47

For all the advances in modern medicine there’s still no known cure for the common birthday.

47 today, going on 19.

Such an auspicious occasion demands a blog post of insight and clarity. Unfortunately you’ll have to make do with this…

The media seem to be getting their collective knickers in a twist about this week’s comments by NZRU chief Steve Tew that the prospects of the All Blacks going to England for the 2015 Rugby World Cup are very slim under the current financial model . Apparently the NZRU lose "millions" in World Cup years owing to the tournament's strict sponsorship restrictions and loss of revenue from incoming tours.

My heart bleeds. If the likes of Namibia or Romania can find enough pennies down the back of the sofa, I dare say New Zealand can manage. Of course I haven’t seen the books, but I’m guessing that during the three years in between World Cups the NZRU’s peddling of the All Black brand around the world is fairly lucrative. That they can’t adequately manage their finances every fourth year (like everyone else has to) is their problem, no one else’s. It’s called budgeting.

It’d be interesting to see what would happen were the IRB to call their bluff.

46 not out

In a week when I turned 46 to no fanfare whatsoever (too busy at work for starters), a few rugby stories caught my eye...

According to Paul Rees in the Grauniad, the IRB is investigating claims that Australian players were wired up to their coaches during the 2003 World Cup.

Although I believe that it is common practice in the NFL, for instance, that players are wired for sound (for example via miniature electronic earpieces stitched into headgear), it is strictly verboten in rugby. If true, however, this nefarious practice might explain the absurd phenomenon of backs wearing scrumcaps, something on which my views have previously been made known.

That said, a fat lot of good it did the Aussies in the final minute of the 2003 World Cup Final as "DROP GOAL, DROP GOAL, DROP GOAL, OH F**K" was screamed into the players' earpieces.

The other story of note was the scandalous decision by Saracens to send Steve Borthwick to the Munich Oktoberfest with the rest of the squad rather than requiring him to attend the launch of this season's Heineken Cup.

When I say 'scandalous' what I mean of course is 'brilliant'. Utterly unprofessional no doubt, but it's good to see that there are those that still appreciate the value of a few beers together and are not entirely in thrall to the corporate dollar (or, in this case, euro).

Finally, there was the astounding hold-the-front-page announcement by Chesham Rugby Club that it will be running a 3rd XV this season. With very few Vets fixtures planned this season the 3rd Xv may well turn out to be my only opportunity for rugby action this year. That said, my current state of fitness leaves something to be desired and, given the reported numbers at club training (which I have not yet experienced first hand, it must be said), there's a very real possibility that I wouldn't get a game anyway. C'est la vie.

45

Happy Birthday to me...

Forty-five years old today and utterly underwhelmed. Perhaps it's because of my age, perhaps it's because 2 friends of a similar age have sadly passed away this year and it's a reminder of my own mortality, or perhaps it's just because it's a Monday.

Actually I think my melancholy is largely down to the fact that I've been struggling with various aches and pains of late, I'm nowhere near as fit as I should be, I'm not leading a particularly healthy lifestyle at the moment and right now I can feel a head cold coming on. In other words, bah humbug!

Shoulder problems meant that I was unable to play the first Vets game of the season on Saturday which may also have something to do with my mood. Having said that, it was a scorching hot afternoon and the ground was bone hard, so playing with a dodgy shoulder and very little fitness would have been foolhardy.

I did turn up to watch. Well, when I say "turn up" - what I actually did was arrive at Fullerians whose Vets we were supposed be be playing only to find no sign of anyone in Chesham colours. On checking my voice mail (and yes, I realise it might have been sensible to do so before I left for the game) I discovered that the fixture had been switched to High Wycombe where we were playing their 3rd XV. I therefore managed to arrive with about 20 minutes left to play, only to witness Chesham's defences finally collapsing as a 7-19 deficit quickly became 7-47 by the final whistle, the opposition's evident youth and fitness proving decisive.

Chatting to the shattered Chesham players after the game I felt both pleased not to have endured the heat, pain and exhaustion and somewhat guilty for not having done so. There's certainly some truth in the statement that an after-match beer doesn't taste anywhere near as good when you haven't earned it.

Anyway, enough of feeling sorry for myself. Time to knuckle down, get fit, get some weight off and be ready (well, ready-ish) for our next fixture in 3 weeks.