The State Of Rugby Union

You may have noticed that I left the Rugby World Cup alone after my highly enjoyable trip to Marseille for its early stages. Here are a few of the Big Fat Pig's thoughts on where RWC has left us. In reaching these conclusions I also take account of some club rugby I have watched at my beloved Aston Old Edwardians and some Gallagher Premiership rugby courtesy of the good old telly box.

England progressed further and less humiliatingly than any of us might have wished given their dire form prior to RWC. Their rugby was turgid but lion-hearted. Marcus Smith must be given his head and Owen Farrell must be pensioned off with resounding thanks echoing in his ears. He has been a stalwart leader but he has never learned how to tackle efficiently - witness two embarrassing hand-offs aimed at his body in otherwise notable recent performances for Saracens.

The objective of the game is to score more points than your opponent. South Africa have a confrontational and muscular way of addressing this obective. No purpose is served in belly-aching about their success. Be better.

RWC lasted far too long and the seedings were settled laughably early. Groups of four would answer one point and a tad of common sense the other. Don't hold your breath.

We do not have a crisis in the laws of the game. We have a crisis of bad coaching. The methodology of modern tackiling best exemplifies this.

Grumpy Old Pig out.    

Les Petites Vacances

Rugby World Cup 2023 is well and truly underway and the Overgraduate was in the South of France for an extended weekend of sport and general jollity. Before anything else is said I must thank AO, JRS, AW, AS, and BH for their company on the trip, most particularly to those of them who had a hand in the organisation. OG steered well clear of taking any responsibility in that regard - my role was to pay up when asked and to make as good a pass as possible at being acceptable company. A brilliant trip.

OG's chosen reading - quel poseur

We travelled by train - Eurostar to Paris and then on to Marseille by TGV. These trips were a reminder of just how awesome train travel can be. Reserved seats, no over-selling and clean toilets. On the outward leg I read Private Eye - is it my imagination or did this used to be much funnier? On the return I did my faux intellectual bit and tried to make sense of a copy of Cahiers du Cinema. A barely-scraped French A level more than four decades ago is not the best equipment for this task. Fun though. 

We stayed in the stunning La Ciotat, twenty miles outside Marseille. AO had harnessed AirB'n'B and come up with a ridiculously luxurious apartment. On arrival the suave owner told us we could use any of the building's three pools. As for La Ciotat, well what a nice place. This is a mild understatement.

La Ciotat Vieux Port

Even the moments of mild trauma that inevitably accompany such a trip turned to our benefit. On Saturday under the blameless, burning skies we walked to La Ciotat's quaint railway station (where the Lumiere Brothers filmed their famous steam-train arriving and ushered in the age of cinema) only to receive the news that there was a local train strike. How were the intrepid half dozen to get into Marseille for England's opening match against Argentina? Here that shitty A level finally came into its own. A fractured call to our property manager, Sarah (whose English was on a par with my French), somehow managed to convey that we needed a taxi for six to the Stade Marseille. Sarah came up trumps and we all crammed into a Skoda for the trip. Our driver even arranged our return trip with his mate Phillipe. This proved a turning point in the weekend - Phillipe and his absurdly luxurious Tesla (I take back all I have ever said about Elon Musk) became our transport of choice - he took us back into Marseille for the Scotland v South Africa match on Sunday, took us home that evening and carried us to the station at La Ciotat on our Monday departure. Bravo Phillipe. From this near-disaster it transpired that we had avoided all manner of tribulations with local public transport.  

France had been a joyous host, boosted into a good mood by their team's dismantling of New Zealand in the opening match of the tournament. I should however point out that the stradium authorities in Marseille got it badly wrong for the England v Argentina match. The arrangements for entry into the stadium were dire and dangerous. The goodwill of rugby fans rescued the situation as boisterous Argentinians and wary Englishmen (most of them expecting an Argentinian victory) demonstrated admirable restraint. Enough will have been written elsewhere about England's short-handed victory - they spent almost the entire match reduced to fourteen men after Tom Curry's dimissal. Suffice to say this was a spirited, stoic, professional performance.

I will finish on a vaguely sour note. Phillipe got us back to the apartment on Sunday in time to watch the thunderous game between Wales and Fiji. The sour note? Matthew Carley's refereeing. I had hoped we might have got past the institutional elitism that sees the mistreatment of the 'tier 2' rugby nations. Sadly we have not. Just ask yourself this - would the All Blacks have been as mistreated as were Fiji? No they would not.         
 

A Minor Redemption

You may have noticed that I have been oddly silent about the state of my beloved game of rugby union. I must confess that my reticence has reflected a disillusionment with the grand old sport. The amateur game is dying on its feet. This is a societal tragedy. The professional game is a sad mess of hubris and protectionism. Worst of all, the great signifier of professional rugby is the wretched caterpillar ruck - a tactic born of fear and intellectual timidity.

It is therfore a delight to report that last night I watched a good game of professional rugby union - fleet, skilful and passionate. Well done Clermont and the victorious Leicester Tigers. It can be done.

And while we're on the subject I suppose I ought to unleash my verdict on the end of Eddie Jones' tenure as England coach. More seasoned (bored?) readers of this blog will recall that I had, despite my innate conservatism, been a member of the Jones Must Go camp. If you look at his record, you discover that he always outstays his welcome and it all ends in tears. The carefully cultivated chippy Aussie image becomes a tired act and he disappears up his own tactical behind. He was responsible for the single best England performance of my lifetime, the evisceration of New Zealand at RWC 19, yet only a week later oversaw the dire capitulation to South Africa. He is a high-class coach but, in the final analysis, you do wonder if he had started to believe some of his own oft-spouted guff. 

RWC19.7

It may all have been my fault. I should have watched the match from the exact same position as I occupied for the dismantling of New Zealand. Instead I abandoned the right hand side of the sofa in what we rather tweely call the snug and imposed myself upon the hospitality of TW and SW in Milton Keynes. Their hosting was faultless but I still have to live with the fact that I caused England to lose the World Cup final. Sorry.

More realistically we have to acknowledge a good old-fashioned Springbok shellacking, a brutal evisceration of the shell-shocked English based upon a ferociously dominant scrummage. I have my reservations about the modern vogue which referees the scrummage so that the weaker side automatically concedes a penalty once in retreat, but England have benefited plentifully from this perverse jurisprudence in the past, so no complaints from this commentator.

Overall probably the best RWC thus far - organised with flair and dignity by the host nation, whose progress to the quarter-final was the best news to come out of the tournament.  

RWC19.6

I have let the excitement of the weekend dissipate. It ill behoves an Englishman to be seen as boastful - just take a look (if you can stand it) at the semi-literate bile that dominates the message boards on BBC Sport. Calm down lads and lasses (more, many more of the former than the latter I fear) England haven't won anything yet. I say this as a warning both to proud Englishmen and to the inveterate haters of all things English. For heaven's sake chaps I even heard a radio debate today about where the victory parade should be held. Hubris lads - look it up.

I will keep it to this - I have been watching England matches man and boy for fifty years and I have never seen a better performance than that which dismantled New Zealand on Saturday. All of which is rather splendid but means nothing when you are facing a Springbok team revelling in underdog status. It has the potential to be a compelling and brutal final.

As for Wales and the match that eliminated them, well, both sides were pretty lamentable. Which, again, means nothing in the context of the final. I will admit to some guilty relief at the outcome - I have long held that an England/Wales final would fall to the Welsh. 

RWC19.5

After the various phony wars we have moved on this weekend to the proper stuff - knock-out rugby - you really can't beat it. Yesterday the All Blacks eviscerated an anaemic Irish XV. England dispatched Australia by a similarly convincing margin but that scoreline masked an altogether closer match. Nevertheless we should not devalue England's sheer spirit and professionalism - the marriage of those two things is at the heart of success in contact sport.

From this distance the easy conclusion to be drawn is that the New Zealand v England semi-final will produce the overall winner but, and this is the beauty of sport, it is never as simple as that.

As an Englishman, albeit one with a Welsh grandfather, this worries me about the Welsh - of the three other teams left in the competition I think Wales are best equipped emotionally and technically to beat England. I would back New Zealand (quite confidently) to down the Welsh and South Africa (less so) to do the same. But that hwyl fanned by a self-righteous sense of persecution defenestrates cold logic when it comes to an England v Wales fixture. I have serious foreboding about the prospect of such a final. Apart from anything else one would never hear the end of it. Still, I could always fall back on my Celtic ancestry.

South Africa brutalised Japan's brave Blossoms and the possibility of the Springboks facing off against England's almost equally mountainous pack is interesting. Having said all of this, I am back where I started back in September ie. betting on a New Zealand v South Africa final.

One other technical observation from Dr Pig the rugby guru. Has ever such a good player had so bad a haircut as Jack Goodhue?

go faster hair

 

RWC19.4 And Quebec.1

Following the Rugby World Cup from Canada is not the easiest - the matches are in the middle of the night and there is not exactly wall to wall coverage. However the interweb thing comes to the rescue of the Pig and he need only report that it is nice to see Australia coach Michael Cheika having a good old fashioned whinge after his side's defeat to Wales. Poor baby. I thought it was supposed to be the English who behaved that way.

Basilique Notre Dame de Montreal

We're now at our second stop on our tour of Quebec - first was Montreal and second is Baie St Paul. The former was good. We attended mass en Francais (but with a written English translation of the gospel readings - a nice touch) at the magnificent Basilique Notre Dame and ate out well - poutine is a must. Poutine or chips and gravy as Northerners might put it.

The Big Owe

Pig and Groupie were impressed by the Montreal Botanical Gardens though to the tutored eye (not) of the Pig the rose beds needed weeding. The Gardens are alongside the Olympic Park. The main stadium itself has a vaguely neglected look to it (it has no permanent tenant these days) but retains a seventies brutalist magnificence. Caustic locals have dubbed it the 'the Big Owe', referencing both its shape and the municipal near bankruptcy which staging the Games inflicted on the city.

The Pig survived the drive from Montreal out to Baie St Paul in the hired Fiesta without any undue incident. It's always vexing when you first drive on the wrong side of the road but we got here in one piece.

RWC19.3

From the comfort of our London hotel room I watched this morning as the World Cup got properly interesting. Poor old Ireland copped the wrong side of a Japanese typhoon and were bearen 19-12 by the host nation. Fully deserved too - a performnce of ferocity, pace and deftness.

Pig and Groupie are en route to Montreal so this bulletin comes to you from Air Canada's Maple Leaf Lounge at Heathrow. Nice. Updates to follow.

RWC19.2

England win. Before anyone gets caught up in optimism let's consider a few facts: New Zealand 92: Tonga 7; England 35: Tonga 3; now I'll admit that these two results are not perfect comparators - the All Black massacre was a warm-up game and England faced that first game of RWC blast that Tier 2 opponents (as they are so demeaningly termed) often produce. However as the announcer on Five Live tetchily (but pertinently) demanded - would the All Blacks tolerate that many handling errors? Overall a scruffy start.

Another worrying fact. Four years ago in RWC15, England scraped a bonus point victory in their opener. What happened next?

As for Scotland's capitulation to Ireland this morning, less said the better.

RWC19.1

Six weeks of international rugby are in process. Today's seminar is on what Rugby Pig has been calling the full court press, borrrowing from his basketball vernacular. This style of is much in vogue, not merely in rugby - look for example at what Liverpool do on the football field.

The press demands a vigorous pursuit of every opponent to the end of denying anyone time around the ball. South Africa applied that vigour for the first twenty minutes against New Zealand but then we saw the downside of the press coupled with the acuity of the All Blacks. New Zealand have elevated their skills so that their care of the ball (both in attack and defence - this latter aspect is oft overlooked) can be backed to outlast the ferocity of the press. Thus today New Zealand maintained control of both sides of the ball and crafted their victory. Don't bet against these two sides meeting again in the final.     

 

RWC Bulletin 10 - England Even Manage To Lose The Aftermath

The final was decorated by the conscious competence of an outstanding New Zealand team - Ma'a Nonu's clinching try summing up beautifully the muscular possibilities of great rugby. Their 20011 win was sketchy (ditching twenty-four years of emotional baggage?) but this time they emerged utterly triumphant and must be praised. They beat each of the next three best teams in the competition (Australia, Argentina, South Africa) on their journey. Simply brilliant.

As for England, well as organisers we put on a great show - the full grounds bounced with energy,and the play was often compelling. As competitors we were abject. My view on this has hardened with the passage of time. Unprofessional and inexcusable. Heads should roll, not merely Lancaster but those around him and the clowns who appointed him. Don't hold your breath. As if to pollute yet further the air of decay we now have the stench of the tragi-comic end to the Burgess Experiment. After twenty-six games of Union Sam Burgess heads back to antipodean League with his tail between his legs and those who supervised the whole benighted project looking even more stupid than before, as if that were possible. Hey ho, it's only a game - in response to which inanity Ray Prosser used cannily to explete 'In that case what the f*** do we have points for?'

RWC Bulletin 9

Simply the best

Not that much need be said really. The two best teams (notwithstanding Scotland's peculiar ill luck) have reached the final and that game will be refereed by the best referee. So good luck to Australia, to New Zealand and to Nigel Owens. May they between them conspire to give the world a game it can cherish, to the benefit of my precious sport.

I had some hunches before the tournament, most of which have been wide of the mark. I always feared that England would lose to Wales and I near as dammit knew Wales would lose to Australia, but I figured that England would beat Australia and that Wales would be eliminated to nurse yet another persecution complex. As it turned out Australia produced one of the three seminal performances of the competition to floor England and England went out because they were too stupid/arrogant (take your pick) to kick a goal against Wales. The other two seminal achievements? Japan's heroics against South Africa and the All Black evisceration of the poor old French.

My other wayward hunches: Ireland went out tamely and were feebler than I had predicted; Argentina have taken a meaningful step forward in their method - I hadn't seen that coming, probably because I wasn't looking very closely.

The final? Really can't call it. New Zealand are the better team but it is difficult not to admire what Cheika has done with his Australian team and David Pocock is my player of the tournament. One to watch rather than bet on. Enjoy.

By the way I have discovered the joys of Spotify and am currently listening to 10cc's back catalogue. Nice. I will be breaking away shortly to try to get my head around Bourdieu's The Field of Cultural Production. Will the Boy Bourdieu be able to hold a philsophical candle to my favourite Frenchman, Roland Barthes? I wouldn't bet on that either. Cheery bye.

RWC Bulletin 8 - Correction

Viperjohn (my wise commentator - see comments on last blog) is of course correct. My summation of the RWC quarter finals should have said "Scotland aside" the Welsh had made the best fist of it.

As for the Joubert fiasco, well it seems that the powers that be have given official approval of my conclusion that it should have been a scrum, but in doing so they have hung the ref out to dry and yet not commented on the most culpable element of his conduct, that is to say his flight from the locus in quo.

Time to move on. We are all Argentinians now!

Off to see Squeeze and John Cooper Clarke tonight. I last saw Cooper Clarke at the Hammersmith Palais in 1978 when he was on a bill with Elvis Costello and Richard Hell and the Voidoids. Costello was rubbish, the two supporting acts far superior. Review to follow.

RWC Bulletin 8 - An Unfortunate Sequence Of Events

Argentina deeply impressive. Ireland beaten by a better team, as they graciously conceded.

Poor old Craig Joubert did himself no favours officiating the Scotland v Australia match. The yellow card he gave Maitland seemed out of proportion, although Joubert may have found himself prisoner of the Third Match Official in his ear. But worse was to come as the game reached its denouement. The fateful sequence of events was murky and the options open to Joubert ranged , at one extreme, from allowing play to continue (this would have required that he detected no knock-on by Scotland) and, at the other, penalising Scotland. In the heat of the moment he went for the latter. Was there a knock on? Even if there was, did an Australian hand intervene before the next Scot played the ball? Forensic hindsight tells us that he would have been better served by justifying to himself the middle course and acting on the first offence, namely a perceived Scottish knock-on. Australia might very well have scored from the resulting scrum, indeed their resourcefulness almost makes this seem likely. As for the plaintive cries that he should have asked the TMO to help him out, well the IRB have (completely predictably) hidden behind the match regulations and emphasised that such reference would have been improper. But, would Joubert seriously have attracted anything but praise had he stepped outside the regulations? All of this is academic and my sympathies instinctively sit with the referee but Joubert's flight a la scalded cat from the pitch at the final whistle was plain wrong. Had there been hostility towards him from the Scots then this would have diminished them but for him somehow to anticipate such a reaction ill fits rugby football.

So European rugby has been humbled. Wales came closest to the semi-finals and an item on the ITV Wales coverage (I was in Anglesey for the weekend) perhaps summed up why they went no further - in a vox pop a group of demented middle-aged fans jumped around and deemed the situation acceptable because they had at least beaten the English. They do not mean this as a joke I'm afraid and it tells you all you need to know about Wales' failure to be as good as they could be. Which is a pity.   

RWC Bulletin 7 - Bloody Hell!

I was privileged to be present in Wellington when the 2005 All Blacks dismantled Woodward's comically ill-prepared Lions. That was marked by the greatest single game of rugby union played by one man - Dan Carter. Tonight in team terms we saw the finest demonstration of what we might glibly call total rugby - New Zealand - 62, France - 13. Read that score again, I haven't got it wrong. In the television studio Clive Woodward churlishly highlighted the French shortcomings. Not remotely the point. New Zealand were magnificent. Simple things done accurately and at extremes of physicality. Next weekend they will face South Africa. It will be no country for old men.

At a less elevated level I took in Bath's televised victory over Exeter this afternoon in the Aviva Premiership - that's the competition for the top teams in England, a well known second tier nation. During the commentary it finally dawned on me that Austin Healey may just be as annoying a pillock as Stuart Barnes. On careful relection however I conclude that Healey knows he's doing it and cultivates the image. Barnes is, one fears, merely a tosser. Talented, but a tosser.

RWC Bulletin 6 - Postscript

The pair of Scottish players banned by the chumps on the RWC Disciplinary Committee have been reprieved on appeal. As the Scottish officials have sagely commented, 'justice delayed is justice denied'. The Scots faced challenge enough without having their preparations disrupted in this manner.

Just a thought - by my reckoning it was the fifth football World Cup before the tournament was won by a team that had lost a pool game. This is the eighth RWC and maybe, just maybe, the competition is ready for this signifier of depth to occur. So lump on South Africa?

Rogue Male + RWC Bulletin 6

Courtesy of ITV I watched Quantum of Solace last night. I had previously enjoyed Skyfall (quite a lot actually) and Casino Royale (less so but quite enough) so it was disappointing to find this Bond rather a mess. I suppose it did herald the darkening of Bond so notably continued in Skyfall but it was a bit too worthy in its painting all men (goody or baddy) in shades of grey and Bond himself was a rather a sulky rogue male.  The plot was a morass of non-sequiturs. Set pieces predictably bold but somehow uninvolving. 5/10.

Tonight we have one of those London Bus moments - you know the thing about them turning up in twos. Insofar as I follow a baseball team it is the New York Mets. Insofar as I follow a college football team it is Penn State. At 1.00 am tonight thanks to BT Sport (which we get courtesy of our broadband contract) both will be shown live - the Mets in the National League Championship Series against the Cubs; the troubled Penn State (the institution has still not fully recovered from a ghastly abuse scandal surrounding a former assistant coach) at the number one ranked Ohio State. What is a sports addict to do? All of this on the same weekend as the RWC quarter-finals, kicking-off of course without the pitiful host nation. If pushed to bet I would find it difficult to see beyond the bookies' favourite in each of the four matches, which would mean a semi-final line-up of Australia v Ireland and New Zealand v South Africa. However there are factors counting against this less than bold prediction: New Zealand seem habitually to be weaker at World Cups than they are between; France are a basket case capable of anything from heavenly to horrific; Argentina are ferocious; Sexton is missing for Ireland (and I count this an even heavier blow than the loss of O'Connell); Wales have the armoury (but possibly not the belief?) to down South Africa. The only one I cannot envisage going against the odds is Scotland v Australia. Don't get me wrong Scotland are an improving side but they have been cruelly dealt with by the laughing stock that is the RWC Disciplinary Committee and Australia have the wind in their sails. As for that Disciplinary Committee - well here's the news boys - it's a contact sport.

RWC Bulletin 5

Yesterday commenced the mourning after the night before. England summarily despatched from their own tournament. There has already been much noise signifying very little so I might as well add my two-penneth. Let us concentrate on three topics which might shed some light on the English disease: back-row play; selection; restarts.

Back-Row Play

The king over the water

The more he goes unselected, the better a player Steffon Armitage becomes. But let us be clear - there is no unimpeachable and 'right' way to configure a back-row. David Pocock was awesome on Saturday but please don't start telling me that he is a a better No 8 than Read, Parisse, Picamoles. He is merely different and suits what Australia want to do. There are ways (though you would not have guessed it from watching England) of combating his style of play - if you want to see a master class go back to Richard Hill (playing as an open-side not on the blind-side where he won his greater fame) against Australia in the first Lions test of 2001. A very solid case can be made that Australia won that series not for any tactical reason but because Nathan Grey elbowed Hill in the head in the second test. But I digress. It is, in passing, interesting to note that Armitage often packs down at 8 for Toulon. Clive Woodward has long advocated that England should pick Armitage (at 7) and shift Robshaw to 8. I'm not sure but perhaps I have too much emotional investment in No 8 as a specialist position.

Where England have been found wanting is in their lack of a suitable pattern. What is Robshaw for? He is not a low scrabbler in the Armitage/Back/Pocock/Hooper mould, but neither is he an out and out athlete a la McCaw. Hitherto he has been a useful first receiver in attack but we hardly saw that on Saturday. There was rather an alarming air of hoping that something workable would turn up on the day. In stark contrast to Australia, England really didn't look as if they knew what they were doing. Which brings us on to selection.

Selection
Sometimes you are a prisoner of outrageous fortune, most particularly injuries, but England have suffered no more than others on that score. In the vital 10/12/13 axis England's selections betrayed a lack of certainty about what they were doing. Again, there seemed to be some blind hope that it would be alright on the night. In professional sport (actually in decent amateur sport as well) that is just not how it works. Sam Burgess was selected to learn how to play rugby union in the hurly burly of the toughest group the tournament has ever known. Henry Slade was selected for rich potential but was not trusted to play. From the combination of those circumstances came the decision to ditch George Ford at 10 - I strongly suspect that when push came to shove they simply didn't feel secure letting Burgess loose against Wales without the defensive comfort blanket of Farrell inside him.

Restarts
I pick on this as a small example of the apparent lack of detailed preparation. England have not looked like a side who threaten to regain possession at restarts since Moody and Tindall retired. Not good enough.

Aside from all that - weren't Australia good? And let no one forget that their coach has been in situ for only a year. As I had mentioned in advance they have started to take scrummaging seriously again and they are chock full of good footballers. Others should watch out.      

RWC Bulletin 4 - As Live

I'm greatly enjoying Japan v Samoa which stands 20-0 to Japan at half-time. Eddie Jones may have his clownish side when he indulges in the pre-match sledging/psycho-babble but one cannot dispute that Japan are a beautifully coached side. If (when?) England fail to beat Australia tonight how about Jones and Steve Borthwick being prised away from Tokyo to take over at Twickenham? I suspect that the RFU couldn't afford them, not this side of Japan hosting RWC 2019.

RWC - Bulletin 3

Whoops! England ran into an implacable Welsh unit and now stand on the threshold of elimination from their own RWC. Wales were superb, Faletau and Biggar notably so. But it needn't have been like this. England froze in the face of the victory their first hour's play had seemed to earn. Their previously creaky scrummage was working splendidly and the line-out was good, the much lambasted Farrell was kicking faultlessly and all was well in the world. But actually it wasn't - for in amongst the polished muscularity one part of the collective English anatomy was not up to the job - this team lacks brains. A penalty was conceded in the very first passage of play and by the end they were no closer to learning the lesson. Unprofessional. As, I'm afraid was Robshaw's decision making in those final dramatic minutes. Kick your bloody goals - I was taught this by two wise men in my youth, my Dad and J.G. Smith my coach at school. And if you're not going to take the offered points then at least make a better fist of your line-out drive, rather than going down the narrowest (and thus easiest to defend) channel. If this was some sort of elaborate double bluff by England then it sure as Hell didn't work.

Overgraduate/BFP conveniently remembers his Welsh heritage

 

Oh well. This is Dai Roberts signing off with a hearty Cymru am bloody byth. Oh and a reminder to my Welsh cousins that it is not alright just to beat the bloody English - there is further business to attend to.

Refereed a game of uncontested scrums yesterday, which is always a little unsatisfactory but it was a run-out for the dodgy legs. Those same legs did a two hour run/shuffle this morning and I'm feeling it now. Thirteen days to go.