Let's Get Ready To Laugh At England

I'D hate to be English, particularly middle class, public-school-educated English; brought up in the certain belief that God is an Englishman, the Tory Party was created to rule, England still has an Empire on which the sun never sets and fair play and keeping a straight bat is the way through life.

It is often said that England's home games at Twickenham is the setting for the middle classes at play - actually I feel you'd probably find Murrayfield - "the largest old school reunion in the world" more-closely equates to the the definition: "the middle classes at play".

Enough, back to business. It is certainly no joke being English and in particular an English rugby player at present. Sure, they've got their World Cup campaign off to a good start, beating Argentine and Georgia in some style - but, being England, that isn't enough for the biggest bugbear to those nice middle classes - the English media.

Even before some of the players again displayed the certainty that boorish, over-paid middle class rugger buggers ought not to be allowed out of an evening in New Zealand, the knives were out for England - because they didn't score enough tries in skewering the Argies, or weren't clinical enough in blowing away the limited Georgians - no they didn't display the style those awfully nice folks back home demand of England teams.

Well, I've got news for them - the English don't do style and elan. These virtues were all but banned by the middle classes after those flash Harries in the Light Brigade made such a cock-up of things at Balaclava.

You want winning with style or against the odds - you get the Jocks and the Taffs in - the Charge of the Jocks at Balaclava - the foot soldiers hanging onto the stirrups of the Royal Scots Greys, or the Thin Red Line. You get the Welsh, Rorke's Drift and all that - but, if you want to see how England wins, you look at the wars of attrition - the old-fashioned infantry square - the years of industrial killing on the Western Front.

It's the same in sport - the guys who played with style and a smile: cricketers Botham, Gower and Co, were never quite trusted; England prefers solid yeomen - Boycott, Gooch, Barrington, men who will wear down the opposition.

In football the public loved the cavaliers - Greaves, Gascoigne, Matthews and Co, the "blazers" went for solid chaps who wouldn't rock the boat, Wright, Moore, Charlton, Scholes.

In rugby - Richard Sharp aside, England has never built a side round a genius. They want steady, solid types who will obey orders and do a job.

English rugby has always lacked imagination. They understand the maul, the ruck has always been a mystery to them. For years English forwards have been trained to trundle up to the breakdown, then fall down. Finally, in this World Cup, the referees have decided they can no longer do this - so they are penalising them, and England don't like it.

They will not change quickly. They will surely thrash Romania without having to change too-much, but, when they face Scotland, they will be asked questions which, on the evidence so-far, they are ill-equipped to answer - and Chris Paterson will make them pay for not learning to adapt to a changing game.

Then, the shit from groping blondes, dwarf-throwing and the like, will really hit the fan.

Can They Finally Nail "Bill" Down?

REGAINING possession of "Bill", as the Webb Ellis Trophy is known on both sides of the Tasman Sea is perhaps more an obsession than a cause to the inhabitants of 'The Land of the Long White Cloud', whose hosting of this seventh edition of the IRB Rugby World Cup kicks off today.

Rather like England with the football equivalent, the Kiwis, who consider themselves the guardians of rugby's flame, find it embarrassing that they have only won the thing once, and that was on home soil in 1987.

Of course, England's failure to add to their 1966 triumph is easily explained - they were lucky mince then, they've been ordinary mince ever since. The failure of the All Blacks to add to the Dave Kirk-inspired triumph in that inaugural World Cup is puzzling in the extreme. They have been the outstanding rugby team on the planet consistently since 1987, but, for about a month, every fourth year, they seem to lose it when the next tournament comes around.

Will it be any different this time round? Well, everyone in New Zealand hopes so.

Realistically the All Blacks are, at worst, a three-to-one shot to lift the trophy; it is difficult to see anyone other than they, the Wallabies or the Springboks winning the thing - unless France, as they are wont to, but never quite manage to carry through, suddenly find inspiration when on the verge of elimination.

You can forget the other 16 nations, for varying reasons. Some, Namibia, Romania, Georgia, Russia, Japan, Canada, USA, Tonga, Fiji, Samoa don't have the depth of squad, experience or professionalism.

Others, Wales, Ireland, Scotland, Argentina, Italy lack the X-factor - but could go far if they get the breaks - then, there is England.

Every other side's common enemy have the players, they have the money, they have the history, but, they will not win it. The sheer mental pressure, from the abuse they will take from all sides in New Zealand, from the unrealistic expectations of their own media and fans and from having to justify, on the world stage, the hype and build-up of that same media, which is simply licking their collective lips at the chance to put the boot into the failures, means, England will fail - and all hell with break loose.

In fact, I have a funny feeling Scotland will beat them in that final pool game in Auckland. Never mind, "Johnno" can always stay in his second home in King Country, "Wilko" will go back to France and making money, Tindall, Shaw and Thompson can retire, leaving the rest to pick up the pieces.

I do, however, feel, beating England might be our high point. But, on the basis that, some day we have to get lucky and beat the All Blacks, I quite fancy our chances of winning an All Blacks v Scotland final.

Well, a man can and has to dream.

But, realistically, I fancy the All Blacks to just beat the Aussies in the final.

Will We Be Having a Pyjama Party This Time Round?

I CAN still recall the surge of excitement which surrounded the inaugural Rugby World Cup, back in 1987. Then, travelling to New Zealand for the event was a real adventure, while back home, we waited and wondered - not least how ITV would fare, entering the previous BBC fiefdom of rugby coverage. In truth, thanks in no small measure to John Taylor's microphone presence, they did rather well.

So too did Scotland and had we not been caught cold by a typical Gallic piece of not-quite-legal sleight of hand, and been hampered by John Rutherford's career-ending injury: who knows how it might have ended.

Probably in the same way - beaten by the All Blacks.

That New Zealand v Scotland quarter-final gave me one of my fondest rugby memories. My club has a proud reputation for being "different", maybe it's because we keep the rugby flame alight in an area where: "real men play junior football - everyone else is a poof". Perhaps it's because we play by a rugby version of the specific ordnances of junior football in our neck of the woods - "If there's nae bluid and the bone isnae stickin oot o the leg, it wisnae a foul" - but, we don't exactly do: "play-up and play the game chaps".

Our credo is somewhat New Zealandish, except we have never quite - with a scant few exceptions, had the all-embracing winning concept of the lads from the Land of the Long White Cloud.

But hey, we know how to party and we did as we looked forward to that 1987 quarter-final, played in the middle of the night back here. Which is why, at around 4am Scottish time, on the day of the match, a couple of us, clad in pyjamas, Paisley pattern dressing gowns and sporting cravats, feet in slippers, were standing outside the clubhouse, engaged in conversation with two of Strathclyde's finest - who were quite properly wondering what three or four cars were doing turning into the rugby club at such an ungodly hour.

"We're having a pyjama party to watch the World Cup quarter-final, followed by breakfast", the polis were told - a response which seemed to go down well with them, as they got back into their car with the parting line: "You rugby club guys, you're all fucking mad".

We took this as a compliment, enjoyed the game, but not the result and the breakfast.

Twenty-four years on, as I write this, there are no plans for any pyjama/breakfast parties during this World Cup - but, the thing hasn't even got going yet, so there is time. Probably, if the timing is right, it will happen for the final group game against the Common Enemy, I hope so.

But, the excitement is about the same, as are our aspirations. With a wee bit of luck, we could go far in this World Cup. Andy Robinson has brought Scotland in under the radar, we've got almost the perfect itinerary, each game building and I honestly believe, on neutral ground, where we will have the support of the locals, we CAN beat England, avoid the All Blacks and maybe make the semi-finals, where anything can happen.

This squad is maybe a bit light at half back, we must all pray for Chunk's continued good health, but, I am hopeful.

And just maybe, we will be convening for another pyjama party sometime soon.