Jones Must Go? Part IV

Well this week the answer is pretty clearly no. The England v France match on Saturday was superb - not because of the result (which was as welcome as it was unexpected to this Englishman) but because it rescued us from the moral and intellectual poverty of the caterpillar ruck and all that mind-numbing kicking predicated entirely on the hope that the opposition will make a mistake before you do. Instead we had pace, pace, pace. Ray Williams (an early and forgotten coaching guru) used to say (and he probably wasn't the first to say it but he introduced me to it) that there is an answer to everything in rugby except pace. It's beautiful in its simplicity but once you have understood it, the rugby world is your oyster. That old nutter, Clive Woodward, understands it. Because France are so good (and believe me this side can and will get better) you can only play them by executing skills ultra quickly - there is no time for that careful and wrong-headed calculation that had become the unlovely signature of this England side. They played as if liberated. A superb match as I say - not a kick at goal missed, four tries, great defence as well as attack.

As a nice dessert, though not of the same high quality, Ireland and Scotland served up another tidy game on Sunday. It's nice to welcome the good old game back

A Pleasant Trip To Villa Park

I'm a Baggies fan so Villa Park (notwithstanding its proximity to my dear old school) is not really one of my happy places. I do remember us winning there in the eighties in the League Cup (1 - 0, Andy King) but that's about it.

Well today I went there for my Covid jab. Bloody brilliant. The whole set-up was bloody brilliant. Cheerful, professional and efficient. Why can't things always be like that? And, no, it doesn't hurt. 

Finding Strange Bedfellows

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. That's not me, it's my old mate the Bard.

Well I've slagged Piers Morgan off in the past (he's boorish and deliberately over-provocative), as well as praising him when he took the Americans to task over their deluded marriage to guns. It feels uncomfortable to be siding with him again but in the whole wretched business of the Harry and Meghan affair, I'm afraid I'm not unsympathetic. Here is what he said today and I think it's difficult to pick holes in it:

I don't believe almost anything that comes out of her mouth and I think the damage she's done to the British monarchy and to the Queen at a time when Prince Philip is lying in hospital is enormous and frankly contemptible.

Whatever happened to bearing your troubles with dignity. It's enough (almost) to turn you into a republican. President Boris anyone?

A Book, A Film

The book is touted as the great American novel. I wouldn't go that far but Moby Dick is certainly a remarkable achievement. It disobeys certain of the rules you are taught in creative writing classes and is none the poorer for that. It is a big slab of a book but the chapters are short which makes for easier consumption. It speaks of man's urge to bend nature to his will, creeping into obsession. It is quintessentially American and, for that very reason (on account of how the world has developed) it is also universal. It had stood in my bookcase, one of those books tormenting me as requiring reading. Now I have done it. I was right to think it necessary. Call me Dave. 

The film is a considerably lesser cultural artifact but one well-made and which answers the tasks it sets itself. Greenland is, on its face, a disaster movie - a comet strike threatening an extinction event. The presence in the lead of Gerard Butler might make you think that he will save the world. But no, although there are some perfectly satisfactory special effects, it concentrates on the narrower horizon of what a man should do to preserve his family. It is a taut and humane example of the disaster movie. Actually rather good. 68/100.

Life In A Smaller World

I was reminded the other day of just how the world has shrunk in my six decades here. The trigger for this rather banal realisation was watching The Conquest of Everest, 1953's documentary about the first successful Everest expedition. It was only sixteen yeeas later that man broke out of gravity and walked on the moon. What modern achievement is ever going to reproduce that sense of awe and distance we enjoyed?

By the way, I met John Hunt the Everest Expedition leader at the Royal Geographical Society. I'm so well acquaintanced. We must have spoken for all of ten seconds. 

The film? 79/100.     

 

Jones Must Go? Part III

Wales 40 - England 24. On the face of it, that is a demolition job. I sat down to watch the match with no great expectations given England's shoddy previous performances this year. The peculiarity about this latest defeat was that it contained some English play far better than anything that had gone before in this championship. Mind you they were building from a low base.

Let's get it out of the way - referee Pascal Gauzere had an absolute mare. Shit happens. I refereed and, just as with players, you can have a bad day. He played a crucial (and wrong-headed) part in the first three Welsh tries. The first two have attracted huge press but the third seems to have gone unnoticed - he gave the mark yards away from the offence and allowed the Welsh scrum-half a crucial advantage over the defence. So that's out of the way - and here's the important point - it was not his fault that England lost. Good luck to Wales - it's not their job to turn down good fortune. 

England's discipline was laughably bad. These are professionals - they should know better. Itoje (a great favourite of mine) was disgraceful and should have been binned. But beyond that here's what we learned - sorry but Eliott Daly is currently useless and butchered a gloriously worked overlap; Billy Vunipola (an honest player if ever ther was one) had a much better game; so did Owen Farrell whose relative calm in the face of the refereeing came as a pleasant surprise given his recent gobshite tendencies; Ben Youngs has lost a step; Tom Curry is a magnificent player; Henry Slade also played well; Ellis Gence can be a liability.

Jones must go? I now tend towards saying yes, but let' see how they perform in two remaining tough tests against France and Ireland. There's always some perverse fun to be had in spoling someone else's party.

We should also just applaud both Jones and his captain for not using the refereeing as an excuse for the defeat. 

Anyway, I've just remembered that I'm Welsh. For the next few days.

Being at The Top Of The Hill

I speak not metaphorically (could I be so immodest?) but literally. Casa Piggy sits at the top of a hill. Now this has its advantages - for example it never floods. It also has its disadvantages - the water pressure can be dodgy. But the principal drawback for Big Fat Pig is that when he is bent on exercise, be it running or on the precious bike, he always has to finish on an uphill stretch. For the serious athletet this would be a positive boon. The Pig is not that serious. Still this factor provokes a feeling of righteous well-being after a couple of decent bike sessions such as those undertaken by the Pig this weekend. The Pig reverted to the bike: a) because the weather has improved; and b) because he's strained his glutes with a fair bit of running. Anyhow, enough about my glutes and back to the precious bike. Yesterday I climbed the Hill Village Incline, Col de Hillwood Common, Mont Worcester, and the Gibbons Pass. Saddle-sore would be the best way to describe my condition. But being a brave soldier I went out for a shorter session today and decided to do some hiil reps - five passes at the Gibbons Pass. Very saddle-sore but smug. Rewarding myself with a couple of glasses of vino. Still being very disciplined about the old drinking - only indulging at weekends. More smugness.

I can report a good and newish film available on Netflix. News of the World is Paul Greengrass' venture into the realms of that quintessential Hollywood genre, the Western. This might be thought a tad presumptuous for a Brit but have no fear, it is arrestingly well done. It stars Tom Hanks who is himself a Hollywood institution. He is predictably good but has some thunder stolen by his young co-star, Helena Zengel. This is a thoughtful contemplation of the majesty and difficult morality of the making of America. It attracted mixed reviews. The nay-sayers are wrong. 76/100.