Goode For Nothing

THERE IS in Scots Law, a “Catch-All” charge: “Conduct likely to cause a breach of the peace”. I am told it is seldom used these days, but, it's in there on the Statute Book, ready to be wheeled-out should COPS (the Crown Office and Procurator Fiscal Service) be struggling to nail a Ned.

If I thought they would pay any attention, and if I could be arsed, I might start lobbying World Rugby to bring in a Law, let's call it: “Conduct demonstrating you're a Dick” to be used in cases like that of Bath's Sam Underhill.

Young Master Underhill has already seen red at the hands of Hollie Davidson for a head-on-head contact with an opponent. Did this sanction and the automatic trip to what is humourously dubbed: “Tackle School” cause him to mend his ways? Did it fuck. On Friday night, he again went in high, but, fortunately for him, on this occasion, Hollie found enough mitigation to down-grade the sanction from Red Card to Yellow and, after ten minutes on the naughty step, he was back on the park.

The result, the massed ranks of Premier Sports' English talking heads, led by Andy Goode - “The Bawbag's Bawbag” were lining-up to condemn Hollie, who had gone through the protocol correctly, with TMO Mike Adamson, before making her decision. I sense a touch of misogony in the criticism, a male referee would have got off far-more lightly than did Hollie.

But, the incident demonstrates a well-established fact of refereeing life, you're damned if you do, damned if you don't – it is a wonder anyone picks up a whistle.

Of course, if World Rugby had a set of cojones, they would immediately bring-in the lower tackle height which operates in the amateur club game into the professional one and insist – anyone who tackles above the sternum, any head-on-head contact and you're out of the game.

There would be chaos for a few weeks, then the lesson would be driven home and coaches and players would adapt, thus saving Rugby Union from a problem which the game's rulers have brought on themselves.

We all know, if we don't have referees, we don't have a game. These much-maligned but very-necessary people must do it out of love for the game, either that or there are an awful lot of masochists out there who just love having abuse hurled at them.

A long-serving Scottish football referee of my acquaintance, Graham Allison, would apologise profusely any time he had to red card a miscreant. Graham was a really nice man, and if he perhaps went further than most, I think his attitude was typical of referees, whatever the game. They all know, sending-off a player might totally skew a game and are reluctant to do this – so, the onus has to be on the players and the coaches to mend their ways.

In the end, the two yellows they picked-up did not prevent Bath from winning on Friday night, courtesy of a terrific display from their half-backs. Ben Spencer was a worthy Man of the Match, while The Gallus One, playing well within himself, pulled the strings in his own inimitable fashion, kicked his conversions and guided his team home.

SATURDAY'S Investec Cup Final was as clear an indication of my accusation of misogony as you could wish for – with virtually no post mortem, far less an in-depth one, for the yellow cards waved for high tackles. The subliminal message from the English commentators being: “Yes, a man may find mitigation, but, not a woman.”

UBB were worthy winners, Northampton Saints had a real go, but, in the end, the match proved that The Top 14 is the premier league in world rugby.

The match ended on a downer, with Henry Pollock becoming embroiled in a fracas with several UBB players. I sense perhaps young Pollock is starting to believe his own publicity. I fancy he will face a tough time when he gets to Australia with the Lions.

There is the legend of the England centre, already anointed by “Fleet Street” as the Lions' starting centre on one Tour, whose career never recovered from being dumped on his arse by Willie John McBride then trampled by half a dozen other Celts in the opening training session. I can easily see this happening to young Pollock.

I fancy, the Gallagher Premiership and United Rugby Championship clubs will face a tough job in catching-up with the French clubs, who clearly are better-funded and organised that their opponents in Europe.

Yes, I had more interest in the Bath game, courtesy of watching you know who, than in the bigger final, but the entire weekend for me was further proof, we have to, somehow, wrestle broadcasting decision-making away from the English, because basically, in Rugby Union as in life – knowing only England is to be critically handicapped.

The best talking head over the two games was John Barclay, measured, neutral, insightful. I know Ryan Wilson is a divisive figure, particularly disliked in certain parts of Great Western Road and in many ways the poor man's Austin Healey, but he does his street interviews well and his enthusiasm covers other faults.

Chris Paterson – who didn't get a gig at the weekend, is another quality operator, while Tom Shanklin, brought in as the Token Taff, since the games were in Cardiff, was under-utilised.

Instead, we had to endure a host of braying “Nigels”, topped off by Andy Goode, who has surely now displaced Will Carling and Clive Woodward as the Englishman we would most like to find at the bottom of an old-school ruck.

FINALLY – I would like to say something about the Melrose Sevens, but, will save that for a longer piece – coming soon.