clubs, walking along the Grand Union Canal, from Rugby to the Premiership final, at Twickenham. It starts on Saturday, May the 22^nd, and ends the following Saturday. Miss it at your peril!

Can anybody deny France the Grand Slam? Despite last weekend’s well-deserved win over Scotland, Italy are unlikely to come away from Paris with anything but a heavy defeat, which leaves England - and you never know.

France have been the best team from day one of the tournament, and have yet to approach top gear. Last Friday night – stupid time for an international, but who cares about the public? – Wales gifted them two tries, before producing two magnificent scores of their own, including a Shane Williams special. On Saturday, England started in lively fashion, before returning to useless mode, bar a brief spell in the second half, when they drew level and then took an improbable lead.

The funny thing is: however bad England are, and the current England is certainly pretty poor, they are one team who always make things hard for the French. Can they do it again, this time? You’d have to be a supreme optimist to give them any chance, but it’s all down to the French, and which team turn up.

In days gone by, trips to Paris at the end of the championship meant one thing – a real stuffing. If France get their heads in order, and don’t allow the pressure of the occasion to get to them, there can only be one winner, and their best way to win is by playing their natural game, rather than letting les rosbifs stifle and frustrate them.

However, we mustn’t put the cart before the horse, as many things could change, in the penultimate weekend of games. Scotland would love to send Johnson and his troops homeward, tae think again, and a win for Andy Robinson’s team is eminently possible. From the sound of things, England won’t make many personnel or tactical changes, so Scotland know exactly what to expect – not a lot.

Ireland remain on course for the Triple Crown, after their Twickenham win. They took their tries well, but they’re not what they were. Wales have shown that they still have the ability to play some superb rugby, and an upset could be on the cards in Dublin.

The BBC managed to cock it up again, when they crossed to the follically challenged Austin Healey, for his analytical view of events at Twickenham. Instead of seeing the Leicester Lip, the TV audience was treated to the credits from another programme. Keep trying, boys. One day, you might get it right. Just as well we have to pay you, isn’t it?

On the domestic front, there were more surprises, with resurgent Bath making it two defeats on the bounce for the lot from Watford, and Leeds making it two wins on the trot with a comfortable win over Wasps. Next week, Leeds entertain Dr. Venter’s patients – another win for the Yorkshire outfit would really give them a great chance of avoiding the drop, with Sale now in apparent freefall, after a thrashing at Gloucester.

But the best thing which happened all weekend was the England-Ireland Legends game at the Stoop, on Friday. Ireland won 17-15, but the result didn’t matter. Far more important was the fact that nearly 11,000 people were there, and over £150,000 was raised for Hambo’s Trust Fund, and two Irish charities. Hambo named Jason Robinson Man of the Match, and rightly so. He scored two wonderful tries, and was only denied a third when an Irish replacement, who was off the field, came on and blocked him. To add to that skulduggery, the Irish replacements hurled mud at Tim Stimpson, just as he was about to attempt the conversion which would have drawn the game. Nobody minded. It was a great evening, showing the rugby community at its best. Full marks to Tony Spreadbury and his officials, for venturing on to the field in outfits which even Max Guazzini might have doubts about.

Billy Whizz showed that he’s lost none of the skills which made him one of rugby’s greatest players, whatever your code. Oh, how England need somebody him.

Danny Cipriani – overrated, spoilt brat, or misunderstood, mistreated genius? Ever since the Andrew or Barnes debate of the late amateur era, few issues have polarised opinion more than the highs and lows of this 22-year-old, who’s just announced that he’s to become a rebel (a Melbourne Rebel) for the next two years.

At the end of a week in which the perceived shortcomings of a national treasure had been the centre of attention, Wasps announced the news that their gifted playmaker had signed a two-year contract with the new Super 15 franchise, the Melbourne Rebels. If the aim was to grab the spotlight from Good Old Jonny, it certainly succeeded. Cipriani’s departure dominated the rugby pages in Saturday’s newspapers.

The reaction, as is usually the case with Cipriani, was mixed. Some applauded the move, which, he insists, was made for rugby reasons. Others accused him of being a petulant child, who was throwing his rattle from the pram, in a hissy fit brought on by his continued exclusion from the England side.

It’s less than two years since he produced a virtuoso display to demolish Ireland, in his first England start, at Twickenham. Even that was clouded in controversy, as he’d been withdrawn from the starting lineup for the previous game, against Scotland, because of a late-night visit to a London club. As it was, the more sensible observers recognised that they’d seen one of the best performances by an England flyhalf in many years. His detractors, many of them the bitter, twisted, pathetic halfwits who use internet message boards to spout their bilious drivel – with a few clods from Northampton being amongst the worst offenders - have long tried to talk down that performance, claiming that Ireland had been poor that day. This was pretty much the same team which won the Grand Slam, a year later. They’d been made to look poor by a superb performance by England, which was followed by Brian Ashton being sacked as head coach.

The internet malcontents have a lengthy charge sheet against Cipriani. They accuse him of being obsessed with the celebrity lifestyle, and of actively seeking the limelight. He may have enjoyed the early buzz of being the centre of attention – which 20-year-old would not? – but that’s no longer the case. He is happily settled with Kelly Brook, but they only go out together once in a blue moon, other than to walk the dog. He rarely drinks. You suspect that a large number of his cyber-detractors are fat, ugly, useless slobs who are consumed by jealousy that Cipriani wakes up alongside one of the most fancied women in Britain. Case dismissed.

They accuse him of having been an insufferable and arrogant 13-year-old - an insufferable 13-year-old? There haven’t been many of them! – who has remained arrogant and aloof. He may have an arrogant air when he’s playing at the top of his game, but that’s what the best players do. I’m happy to see an arrogant playmaker, laying the law down, and strutting his stuff. England could do with one. Off the field, he often seems painfully shy.

Some idiots have accused him of wanting fame and success without being prepared to put in the hard work. Which planet do these people inhabit? His appetite for work is legendary. When he left school, to become a professional with Wasps, he denied himself a summer holiday. He chose, instead, to spend his time training, in preparation for the challenges ahead. For several years now, after training with Wasps, he dashes off to work on his sprinting with Margo Wells, at his own expense. Case dismissed.

The one area where his detractors may have a point is on whether his current form is good enough to warrant an England recall. To examine this, you have to go all the way back to the fateful day, when , with the rugby world apparently at his feet, he suffered that horrendous fracture and dislocation, which appeared to put his entire future career in doubt. The outpouring of sympathy with which the rugby community responded to that setback is in marked contrast to some of the more hostile words written about him now.

It was probably the way in which he responded to that injury which sowed the seeds for his recent problems. Such was his determination to get himself back on to the field that he worked slavishly, almost fanatically, on his rehabilitation. So much so that, after early reports suggested he’d miss most of the following season, he was back in Wasps colours within five months.

By then, Martin Johnson had become England’s head honcho. Despite warnings from Wasps that their young star needed more time to play himself back in to match fitness, Johnson fast-tracked him into the autumn internationals. He was not ready, and the games did not go well. Ever since then, he’s been an England outcast.

There have been stories about his negative attitude, and a training ground dustup with Josh Lewsey made the headlines. It only made the headlines because of the characters involved. Training ground dustups are commonplace. Ironically, the relationship between the two was good – Lewsey was another who had a reputation of being difficult, and something of a loner, and he clearly understood his young team-mate better than most. in his autobiography' Lewsey has this to say about him:
"I see in him a talent like no other. Danny can be an awkward little bugger, fiercely competitive and challenging of those around him. Many people call him arrogant and dismiss him as someone too sure of himself. I don't care about that. Given a choice between a teammate who's a challenging and complex winner or an amiable Mr Nice Guy who won't rock the boat, I'll pick the competitive one, every day of the week. Such characters are often described as disruptive or difficult. This isn't the case; they just need good, honest, strong management from someone they respect and trust...given the reins in a well-managed, constructively critical environment, he will continue to learn and could well become the greatest (flyhalf) of all time."

Whose opinion do you think carries more weight? That of a proven winner, or the spiteful sniping of a few sad gits on the internet?

But back to his form. He began this season well, playing a full part in Wasps’ excellent start to the Premiership campaign. He was playing a more mature, patient game, rather than the spectacular, devil-may-care rugby which had propelled him to stardom. Then, he broke his leg – ironically, when making a try-saving (probably match-saving) tackle, in a narrow win against Northampton. That’s another thing his detractors claim. ‘He can’t tackle’. Unfortunately, ever since Good Old Jonny began tackling like Lewis Moody on speed, every flyhalf is now expected to do likewise. Barry John remains the greatest flyhalf I ever saw, and he rarely made a tackle in his life. What’s the use of your playmaker being buried at the bottom of a ruck, having pulled off a crunching tackle, if you win turnover ball, in a promising position. No, he’s not the greatest tackler you’ll ever see, but he hasn’t been shirking that part of his game. Would you, if Shaun Edwards was your coach.

Since his return from that broken leg, in December, his form has been steady, rather than spectacular, but he’s produced some glimpses of his true self. There was a superb break to set up a try at Welford Road. In last weekend’s win over Saracens, he produced the highlight of an otherwise attritional game. In the opening minute of the second half, he received the ball near his own line, after Wasps had gathered the restart. With everybody on the ground expecting a kick to the right touchline, he set off to the left, on a blistering run which sparked a move that took play to Saracens 22, evoking memories of a similar piece of daring in a Heineken Cup game against Clermont-Auvergne, which had produced a glorious try for Paul Sackey. If only England’s current team could be persuaded to try something as enterprising!

In last Friday’s press conference, he spoke of the enormous pressure he’d been under in recent weeks, and his relief at finally being able to announce his future plans. It rang true. The Cipriani media circus is no longer something of his own making, and he has clearly tired of it. Subsequent newspaper articles revealed that the constant attention, and the negativity in some quarters, had driven him to depression, Is that weakness? No, it’s being human. It’s a brave man who can confront his demons and make a potentially life-changing decision, while the world and his wife has its say about him.

You can’t help feeling that things would have been different, had Brian Ashton still been involved with England. Yes, it was Ashton who decided to drop him, over the nightclub incident, but he’d worked with him for years, and knew how to handle him. He knew that, while some players respond to the kick in the backside, others need a pat on the back and an arm around the shoulder. The best managers know how to handle a mishmash of contrasting characters. One size does not fit all.

Several newspaper reports have used unattributed quotes about the way Cipriani alienates team-mates. If that’s true, he wouldn’t be the first player guilty of that – and, in any group of 35 or more people, somebody will always alienate some of the others. If being difficult were a reason to leave somebody out of a team, Jeremy Guscott – arguably England’s greatest ever centre – would never have come near the England team.

There is a famous story about the time Clive Woodward took the England squad to the Royal Marines training centre in Devon, ahead of the 1999 World Cup. Over several days of tough physical and mental challenges, the Marines assessed Woodward’s squad, and split them into three categories – leaders, followers, and energy-sappers. The energy-sappers were the misfits and malcontents, whose negativity and disruptive nature detracted from the team effort. Woodward asked how many of them there were, and was told that there was just one. Woodward allegedly vowed that his man would never play for England again, before asking who it was. On learning that it was none other than J.Guscott, Woodward performed a hasty u-turn, declaring that he was too good to leave out. He was right, of course, and his view underlines the validity of Josh Lewsey's argument.

It’s almost been amusing to see the way in which some people have crawled out of the woodwork to have their say on Cipriani. Will Carling’s aggrieved revelation that he had offered to manage him, before deciding that his lack of hunger to play for England had made him withdraw the offer, was hilarious. How many players has Carling managed? This is a man who, during his reign as England captain, became so lordly that, while on tour, he would send letters to teammates/subjects, inviting them to dine with him.

Clearly, all has not been well in Cipriani’s world – some of that has been of his own making, but far more of it has not. Whatever the message board loudmouths might say, those who are actually in the know acknowledge that the 22-year-old is a rare talent. The fact that such a rare talent feels that it is in his best interests to ply his trade on the other side of the world is something which all supporters of English rugby should mourn. As Sir Ian McGeechan said about Cipriani, in his autobiography, England need that talent. When you look at the sterile fare being served up by the national side, you can but agree with the great man. English rugby will be the poorer for Cipriani's departure – but, in two years time, it could hopefully be all the richer for his return. The better weather and firmer ground, along with the more attack-minded mindset of Super 15 should really suit a player like him.

I’m not sure how many 72-65 games I could watch, though!

The debate about whether Crown Jewel sporting events should be available to all, on terrestrial television, or to the far smaller audience who subscribe to satellite channels, is a heated one.

Many breasts were beaten over the decision to award the coverage of England’s Test cricket adventures to Sky. Certainly many people have expressed realistic concerns about the growing influence of Rupert Murdoch’s already highly influential empire. There are pros and cons to each side of the argument, but what can surely not be denied is the fact that Auntie Beeb has been left light years behind Uncle Rupe’s boys, when it comes to the quality of its coverage.

There was public outcry over the British Broadcorping Castration’s self-indulgent use of its smart new spider-cam, at Twickenham. Complaints poured in, the vast majority pointing out that sudden changes of camera angle were difficult to take, and that the obsessive use of the latest gizmo was preventing viewers from seeing what was actually going on.

The Beeb’s response was typically smug. Those who took the trouble to register their frustration received a standard response, which contained the following:

“While SpiderCam provides magnificent images and a unique overhead perspective of the action, we also are conscious of the importance of giving viewers a clear and familiar picture of what's happening on the pitch as well as the need not to confuse by cutting to unfamiliar angles. As this is a relatively new piece of technology we welcome and take on board feedback from our viewers.”

In other words:”We’re delighted that you’ve taken the trouble to contact us, but we really couldn’t give a shit what you think, as we already have your money, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Two years ago, after a Six Nations game in which the endless use of replays meant that we hardly saw a lineout or a restart, I dared to contact the BBC sport department. I received a perfunctory reply, promising a more detailed response to specific points. I’m still waiting.

On Saturday, I sat down to watch the Wales-Scotland game, and was mightily relieved to see that there appeared to be no spidercam. However, my relief soon turned to frustration, when another bit of smart-arsed studio direction, and a sudden change of camera, meant that we did not see the second Scottish try, by Max Evans. Will they never learn?

The spider was on duty, trapping flies in Paris – presumably operated by the Beeb’s French counterparts. It has to be said that the way it was used there was far better than what we’d seen from Twickenham, a week earlier. They seemed to switch to it at the right moment, and to give a fuller view of the field. And then, in another moment of self-indulgent incompetence they spoilt it, by ensuring that we missed William Servat’s try.

Things took a turn for the worse on Sunday, when the Italian coverage seemed incapable of keeping up with the ball, and the most memorable shots of the afternoon provided a close-up of the assistant referee’s left ankle, while a lineout took place in the background.

Is it too much to ask that public broadcasters actually employ experts to take charge of their sports coverage, rather than drag in some hapless work experience dogsbodies, or second the producers of dance programmes? It’s all very well campaigning for Auntie to hang on to the top sporting events, but their rugby coverage suggests that giving them the Crown Jewels is about as sensible as sending Captain Mainwaring to fight the Taliban or electing Frank Spencer as Prime Minister.

As for the rugby, Wales and Scotland provided an error-strewn thriller, which paled into insignificance when news of Thom Evans’s serious neck injury emerged. Best wishes to him, for a speedy recovery. France then continued to underline their Grand Slam credentials, as they destroyed the reigning champions. Ireland’s Gordon D’Arcy, who’d been denied a superb try by a cruel bounce, described it, succinctly, as an ‘arse-kicking’.

If there’s any justice, Ireland’s Jerry Flannery will receive a very long ban for an outrageous attack on Alexis Palisson. How this crude lunge, which could have caused serious injury – and Palisson did, in fact, leave the field soon afterwards – warranted no more than a penalty, beggars belief. Flannery has 'previous' – a vicious stamp on a Clermont-Auvergne player, in a Heineken Cup game the season before last. It’s to be hoped that the (Dublin-based) IRB -which somehow saw fit to only ban him for four weeks, for that transgression - throw the book at him. He’s a hugely gifted player, but behaviour like this cannot be tolerated. However, I’m not holding my breath.

So, by the end of Saturday, we’d had two crackers. Then, along came England, to piss on the fireworks. I watched the game with a group of England supporters. Towards the end, we were nearly all siding with Italy. Although this game never plumbed the hideous depths of the Argentina nightmare, it was still desperately poor. It had started promisingly, with England coming close to a first-minute try. Several individuals had their moments, the try was a beauty – okay, there was a very bad missed tackle, but the move was fluent and well-executed – but things then deteriorated. England’s backline ran about smoothly as an overloaded Trabant, spluttering and coughing, as it struggles up a molehill.

On the evidence so far, France are far and away the best side in the championship, and you feel that they still have so much more in their locker. We’re still not seeing the unbridled flair we associate with the great French sides of the past, but they’re getting there, and any true lover of rugby must hope that they continue to improve, and to remind us that rugby can be the most thrilling game on the planet. If England want to keep reminding us that it can also be one of the most boring games on the planet – they kicked away 54% of their possession against Italy – they should consider paying refunds to the poor schmucks who shell out large sums of money to watch them.

Meanwhile, on the club front, leaders Leicester had a narrow win over bottom side Leeds, on a Headingley pitch which resembled a ploughed field. The Watford Bores went to Wembley for a third time, and again attracted over 40,000. Full marks to them for such energetic marketing, and such praiseworthy attempts to bring in a new audience. Their chief executive Edward Griffiths (from South Africa) says they hope to break 50,000 for their next visit to Wemberley – against Quins, in April. He also said: ”It’s the gateway to a much brighter future, with sponsors who would never have looked at us, kit manufacturers and hospitality.” They might look at you, when you’re playing at Wembley, but have you dared show them that dump in Watford? Fifteen tries in thirteen Premiership games for Dr. Venter’s men. Advance orders for the season’s highlights DVD must be trickling in.

It’s ironic that, in one of his recent anti-Northern Hemisphere diatribes, Peter Bilious Bills - the journalist who blames European ostriches for halting the progress of the great and glorious ELVs -should have highlighted Safracens as an example of what’s wrong with English rugby. He said it was a damning indictment of the Premiership that the team leading it (Sarries, at the time) based their success on kicking for position and scoring from penalties. Had he bothered to check the nationalities of their owners, their DOR, and a sizeable chunk of their playing squad?

After a week in which Sir Ian McGeechan was unveiled as Gloucester's latest Messiah, the Cherry and Whites seem to be on the way back up, and supporters who, a couple of months ago, were gloomily contemplating the end of the world, are now embracing the prospect of global dominance.

If you’re ever in need of a smile, Gloucester fans can be guaranteed to bring one to your face

The first cuckoo of spring, or a scratchy win against a poor side? Difficult to say, really, but there’s no doubt that England’s 30-17 win over Wales will have really boosted their confidence, following their abysmal showings in the unforgettably forgettable autumn internationals. For the Twickenham faithful, they at last had some tries to enjoy.

The first half wasn’t much better than the dismal fare which had been served up in November, but the game turned when Alun-Wyn Jones had a rush of blood to the head, and decided to trip Dylan Hartley. Full marks to England, for really making the most of their numerical superiority, scoring 17 points during the lock’s ten minutes in the slammer. Danny Care’s try meant England led by 17 points, a few minutes into the second half, but the spectre of 2008 reared its ugly head, when Johnson’s men somehow contrived to bring the Welsh back into the game. When James Hook went over, with ten minutes to go, many Englishmen feared that their side would again be snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Happily, it was not to be, as Delon Armitage’s interception launched the counterattack which ended with James Haskell crossing for his second try, to put the result beyond doubt.

So, a satisfying start to the Six Nations for Martin Johnson’s team, but they know that they’ll have to improve, if they’re to have a realistic chance of lifting the Six Nations trophy for the first time since 2003. This win was created by the hard work of the forwards, and sealed by the accurate placekicking of Jonny Wilkinson – but the backs never looked like creating anything. The late withdrawal of Riki Flutey will not have helped, but questions must still be asked about how effective Wilkinson is at launching his backline. On Saturday’s evidence, he brings very little in attack. In truth, he seldom has, since the glorious run-up to November the 22^nd 2003, by which time he and England had already peaked. That view was reinforced when I watched the Centenary DVD which had been sold with the match programme. With lengthy extracts from the Woodward regime, it served as a reminder of just how far England have to go before they can even dream of reaching those heady heights. Some of the rugby produced during the days when Brian Ashton was coaching the backs was light years ahead of anything the current crop has managed, or looks remotely capable of managing.

On the evidence of the other games, England’s next opponents, Italy, should be beatable in Rome. Without the majestic Sergio Parisse, they are unlikely to reproduce November’s gallant performance against the All Blacks, although their scrum will be sure to test England. They were unimpressive at Croke Park, against an Irish side which was ‘mediocre’, in Brian O’Driscoll’s own words. Saturday’s game in Paris could decide whether the reigning champions can hang on to their title. A win would be a massive boost, ahead of their visit to Twickenham, two weeks later.

France produced the best rugby of the weekend – a mixture of powerful forward play and occasionally dazzling handling – without ever hitting top gear. They clearly have plenty of room for improvement, and you sense that a win over Ireland would make them firm favourites for the title, and, with two more home games to come, a Grand Slam. By the time they meet England, in the final game of the tournament, they could have built up an irresistible momentum. Scotland showed plenty of spirit, which has been enough to see off England in recent clashes at Murrayfield. A special thank-you to whoever advised Jonathan Davies that the French number eight is Imanol HARINORDOQUY, not HARIDONOQUY, in time for the Man of the Match announcement to be correct. Unfortunately, it was back to normal for the red button forum. He’s been playing international rugby since 2002. Surely you can get his name right by now!

Back to Twickenham, and mention must be made of the way the RFU marked the stadium’s centenary.They put on a dignified and understated show, featuring large choirs, military bands and presentations to survivors of the 1960 side which shared the Five Nations title with France, while becoming the first team ever to go through the entire championship unchanged. No caterwauling pop singers – hooray! Then there was the shirt – a replica of the first England shirt worn at Twickenham. Far more pleasing on the eye than the garish things we’ve become used to. Please bring back the white shirts and shorts, and blue socks with white tops. They represent stability and tradition.

After returning from the game, I sat down and watched it on TV. The thing which really stood out abut the coverage – apart from yet another reminder, as if we needed one, that Eddie Butler is one of the most irritating broadcasters ever to set foot on this unfortunate planet - was the self-indulgent way in which the BBC used their “spidercam”. Yes, it may be terribly clever, (and, no doubt, very expensive, paid for by ourselves ) but does it actually add anything to the coverage? The answer has to be, in best Ulster tradition, an emphatic “No!”. It’s fine to give another angle when play is not in progress, and to provide a different view of replays – but to suddenly switch from the side-on view to the elevated (and rearview) shots during play is totally disorientating. At least we didn’t have one of those moments we’ve seen before, when the director decides to change the direction of play altogether. If one side is going from left to right, and then, inexplicably, suddenly goes from right to left, you wonder what the hell’s going on. Hopefully, such idiocies have been consigned to the scrapheap.

One final point – I would like to appeal to the Phantom Farter of the East Upper Stand to waste no time in booking an appointment with their doctor, and arranging a colonic irrigation and complete body detox, at the earliest opportunity. The first noxious emission, as Danny Care scored, was lethal. The second, as Tom James failed to hold James Hook’s pass, a few metres from the England line, could have neutralised a sniffer dog, and stopped the SAS in its tracks. Had the perpetrator been in Iraq, when Hans Blix was leading his UN inspectors, the controversial claim that Saddam’s regime possessed weapons of mass destruction would have been proved beyond doubt. Just as well that there’s a smoking ban in the stadium. A naked flame could have sparked a disastrous conflagration.

I was out of the country, when last week’s sad news of the death of Bill McLaren was announced. It wasn’t until Saturday morning that I had the chance to sit down and read some of the many tributes to the great man, which had poured in from throughout the rugby world – it was a case of column miles, rather than inches, in newspapers from Invercargill to Inverness, from Auckland to Aberdeen, Dunedin to Dundee, and beyond - and it was a highly emotional experience.

Perhaps the most touching tribute came from the New Zealand commentator Keith Quinn, who’d been a good friend of Bill for many years. He talks about his last visit to his home in Hawick, a couple of years ago. By then, Bill’s memory was fading – he was suffering from dementia - and Quinn describes how the pair sat watching a game on the TV, with Bill firmly holding his hand throughout.

I then listened to the last interview Bill ever gave, three years ago. It was sad to hear how thin that once rich voice had become, but it was still an hour of joy, as he talked you through his long life, in which he’d seen the horrors of war and almost died of tuberculosis, before embarking upon the career which made him a household name, wherever rugby is played .

Commentary is a difficult thing to do, and it’s even harder to do well. Just sit in front of the TV, with the sound off for a couple of minutes, and try to describe what’s going on. Then ask yourself whether anybody would want to listen to what you’ve just produced. I’m not going to criticise any of Bill’s successors, but, in all honesty, very few can light a candle to the great man, and many are just plain awful. In the very worst cases, the mute button is the only option.

His well-documented intensive preparation for each and every match helped make him stand out from the rest. On top of that, the rich Borders voice, the wry sense of humour, the complete lack of bias (even when watching Scotland take on the Auld Enemy) and his colourful turn of phrase marked him out as a master of his art. But, for me, the greatest thing about Bill was that he never tried to be anything but a commentator.

He never criticised. He never came up with anything controversial. He never rammed his opinion down the viewers’ or listeners’ throats. He just described what he saw, but in a way which brought it to life. He also managed to do it in a way which explained the game’s fiendish complexities to those who didn’t understand, without alienating those who did (or liked to think that they did!).

Broadcasting has changed, and today’s men at the mike are expected to be rentaquotes, with opinions on everything from X Factor to the price of fish. They shouldn’t be blamed for that – it’s probably what they’re told to do, but is it really a better way of doing the job?

After I’d listened to that final interview, I leafed through Bill’s two autobiographies. The most recent one includes a chapter about his beloved daughter Janie, who died of cancer ten years ago, at a tragically young age. It is difficult to imagine any chapter of any book, about any subject, being so full of pain. If there is another place, I hope that Bill is enjoying being reunited with Janie. The first thing they can talk about is their pride at how well her son, Jim Thompson, played, in Edinburgh’s win over Stade Francais.

However much he loved the game of rugby, Bill loved his family more. His book reveals that he never stayed on for the post-match jollities. Instead, he would rush back home to his wife Bette, so that he could spend the following morning on the golf course or walking the hills, rather than suffering from a hangover.

Bill could have made a fortune from after-dinner speaking, but chose not to. He admits that he found it hard to speak with people looking at him. He could have taken up a lucrative offer to join the BBC fulltime, but chose to stay in his job as a PE teacher, back home in Hawick. He could have accepted shedloads of money from ITV, to head their World Cup coverage, but felt it would have been disloyal to the BBC, who, he said, had always been so good to him. He never sought fame or fortune, and said that he’d have happily done it all for nothing. One tribute revealed that he had to be persuaded to submit his travelling expenses to the Beeb. He considered himself blessed to be doing something he loved, and always seemed surprised that the rugby world should hold him in such high esteem.

Decency, modesty, humility, respect and loyalty may be alien concepts, in this increasingly loud, shallow, tacky, ‘in your face’ world, but they were important to Bill and his generation. The world was a better place for men like him, and is much the poorer for his passing. I grew up listening to his commentaries, and part of me died last week. It's clear that many other people feel the same.

This Wednesday, just over a week after he died, the Six Nations launch takes place at the Hurlingham Club, in Fulham, southwest London. All the great and the good of the game will be there. Captains and coaches will be taken through an endless series of interview with newspapers, radio and TV, as well as sitting through a lengthy photo call. Then, they’ll all adjourn for lunch, at which a preening senior BBC executive will stand up and tell everybody how wonderful this year’s coverage of the tournament will be, and boast about the latest gizmos they’ll be using, to enhance the viewing experience. We know exactly what that means. More replays, meaning much live action being missed – a couple of years ago, the director managed to virtually remove the lineout from one game. More frequent changes of camera angles, so that you’re never sure which direction the teams are playing in. It usually looks like something thrown together by somebody who’d be more at home directing pop videos.

We can be sure that, at some stage of Wednesday’s lunch, tribute will be paid to Bill McLaren, who was the greatest rugby commentator there has ever been. The greatest tribute which the BBC could pay to him would be to return to some of the values he displayed for so many years. Above all, cut the crap and keep it simple.

RIP Bill. We shall not see your like again. They’ll be dancing in the streets of heaven tonight. Apologies to all who’ve plagiarised his words in exactly the same way, but it’s the only way to finish a tribute to such a legend.

I found it rather ironic that Leicester City Council should have done so much to help the Tigers. If you’ve ever driven to a game at Welford Road, you’ll know that, as soon as you reach the edge of Leicester, you see countless signs directing you to the Walkers Stadium. You then encounter quite a few signs to assist the few dozen people looking for Grace Road, home of Leicestershire County Cricket Club. One thing I have never seen, on many visits to the city, is any sign which helps you find your way to Welford Road. Given that Tigers are without doubt Leicester’s most successful sporting institution, you really have to wonder why they are not deemed worthy of local signposts! At least their magnificent new stand can now be seen from some distance away, giving you something to aim for – even if you invariably find youself caught up in some devilish one-way system, where missing the right turn sentences you to another one-mile circuit.

On the field, a game which started brightly for Wasps, with a beautifully created try after just two minutes, ended in the complete annihilation of their scrum. Had it been a boxing match, the towel would have been thrown in well before the end. Having had to wait over twenty minutes for the first scrum of the game, at which they were penalised, the Tigers pack then knuckled down and completely demolished the opposition eight. When you consider that the same Wasps front five had done a similar demolition job on the Harlequins scrum, two weeks earlier, you have to fear for the Quins pack, when they next take on the Tigers, at the end of April.

Saturday’s events conclusively proved what has been obvious for some time – reports of the death of the traditional scrum were greatly exaggerated. When the ill-conceived ELVs were brought in, many of us feared that tireless Australian efforts to depower and devalue one of the game’s fundamental elements – at which the Aussies had been completely clueless, for years - might succeed. How wrong we were.

I’m not going to even begin to try to discuss the finer points of scrummaging. It’s an area which remains a complete mystery to me. The last game of rugby I ever played was in the front row. Having spent most of my rugby life in the back row, I decided there and then that I had sunk so far down the evolutionary scale that it was time to stop. I now, of course, realise that far from being the artisans of the game, the front row forwards are in fact its most skilled practitioners, who command big salaries, and without large numbers of whom no game can be played.

Despite my complete ignorance of what goes on in this strange Neolithic underworld, there are a couple of points which I feel I can raise.

1) The scrum seems to be the only area of the game in which the referee can penalise you for being less good than your opponent. If you outjump your opposite number in the lineout, he isn’t penalised. If your lifter gets you higher than the opposition jumper, his lifter is not penalised.

If your strength takes you through a tackle, the failed tackler is not penalised.

If your speed enables you to win a race for the ball, the person you left trailing in your wake is not penalised.

In the scrum, if your greater strength and technique brings your opposite number to the ground, he is penalised. If you make him stand up, he is penalised. If you force him into wheeling, he is penalised.

Yes, some of those actions by the outgunned prop may be deliberate, but many are involuntary and unavoidable. I’m not questioning the fact that hard work should be rewarded, but I find it strange that this particular area of the game should be the only one where hard work is rewarded by penalties.

The other thing about the scrum which concerns me is the ‘hit’. In the modern game, so many scrums have to be reset, because the original ‘hit’ has been slightly off target, and the scrum has gone down. Not only is this irritating, it’s also dangerous, as a slightly off-target collision between two such powerful forces surely heightens the risk of injury.

I can remember the days when the first engagement was not so dynamic. If I remember rightly, it was a case of the front rows engaging first, then the locks, then the back row. They could only begin pushing when the ball went in – straight, not beneath the feet of the second row! At that point, all hell broke loose, and props of old still regale you with tales of the shenanigans which went on. Of course, those were the days when props simply shambled from scrum to scrum, knowing that anyone displaying speed, athleticism or skill faced permanent expulsion from the Front Row Union.

I know Hambo disagrees with me, and I’ll happily bow to his superior knowledge of an area in which he excelled, but I really feel that the game would benefit from bringing back the old method of engagement. There would be far fewer collapsed scrums, and I also feel that it would be safer. I know that Hambo relished the big hit at the first engagement, as do many of today’s front row forwards, but there is no question that the sight of scrums constantly going down and being reset – because the initial big hit was slightly askew - is something which even true rugby fans find deeply tedious. An improved spectacle, and less risk of serious injury. Surely it’s worth giving it a try.

The other thing I’d like to see – and I know I’m not alone in this – is the scrumhalf being obliged to put the ball in straight. For years, governing bodies have been promising to clamp down on crooked feeds, but they never do. Is it too much to hope for, that they should, on day, deliver on that promise?

And so, to Europe.

“Arise, Sir Ian.”

At some time, in the next few months, those words – uttered by a senior Windsor, possibly even the boss herself – will bestow the ultimate accolade upon one of the greatest men that British, and world, rugby will ever see.

It was not exactly the best kept secret in the world that the New Year Honours List would bestow a knighthood upon Ian Robert McGeechan. It was reported in the press, a week before it was finally confirmed. The way it’s supposed to work is that the recipients are informed some time in advance. The media are then notified at the stroke of midday, on December the 30^th, with the details embargoed until midnight, giving them twelve hours to track down anyone considering interesting enough to respond to their honour, and capture their reactions for posterity.

In Geech’s case, there was clearly a serious leak – but who cares? After a year in which the game’s reputation was dragged through the mire, it was appropriate that it should fall upon this legendary figure to give everyone associated with rugby something to be proud about.

If you haven’t read his autobiography ‘Lion Man’, you should. As you would expect from such a decent, honest and modest man, it’s a thoughtful and intelligent look back at his glittering career. It is revealing and, at times, very moving. When he was starting out at Headingley, his father would walk to his games. Saving on the bus fare meant that he could give his son enough money to buy a round. Before Geech and his wife had their own children, they used to foster unwanted kids.

He was born in Leeds, and should never have been Scottish – his Dad, Bob, was a Glaswegian, who’d moved south after the war. I was once lucky enough to sit next to Geech at a dinner, and I shall never forget him saying to me: “I’m English, actually!” Read the book, and you’ll see that it came as a shock to the future Lady McGeechan, the lovely Judy, when she found that her husband, whom she thought to be 100% Tyke, was going to play for Scotland.

Pictures of Geech in his playing days show somebody who could easily have passed himself off as Paul McCartney’s brother. On the field, he always punched above his weight. He was slight – even, by the standards of those days – but he was courageous, and enormously skilful. The highlight of his distinguished playing career was undoubtedly the glorious 1974 Lions tour. He played in all four Tests, to guarantee himself a place in history – but it was after he hung up the boots that he began to move towards greatness.

His achievements as a coach are unsurpassed – but it’s not just the level of success he’s enjoyed. It’s the manner in which he’s gone about it. From day one, he has shown decency, dignity, humility and honesty.

He built the Northampton side which was to become European champions in 2000. At Wasps, he stepped into the huge boots of Warren Gatland, and steered them to further silverware, including a second Heineken Cup triumph. For Scotland, the 1990 Grand Slam stands out, when Carling’s army was sent homewards, tae think again.

But it’s as coach of the Lions that he’s performed his greatest deeds. Ironically, it was perhaps last summer’s lost series which was his supreme achievement. After the debacle of Clive and Campbell’s Losing Circus, in 2005, the whole concept of the Lions was on the verge of collapse. Gloriously, the 2009 Lions restored their status, and came within a whisker of toppling the world champions. Between them, Geech and manager Gerald Davies, recreated the old feeling of a Lions tour. Talk to just about anybody who was involved, and they will tell you that it was a once in a lifetime experience, which, above all, they enjoyed. Talk to 2001 and 2005 veterans, and you get a completely different story.

The Geech-Telfer double act produced some wonderful moments on the Living with Lions film, made during the successful tour of 1997. I once interviewed a Premiership football manager who admitted that he regularly watched it, to give himself new ideas on motivating his players. Some of Geech’s speeches have long since passed into folklore. The latest tour film has its moments, and nobody could fail to be moved when, after giving what will almost definitely be his final pre-match speech as a Lions coach, he breaks down with emotion, sobbing uncontrollably.

One of the best quotes about Geech’s abilities as a coach came from Matt Dawson, who rose to stardom on the 1997 tour:”Geech made you feel two inches taller, two inches wider and two paces quicker.”

On top of all his other outstanding qualities, one of the most special things about Geech is that he has refused to be sucked into the modern way of sounding off about things. Not for him are the all too familiar post-match whinges, in which beaten coaches slag off referees and the opposition. If Geech has a grievance to air, he does it in a gentle, but eloquent way, which ensures that people listen. Behind the scenes, he may be furious about something, but he doesn’t believe in washing dirty linen in public, and has never allowed himself to be drawn into wars of words. If only there were more like him – although tabloid newspapers mightn’t be too happy!

In this day and age, the word ‘great’ is routinely devalued, when it’s used to describe the barely mundane. It is only right and proper that it should be used to describe Geech.

The next time rugby’s reputation takes a pounding, and followers of other sports try to claim the moral high ground, all its supporters need to say is: ”Does your sport have anybody like Ian McGeechan?”

He is a great rugby man, and – more importantly - a great human being. I salute him.

Number 14 - 29th December 2009

It hasn’t been the greatest year for the dear old game – scandals, endless kickfests – but at least it ended on a high, with nearly 77,000 spectators turning out at Twickenham for the Big Game between Harlequins and Wasps. It may not have been a game of technical brilliance, but it was still a pulsating encounter, which served as a reminder that the English club game is in rude health, despite the poor showing of the Premiership clubs in the Heineken Cup. A shame that so many people still seem to think that attending games at Twickenham makes it compulsory to try to start the favourite game for the brain dead – the Mexican Wave. If you want to see Mexican waves, stand on the beach in Cancun, and watch the tide coming in.

The encouraging thing about this game was the fact that both sides were trying to play with ball in hand, and John Hart’s late try, which made the game safe for Wasps, was an object lesson in controlled, patient build-ups. They had possession for one minute and fifty seconds, from the moment that Simon Shaw gathered a kick on his own 22, until Hart's decisive dive for the line. How appropriate that such a crucial try should have started with the evergreen lock, who put in a colossal performance, rightly rewarded with the Man of the Match award, and must surely be amongst the candidates for Player of the Year 2009.

What a shame that one of the brightest young stars of the season, Joe Simpson, suffered what looked like a serious injury. However, it will have spared Martin Johnson the problem of wondering whether to bring a dash of flair to his stagnant, unambitious, mind-numbingly boring England side, whose autumn performances reminded us all of just exciting it can be to watch paint drying. The England manager was probably relieved to see Danny Cipriani having an off-day with his goalkicking. Little matter that the flyhalf, on his return from a broken leg, showed some pleasing glimpses of his attacking skills, as well as putting in some solid tackles. Cipriani’s face clearly doesn’t fit within the current England set-up, and it would be no surprise if rumours of his move to France turned out to be true. As Ian McGeechan pointedly said in his autobiography – England need that talent.

The final round of Premiership games of 2009 also saw an end to Saracens’ unbeaten record – something which will have delighted everyone outside Watford. Worcester looked clueless against an impressive Northampton, with Chris Ashton giving further evidence of his tryscoring credentials. Gloucester’s woes continued, with a sound beating at the hands of their West Country rivals – Brian Redpath’s grip on his job looks ever more shaky. Leicester’s demolition of Sale showed that they remain a force to be reckoned with, while Leeds succeeded in securing only their second win of the season, with a narrow victory at Newcastle. That result ensured that the second half of the campaign could see a real relegation battle, with only six points covering the bottom five clubs. We’re also seeing a real gap opening up between the top five and the rest.

It has to be said that, once again, this has been a year in which club rugby has been a much more satisfying product than the international game, which has been completely forgettable, with the honourable exception of the Lions. Their tour of South Africa produced some spectacular rugby, and one of the finest Test series in living memory, decided by an injury time penalty from Morne Steyn, at the end of the second Test – the game in which that same Simon Shaw made his Lions test debut, and produced a performance of unforgettable magnificence. It’s being widely reported that Ian McGeechan will soon be making a visit to a spacious building at the end of the Mall. We’ll know this week, whether those reports are true!

So, after a year of some depressing lows, it seems that we could be turning the corner, and that we can look ahead with some optimism. Let’s hope that the adventurous teams are rewarded for their enterprise, and that England might be persuaded to follow suit – but I’m not holding my breath, on that one.

Happy New Year.

English rugby seems to be cursed at the moment. Either that, or we’re seeing some sort of divine retribution for a previous existence in which Martin Johnson boiled babies and strangled kittens.

With the autumn internationals looming large, Johnno’s best-laid plans are ganging seriously agley. His mobile must be in meltdown, with endless messages from club doctors, adding new names to an injury list which is already longer than an MP’s expense claim form.

England’s finest are going down like flies – often with injuries to body parts which had never been heard of 20 years ago. Nowehere is the problem more acute than in the front row. You couldn’t lose more first-choice props and hookers if the World Health Organisation suddenly declared a pandemic of Front Row Flu.

It all started going wrong with professionalism. Props used to be strange unworldly creatures, with no necks, paunches which wobbled in the gentlest of breezes, knuckles almost scraping the floor, insufficient pace to trouble a tortoise with four torn hamstrings, and the handling skills of Abu Hamza.

Now, they’re dynamic athletes, who can throw spin passes off either hand, pluck a bouncing ball from their toes, accelerate past backs, step off both feet, and still find time to do a bit of scrummaging.

It’s just not the way things should be, and things really are coming home to roost.

In the past week, Simon Shaw – who seems to have been around long enough to have scored a four-point drop goal – has expressed his concern about the amount of time the modern player spends in the gym. Nobody would deny that you have to be fit but it seems that the fitter you are, the more likely you are to get injured.

In the good old days, when you had to wait for the front row to shamble from scrum to scrum, there were nothing like as many injuries as we’re seeing now. Modern players, in every position, are now so finely tuned that they’ve shed nearly all their body fat. That fat often served a useful purpose – it cushioned the blows, when you went into contact.

Ah, yes. Contact. The blight of the modern game. Of course it’s an essential part of the game, and we all love to see the physical side of rugby – but should it be the be-all and end-all? It seems that modern teams have become obsessed with seeking contact, rather than avoiding it.

There’s a well-known story about Brian Ashton, during his days in charge of the England Academy. He put four tackle bags in front of them, and asked them what they saw. They all replied “Four tackle bags.”

He shook his head, and said:”I see three gaps, and space on the outside.”

I don’t ever recall being thrilled by watching the likes of Barry John or Gerald Davies putting their head down and charging into the nearest opponent. Whatever happened to the idea of seeking space, rather than contact, as your first option?

The number of injuries resulting from the high-speed collisions of the modern game is now becoming alarming. Maybe it’s time to turn the clock back and restore the old traditional values.

Forget the nutritionists. Bring back fry-ups. Let’s wave two fingers at those who advise players to avoid the demon drink. Let’s restore the late night lock-ins, with nobody leaving until they’ve downed several pints. Okay, I agree that we should probably try to avoid such sessions on the eve of a game.

One man can save English front row forwards, and, with them, the whole national game. On top of that, he could also save our pubs, which are now closing at the rate of seven a day.

I hereby nominate Jason Leonard as England’s new nutritional and fitness adviser.

Over the past couple of years, one of the main issues for debate has been the relative strengths of the Guinness Premiership and the Magners League. With Munster and Leinster having won the last two Heineken Cup finals, increasingly cocky Celts were becoming more and more adamant that their league was the better product.

After the opening weekend of this season’s European campaign, the jury’s still out. The first game saw London Irish strike a blow for the Premiership, with a remarkable win away to the defending champions. Anyone who saw the opening few minutes must have feared the worst for Irish, as Leinster were all over them.

To their huge credit, Irish kept their cool, coming back into the game, and eventually clinching the win with a penalty from new boy Ryan Lamb, whose departure from Kingsholm is still dividing the Shed faithful. You would have thought that they had more pressing matters to consider.

While Irish were downing the reigning champions, Gloucester were scrambling their way to an unconvincing win over the Newport-Gwent Dragons, and Ulster were giving Bath a comprehensive beating at Ravenhill. 2-1 to the GP

The Celts levelled things in Saturday’s first game, when Cardiff Blues – so far unimpressive in the Magners – saw off Harlequins – equally unimpressive in the GP. Quins coach John Kingston was in a bad mood when he faced the press afterwards. Was he really not expecting them to ask him about you know what? Hello!

That rather poor game was followed by a thunderous encounter at Franklin’s Gardens, where Northampton bounced back from their league defeat at Wasps to see off the 2008 champions, Munster – themselves smarting from a thrashing against Leinster, the previous weekend. A fantastic win for the Saints, but Munster could have nicked it, and, as is their wont, they secured a bonus point. On their way to the title in 2008, they lost two pool games, but claimed bonus points in both defeats. Predictably, the teams which had downed them got nothing from their visits to Thomond Park, and it would be a fool who would bet much money against a similar outcome this time round.

If the Saints-Munster game had been the pick of the weekend so far, it was rivalled by a superb encounter at Welford Road, which saw Tigers claw back an 18-points deficit to draw with Ospreys 32-32. They also scored four tries, so came away with three points, to the Ospreys’ two. The unlikely hero for Tigers was a young centre whose name sounds like a feature act in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show – Billy Twelvetrees. Has a star been born? I love Geordan Murphy’s nickname for him. Thirtysix. I’ll leave it to you to work it out!

So the overall tally in the head-to-heads between the Celts and the GP ended with three wins for the GP, and two for the Celts, with one game drawn . In terms of pool points earned, 15-13 in favour of the GP, who could claim an early advantage, but the more sensible view would be to say that honours were more or less even.

For years, the Challenge Cup has been almost completely dominated by the GP – as we all know, most of the Magners sides never play in it, as they’re virtually guaranteed HC places. Any notions of English superiority, though, were dealt a crushing blow in the opening game, when a woeful Worcester lost to a Montpellier side stacked with Academy players. The English then suffered another loss, when Leeds went down to Bourgoin.

The rest of the weekend did go the way of the GP, with their three remaining sides all winning – although Newcastle only just crept home against Petrarca Padova, in Italy, Wasps struggled to overcome Racing-Metro, and Saracens did enough to beat Rovigo, in front of 5,678 spectators at Vicarage Road.

Had Padova managed to beat Newcastle, it would have rounded off a great weekend for the Italians, as the outstanding result has to be Treviso’s stunning Heineken Cup win over the French champions, Perpignan. Let’s hope that this marks the beginning of a recovery by the Italian sides, for so long the whipping boys of Europe.

The main concern, at this stage of the season, is the lengthening injury list. Leicester were so short of backs, that they had to replace a centre with a flanker. Wasps are now down to one fit hooker, and Martin Johnson must be dreading the phone calls after each round of games. The number of England players looking likely to miss the Autumn Internationals grows by the day.

On the subject of the AIs, we’ve had an indication that the public may be becoming bored with the same old, same old encounters with the southern hemisphere’s finest. Twickenham’s debenture holders - who number around 14,000 or 15,000, and are normally only guaranteed one seat per debenture - were invited to apply for four extra tickets each, for the games against Australia and New Zealand. Let’s assume that there weren’t actually 60,000 spare tickets for each game – but, even so, the RFU must be alarmed.

In days gone by, these matches were guaranteed sellouts, usually oversubscribed two or three times over. Then, such games were rare. Now, they have become standard fare, and it would appear that familiarity breeds contempt. More on that subject, nearer the time.

For now, we have another weekend of club rugby at its best – arguably a far more appealing product than the international game – to look forward.

Will Toulouse turn in a performance which all but ensures Quins’ Heineken Cup exit, six months overdue? Can Sale recover from a sound beating in Toulouse, to beat Cardiff? How will Saints fare in Catalan country, against a Perpignan side who left Italy with red faces? Will Bath recover from their Belfast battering to get the better of Max’s pink-shirted boys, who really walked the walk against Edinburgh? Do Gloucester have what it takes to come away from the Basque country with a win?

In the Amlin Challenge Cup, Sarries’ trip to Toulon is the pick of weekend 2. Can the Premiership leaders overcome a French side which appears to be bringing the best out of a certain rejuvenated Mr. Wilkinson?

Another round of Europe, which offers some great rugby – and, for the lucky ones who’re travelling with their sides, some fantastic places to visit. Wasps might not be in the big one, but their fans have drawn a pretty good consolation prize – a trip to the Eternal City. Roma – la dolce vita!


Number 3 - 5th October 2009