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.

It's Good To Be Back

AS a player back in the days of three-point tries, double banking in the lines out and hookers who actually hooked, I was never a huge fan of pre-season training. Our club had a captain who was an SAS veteran, he was followed by a gun runner: ie a former matelot who had been in one of the teams who took part in the annual Field Gun Display at the Royal Tournament.

Both these lock forwards maintained the necessary level of psychotic agression necessary for playing in the front five in Ayrshire rugby back then by training like Ninjas - a lot of the rest of us weren't so keen, me included.

But, I have never had a problem getting psyched-up for games, or for dishing-out (and taking) the gratuitous violence which was such a big part of rugby back then. Believe me, today's players while by no means softies, don't have to endure half of the things which went on 30 or 40 years ago -although they are a lot fitter than we were.

So, it was with a light heart that I trotted off to cover one of Saturday's opening Premiership games. A rather good one it was too. Lots of aggressive rucking and counter-rucking; three or four well-worked driving mauls; off-loading and continuation rugby of a high standard, some breathtaking long-range tries and one or two sublime pieces of skill and invention from the backs on both sides.

But - and you just knew a "but" was coming: once again the game was, to a certain extent, spoiled by the refereeing. You don't need to tell me that Scottish refereeing standards are poor - there is narry a Hosie, Fleming or Sansom to be seen today. The IRB clearly don't rate our whistlers - none will be on-duty during the World Cup. But, considering some of the Welsh wombles and Irish idiots we suffer in the Celtic League on an annual basis have made the cut - what does the IRB know about refereeing?

I have to say, the most-impressive referees I saw last season were a trio of English guys, who had charge of British & Irish Cup ties. Fit, concise, clear in their decision-making, in-tune with the game, they made even the alleged best of our bunch look poor.

We really MUST get our refereeing standards raised. Our players, the best of the best of the play mainly for fun club players, deserve better.

Meanwhile, as Andy Robinson and his boys settle into their Australian holding camp, let's hope they manage to avoid last-minute injuries and illnesses and cross the Tasman Sea in good heart for the World Cup.

I don't expect us to win the thing, but, I have one of those feelings - that we will qualify at least for the last eight - if that qualification is ahead of, or better still, at the expense of, the English - so much the better.



New Zealand Here We Come

WELL, all the conjecture is over - Andy Robinson has named the 30-man Rugby World Cup squad to travel to New Zealand. It's up to the 30-players and the more than 20-strong off-field team now.

They are certainly under pressure. Scotland expects, at the very least, a last-eight place - and when you consider that, on-paper we are only the third-rated side in our five-team preliminary group, that isn't going to be easy.

But, we are on a roll, we've won our last three games on the bounce and need not fear Argentina and England, indeed, without 80,000 Barbour-clad "Hooray Henries" harrumphing behind them, with the whole of New Zealand, not to say the rest of the world, digging away at them and with their own over-excited and over-demanding press playing their part, I fancy that an England squad, some of whom believe their own publicity, will fall apart and are very beatable.

But, we MUST pray for the continued good health of "Chunk" Jacobsen, hope that the line-breaking Lamont brothers can learn peripheral vision and agame-awareness and that we do not rue the absence of Johnnie Beattie.

We can, at least, make the quarter-finals. We will be the New Zealand public's "second team" - go fot it lads.

BACK home, the club game finally gets serious this weekend, with the first league matches. This promises to be a very interesting season, with the clubs vying for truly national status come 2012-13.

Over the last few seasons it has effectively been a three-horse race at the top: Ayr, Currie and Melrose being the big three. But, their success has come at a price, with several of last season's big club players moving up to the full-time professional game.

I watched Ayr being humbled by London Scottish on Friday night at Richmond. Admittedly Kenny Murray's squad was somewhat shorn of bulk and experience, but, they scrambled well in defence and caused Scottish some problems in attack.

Ayr are lacking in the front five, which is new, but their new new, more-expansive game, just might catch the rest out.

Invercargill Here We Come

FOLLOWING Saturday's late Murrayfield win over "an Irish XV" (this was no-way a full-strength Irish side), we can truly say the Scots are on the road to New Zealand and the World Cup, which for them begins against Romania, in Invercargill.

Never been there, but I can tell you it was just about Gordon Brown's least-favourite place in the world, and he had been to Dalmellington. The capital of Southland is apparently such a dreich place, redolent of areas of the Third World, the Romanians will maybe feel more at home there. That said, Invercargill was apparently founded by Scots emigrants, so our lads will receive an even warmer welcome than is the norm, even in that traditionally hospitable Land of the Long White Cloud.

There has been some debate about Andy Robinson's pre-World Cup schedule; some say he's playing too-few games; some say the build-up lacks intensity - all I know is: he's already coached one team to World Cup victory.

In truth, he has our two opening WC games, against Romania and Georgia in which to finally fine-tune his preparations. If we cannot beat these two, with the squad we've got - we might as well not get onto the plane. Matches against Italy, Romania and Georgia SHOULD have us nicely fired-up for the two which matter, against Argentina and Them - you know, the Common Enemy, that over-hyped lot in white.

I honestly fancy we can top our group, if we get a fair crack from the referees - something which will be more-easily accomplished since the men with the whistles in New Zealand will not have the advice of 80,000 Barbour-wearing Hooray Henries when we play England.

But, although we beat the Irish, we still have an edge to find. Wee things to tidy-up, subtle changes to make. However, a World Cup campaign isn't like a one-off international, it is even more intense than a Six Nations tournament. But, Robinson's been over the course before and I am sure he will have us firing on all cylinders from the word go.

At least, we won on Saturday - and, we scored a try. Let's be thankful for small mercies and trust that the build-up continues without incident. We need a morale-boosting World Cup and I think we will get one. 

The Pulse Quickens

WITH the announcement of the Scotland team to face Ireland in Saturday's pre-World Cup warm-up game, the pulses are definitely quickening and the big show in the Land of the Long White Cloud will soon be upon us.

Andy Robinson's team is pretty-much as expected: inasmuch as nobody really had a clue as to what it would be, other than we expected one or two of the outsiders for a place on the aircraft to New Zealand to get a run out.

I would suggest that, by their restriction to the bench the youngsters Denton and Cuthbert will be challenged to make a serious impact off the bench, or reconcile themselves to watching the World Cup on TV. Likewise, big Jim Hamilton has to hit the ground running or he's toast.

Johnnie Beattie should still go, class is, after all, permanent - but he needs a biggish game while Dickinson, when he comes on, also has to get up to speed immediately or risk missing out.

I am looking forward to an entertaining game, which will hopefully lift our spirits on the build-up to the tournament and, for once, performance is more-important than the result.

I HAD to laugh at some of the English press coverage of the Phillips/Tindal nuptials in Edinburgh over the weekend. Talk about printing p!sh, it was wonderful.

Leaving aside such bad manners as referring to those of the Royal Family who have both Scottish and English titles by their English titles - rather than the Scottish ones and the hilarious use of the word "altar" for the communion table inside the Canongate Kirk - these merely reinforce my belief that Scotland is a small, far-off country of which those in the London media bubble know little and care even less.

What really got me laughing was the insinuation that the mainly English rugby players who filled the Tindall side of the kirk were up there on an old-fashioned bender.

Aye right - I am certain strong drink was consumed, but any notion that those England World Cup squad members who were there went at the bevvy in the manner of an Old Fartingers Extra B XV on an Easter Tour to the West Country, circa 1960, were surely wide of the mark.

Today's top players don't bevvy like it's 1974 - such is their level of fitness, the demands made on them as regards training and conditioning, they couldn't possibly live with an old-style team in the bar - just as the old-style team couldn't live with them on the park.

I am told by several old-timers, who are still inside the game as coaches, directors of rugby and so forth that today's players are either fully TT or drink so little that a whiff from a newly-opened bottle of 18-year-old Glenlivet would flatten them immediately.