Proud son of Wexford he may be, and of doughty farming stock too, but the heart sinks at the prospect of seeing yet again Tadhg Furlong, all 20-odd stone of him, emerge from a pile of bodies laying siege to the opposition line to lumber over for a try. Ireland’s brand of suffocating rugby has been effective but uninspiring over this World Cup. And without wishing to offend our cousins across the Irish Sea, the heart sinks at the prospect of Furlong, Stander and the rest of the boyos possibly putting out a free-running (if so far slightly untested) New Zealand in the second of this weekend’s mouth-watering quarter-finals. Those interminable multi-phase pick-and-go assaults might be part of rugby but they are sure as hell not great to watch. Keep the ball out of sight and make sure the game won’t attract a new audience seems to be the message.
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