Eddie Butler Five Nations Rugby
The world’s worst-run sport is about to take a breather from self-abuse. Like a kindly great aunt arriving with a carpet- bag full of winter woollies and sage advice on the temptations of the flesh, the Five Nations Championship is upon us. In a way, the old dear’s arrival is most ill-timed. Just when another crisis, another missed deadline might have blown things apart and triggered the bloody purge essential for the future good of rugby, it seems that for the next couple of months the forces of revolt will be kept at bay by the power of sentiment.
Everyone loves the championship. It is a balm, a lump in the throat, a warmed cockle; it is Bill McLaren.
Last season’s championship should have altered all that. France won their back- to-back Grand Slam and England won the Triple Crown, and the Celtic nations were left way behind. Wales were the best of the three also-rans and they lost by more than 50 points to both England and France. It was a championship of mis- matches.
But nine months later anything can happen. Any one of four teams are in with a shout.
But not five. Scotland are out in the cold. The game is in bits north of the England border. The spirit of the underdog that led to the Grand Slam of 1990, that led Gavin Hastings to sprint away and seal a famous victory at the Parc des Princes has been replaced by the listlessness of a whipped poodle.
The attempts to develop a new professional structure in the shape of the Super Districts – the Glasgow Caledonians and the Edinburgh Reivers – were well intentioned. Scotland have always been open to ideas from New Zealand, and the Super 12 franchises have certainly worked seamlessly on the other side of the world.
The power of the paying punter, however, remains paramount. Never mind what the tracksuit strategists may think, if the public don’t like it, it is wrong. When the world champion Springboks played to fewer than 1E000 spectators on the opening night of the Scottish leg of their recent tour, it only showed that the well-intentioned experiment had taken the game down a blind alley.
Then there is the second Kiwi factor. Scotland have confirmed the links between their ancient nation and the New Caledonia they built in Dunedin, not only by aping the amalgamated franchises of the Super 12, but also by implementing a process of genetic re-absorption. To native Scottish stock are being grafted migr strains from the Otago Highlands.
The Scottish squad contains the Leslie brothers, John and Martin, sons of Andy, former captain of the All Blacks. John is the new centrepiece of the Scottish game, doing for Jim Telfer’s midfield what he did for years at Carisbrook for Otago, and what the Japanese have paid good money for him to do for them after the championship. Scotland may be an ethnic homecoming; Japan is a career move.
Fullback Glenn Metcalfe and wing Shaun Longstaff are also New Zealand Jocks. Flanker Gordon Simpson another, although for the moment he, like Matthew Proudfoot, the 128kg prop from the South African branch of the global tartan family, is injured.
Now, everybody is on the lookout for talent. But Scotland, according to reports of strong disapproval from the heartlands, may be overdoing this reliance on imports.
Compare the Scottish stance with the Welsh. Shane Howarth was nervous about outing himself as a Taff; he need not have feared. The Welsh in their never- conquered caves can be as ethnically purist as a Balkan bigot, but the society of the rugby-playing area of South Wales is an amalgam of all sorts. It took the ex-Auckland and New Zealand full-back all the time it takes to side-step past two Springboks to be given the freedom of Merthyr.
Kiwis in Wales, Kiwis in Ireland; they can’t get enough of them. Graham Henry has been catapulted into the role of deliverer, almost with a capital “D”. The same players who looked bemused by the running of opponents last season are now confident of building the best defence in the Five Nations, around Scott Gibbs and Colin Charvis.
Not that they could beat South Africa. Only England managed that. But Wales actually made more “hard yards” in possession, without having the hard-nose self-belief of Lawrence Dallaglio’s side. If Wales can contain their excitement and listen to the restraining words of their coach, rather than the hysteria of their public, they could win three out of four.
Even Henry may be hard-pressed to inspire a victory in Paris, but the puppy-like enthusiasm of his team should be too much for Scotland in the first round.
France should be too strong for Ireland, even in Dublin. But the French have had a thoroughly disjointed season. Their domestic championship has been diluted by expansion to 24 clubs and their European experience was jolted by the unceremonious dumping of Toulouse and Stade Francais by Ulster. Add to that the injuries to Castaignede, Ibanez, Califano, Tournaire, Brouzet and Pelous, and France, even with the warm-up game with Italy this weekend, may take time to build up to full speed.
By April they will be flying but my rash tip is that Ireland will beat them.
Ireland, in fact, could beat everyone this year. Now that Keith Wood has surrendered his intellectual property to the Ireland Rugby Football Union, signed his contract and taken his place in the front row, the pack that worried South Africa – and which contains a Kiwi of its own in Andy Ward – could take the championship by storm.
England sit out the first round. Mighty England, watching and assessing. They will win the championship, but only on points difference, without winning a Grand Slam or Triple Crown. More rash guessing – sorry, measured analysis. Here’s more still: it will be an epic Five Nations, close-fought, tense, adventurous.
And when it’s all over and great aunt leaves, we can get on with the real business in the worst-run sport in the world. Leaving blood on the carpet.