For England, Harry and St.George

Happy St. George's Day.

A couple of years ago I wrote about how little the English celebrate their patron saint's day and it appears little has changed since.

According to a survey earlier this week, only a third of people were aware that the celebration of St George was today.

One person determined that the occasion should be celebrated in style is Lawrence Dallaglio. Entirely coincidentally his club, London Wasps, play Bath tomorrow at Twickenham in the inaugural St George’s Day match (albeit a day late).

“I have never had a problem celebrating my Englishness," says Dallaglio.

Nice words Lorenzo.

Blood, Sweat and Beers

Now that I am established as a rugby writer of international repute (yeah, right) it is no longer a surprise when I am invited to attend press briefings for rugby events or to advertise or endorse various products to my vast readership.

The stance I take generally is that this blog is merely a personal folly rather than something I do for commercial gain, largely because (a) it's true and (b) having worked in 'proper' new media in the past I am fully aware just how difficult it is to make more than a few pennies from online advertising.

Despite my highly principled stand, however, I have to confess that I would never discourage anyone from offering me freebies in exchange for a word or two. I am nothing if not hypocritical when it comes to taking a moral position.

Thus I was happy to accept recently a free review copy of Lawrence Dallaglio's Rugby Tales. I say 'recently' - it was actually at the beginning of March. What can I say? I'm a slow reader.

For the uninitiated, Rugby Tales does exactly what it says on the tin - it's a collection of musings from well and lesser known rugby writers and personalities focusing on the amusing and bizarre side of the game both on and off the pitch.

Now, I'm not sure whether it's because several of the stories are already quite well known or because quite a few extracts from the book have already been published elsewhere, or perhaps whether it's because I am indeed a certified (or certifiable?) rugby geek with an insatiable appetite for trivia, but there was undoubtedly a whiff of familiarity about many of the stories.

That said, there are certainly a few gems dotted around in the book too, including David Trick's account of how he managed to indulge in a beer and a cigarette on the pitch at Twickenham while playing for England Under 19s against Australia, as well as the late Richard Langhorn's comment during a Quins v Wasps match when his team mate and England captain Will Carling emerged from the bottom of a ruck demanding that the referee punish the player who had stamped on him.

"Could have been any one of twenty-nine of us ref," said Langhorn.

"Make that thirty," responded the referee.

One thing this book certainly did, though, was to get me thinking about the various shenanigans I've encountered or been involved with during my many years in the game. I'm sure we all have a story or two to tell, so be warned - I have a blog and I know how to use it...

Stand Up

On a glorious sunny (perhaps too sunny, if the colour of my face is anything to go by) afternoon yesterday I, and the rest of the Flanker family, headed down to Wembley Stadium to take in the Saracens v Harlequins match.

Despite Sarries being my local professional club I've by no means been a regular at Vicarage Road over the years, due largely to apathy, pressure on family time and, latterly, reservations about the club turning into some sort of Saffa expat haven. With the kids now old enough, however, the opportunity to check out the new Wembley was difficult to resist.

The Stadium was mightily impressive - very accessible from the tube station and despite our seats being halfway up at one end of the ground there was always the feeling of being close to the action (something sorely lacking at Twickenham, for example) - amazing really in such a large stadium. Inevitably the only downside was the cost of food and drink - I expected to pay 4 quid for a pint, but over £15 for 2 cheeseburgers + chips is taking the piss.

As a marketing ploy, however, the occasion must be deemed a great success for Saracens, with over 47,000 turning up to watch a thoroughly entertaining game as well as pre-match entertainment from a variety of acrobats, circus performers, cheerleaders and not forgetting the mostly forgotten Right Said Fred.

As well as my first time at the new Wembley it was also the first time I'd heard the new Saracens anthem - "Stand Up for the Saracens" - performed by the aforementioned bald pairing. I'm sad to report that it is ridiculously catchy, so much so that I woke in the night with it still bouncing around my head and am still humming it as I type. Check it out below if you seriously want to ruin your day:




As for the match itself, it was something of a revelation with both sides seeking to run the ball at every opportunity. Long gone, it appears, are the kick and chase days of the Autumn. After an opening 10 minutes during which Quins looked the more cohesive side, Sarries scored 2 quick tries against the run of play via their very impressive (and English) openside Andy Saul, then dominated proceedings for the next hour, running in 5 tries in total before Quins responded with 2 late consolation tries.

Final score 37-18: Stand Up for the Saracens!

Master Eight?

Speaking of number 8s...

What do Imanol Harinordiquy, Sergio Parisse, Wycliff Palu, Kieran Read, Jamie Heaslip, Pierre Spies and Johnnie Beattie have in common?

Answer: they are all great examples of the modern day international number 8 forward. Big, quick, athletic, creative, with good hands and able to dominate the breakdown and get their respective teams on the front foot.

Notable by their absence from this list are any Welsh and English players. Arguably Wales had a version of the above player-type in 2005 in Ryan Jones but it really is a long time since he displayed any of the above attributes on an international rugby pitch, while potentially Andy Powell could still offer some hope if he could stay off the M4 in the early hours and perhaps grow a brain cell or two.

Meanwhile England, like Houston, have a problem. Since the (first) retirement of Lawrence Bruno Nero Dallaglio, England have struggled to find an adequate replacement. The current incumbent is Nick Easter. Now, I like Nick Easter - he's an honest grafter with a clever rugby brain, good hands and the ability to get across the gain line but, let's face it, he's not the quickest and he's not going to get any quicker anytime soon. This need not necessarily be a problem at club level (or even against Wales) where good rugby nous can pay dividends but up against the very best a lack of pace can prove a serious liability.

The trouble is that Nick Easter fully deserves to be England's number eight as, quite frankly, who else is there? Waiting in the wings is Jordan Crane - aka Easter-lite - OK at kicking penalties in a shoot-out but offering nothing more around the pitch than the present incumbent and is perhaps marginally slower. After Crane there are the likes of the perpetually injured Dan Ward-Smith, the so far unfulfilled Luke Narraway and the so far untried Phil Dowson, none of whom are really screaming "PICK ME!"

A few years back a certain James Forrester looked as if he was the coming man at 8 but injuries soon put paid to that theory whilst players who looked as if they might have the attributes to make decent number 8s - the likes of Chris Jones and Magnus Lund for instance - were never really tried in the position. A year or so ago there was much talk of Wasps' young Hugo Ellis but I've heard very little about him in recent months and it does look as if this shortage of options is something of an indictment of the English development programme - Easter, for instance, being developed by Orrell in National One rather than by any academy.

With the lack of players coming through the system the Australian tour in June might therefore be an ideal opportunity to experiment, to try a player who looks as if he might have all the attributes but perhaps only lacks experience in the position. Maybe Courtney Lawes or, better still, Tom Croft?

Answers on the back of a postcard...

Come in Number 8, your time is up

Many, many thanks to Fenêtre Ovale for unearthing the picture below...

The picture is taken from a recent international rugby match between Cyprus and Azerbaijan and shows a Cyprus player taking on the Azerbaijan defence. Well, when I say "defence" I obviously don't include the green number 8 on the far right of the picture who is obviously "marking space" with his hands on his hips (well, at least his left hand - for all I know he may have a beer or a cigarette in his other hand).

This is clearly not the finest exponent of the blitz defensive strategy in action, nor is it a demonstration of an immaculate drift defence. No, this is is more a classic example of the Total Flanker-patented "lurking defence."

You see, I would like to be more critical of the Azerbaijan 8 but am ashamed to admit that it is a defensive ploy invented, developed and oft-used by yours truly. The idea is that one's sheer static presence is enough to dissuade the opposition from attacking down one's channel and, somewhat amazingly, in the picture it does appear to have worked. The finishing touch to the defensive manoeuvre is, of course, to throw one's hands up in horror at the missed tackle inside - and no doubt the next frame of the film (were it available) would show just that.

For more thoughts on the number 8 position...

The Best Rugby Player You Never Saw?

Many moons ago I read a book. It was blue.

The title of this blue book was "The Greatest Footballer You Never Saw" and tells the story of Robin Friday, an exceptional footballer (of the round ball variety) who really should have played for England in the 1970s but never did. Why? Because Friday refused to take life seriously, lived every moment as if it were his last and ultimately destroyed himself, tragically dying at the the age of 38 without ever having fulfilled his potential after years of alcohol and drug abuse. Instead of gracing the pitches of Old Trafford and Anfield, Friday played for the likes of non-league Hayes Town and Reading and Cardiff of the old fourth and second divisions respectively.

I recall it being an excellent read and, spotting the book again on the bookshelf this weekend, it got me thinking as to whether there might be a rugby equivalent, a player of huge talent whose maverick or self-destructive nature meant that his potential was never fulfilled?

It's difficult to draw an exact analogy, but I suppose that in the professional era the likes of Messrs Church & Brook (aka Gavin Henson and Danny Cipriani) spring to mind. Whilst it can be said that neither have truly yet fulfilled their potential, it's difficult to draw justifiable parallels with the career of Robin Friday. Both have, after all, played for their country while Henson does have a couple of Grand Slams and a Lions tour to his name and the Cipriani story is, you feel, far from finished. Their off-field activities are hardly in the same league either.

No, to compare effectively you'd need to come up with someone who clearly had the talent to go far but whose off field behaviour destroyed his rugby career. Although I can perhaps think of one or two players I've played the game with whose fondness for sherbet meant that they didn't perhaps achieve what they might have done, there's certainly nothing on the same scale as the Friday story.

Certainly in the professional era we are unlikely to unearth any likely candidates given the physical demands placed on players today, but delving back into into my cluttered memories of the amateur era there must have been a few who might qualify. There were, for instance, a number of players during the 70s and 80s who made only very fleeting appearances for England, although admittedly this was probably more down to playing and selectorial incompetence than to standards of behaviour. Being a backrow aficionado, one player who did catch my eye in the mid-eighties was Quins number 8 Chris Butcher who won 3 caps for England in 1984 and looked the real deal before seemingly disappearing off the face of the planet. I can find very little information about him on t'interweb but I'm sure I read somewhere that he liked a bevvy or several and that there may have been an incident involving a wet fish and an England selector's wife, but my memory might well be playing tricks on me and if so I must humbly apologise if I've maligned the poor chap.

Right now that's about the best I can do. If anyone can do better and has any names to toss into the debate please feel free...

Bloody marvellous!

I'm loving the fact that Big Bad Dean Richards has been short-listed for an ERC 15 coaching award to honour the top coaches in the competition since the Heineken Cup started in 1995.

Richards, currently serving a ludicrously long suspension for his role in the Bloodgate affair during Quins' Heineken Cup quarter-final match against Leinster a year ago, has quite rightly been recognised for his back-to-back titles with Leicester and his generally outstanding record in the competition.

Wouldn't it be rather amusing if he won?

Where do I vote?