Rugby

As England’s cricketers wobble, the rugby team are finally getting it together

My friend Miles was bowling in a festival of wandering cricket clubs in Oxford the other day. First wicket down and in walked an immaculately turned out Japanese gentleman. As he took guard, he turned to the slips and said, ‘I’m the best batsman in Japan.’ Miles’s first ball he edged to the keeper, and tucking his bat under his arm he said to the slips again, ‘But I’m also the only batsman in Japan.’ Ah, cricket, lovely cricket. It’s a long way from the Ashes and Jonathan Trott collapsing from unspecified stress issues or Michael Clarke snarling at England’s No. 11 batsman, Jimmy Anderson for heaven’s sake, to ‘get

If Carberry doesn’t open for England, the world should split asunder

In sport, as in life, you just don’t know where you stand any more. Look at the Premier League: no club knows where they stand except for Crystal Palace, who are being stood on by all the others. Everyone else can beat everyone else. Manchester City, who must be one of the best teams, are eighth; Southampton are good for the Europa League but currently could end up in the Champions League. But it’s all good for business. The England football team are about to find out exactly where they stand after two friendlies and the World Cup draw next month. The England rugby team are about to find out

Spectator sport: Here’s hoping Sachin Tendulkar has an Indian summer after 40

Sachin Tendulkar did not have the happiest of 40th birthdays last week. The man who has been worshipped as a god in India for most of his career lasted only six balls, playing for Mumbai in the Indian Premier League, before being clean bowled by a young West Indian off-spinner who was only a year old when Tendulkar made his international debut. His dismissal silenced the huge crowd who had turned out for him in Calcutta, disappointed the TV executives who know that Tendulkar at the wicket means higher ratings, and left him plenty of time to eat some of the 40lb chocolate birthday cake presented to him before the

Blonde ambition

Seems a little weird to be rabbiting about sport at a time when a malign confederacy of sanctimonious do-gooders, vengeful politicians, hypocritical celebrities and hatchet-faced lefties has brought about the biggest threat to press freedom since Uncle Adolf started on his European adventures. But at least we have this fine journal which has refused to sign up to any new system of state licensing of the press. How long before a newspaper has the guts to follow the Spec’s lead? As more than one commentator has pointed out, try to imagine reading the following sentence in the New York Times: ‘The Senate and House of Representatives last night agreed on

Alex Massie

Six Nations Report Card

The rugby wasn’t always vintage and the set scrum (or rather its interpretation by referees) remains a terrible mess but there’s still something very splendid and very special about the Six Nations championship. France were the class of the field, even if they produced their most indifferent performance of the season when clinching Le Grand Chelem against England last night. Elsewhere it was a case of frustrated regrets over what might have been mixed with glimpses of a more promising future. Every side will mourn the opportunities that got away. For Scotland that feeling was especially acute as winning positions against Wales (a match henceforth to be known as The

Wales, England, and the prospects for a Five Nations classic

‘Look what these bastards have done to Wales,’ Phil Bennett famously said in the dressing-room before a Five Nations match with their friends across the Severn in the mid-1970s. ‘They’ve taken our coal, our water, our steel. They buy our homes and only live in them for a fortnight every year. What have they given us?’ Someone could have piped up at that point, Life of Brian-style, and suggested the Severn Bridge. But they didn’t of course. Bennett, that maestro of a fly half, went on. ‘We’ve been exploited, raped, controlled and punished by the English — and that’s who you are playing this afternoon.’ It is hard to imagine

Frank Keating, 1937-2013 – Spectator Blogs

A while back a friend remarked that a piece I’d written – on cricket probably though, perhaps, darts – was “worthy of Frank Keating”. I can’t say if the compliment was earned but it was appreciated mightily. To be compared to Keating, on however dubious a basis, was the kind of pleasantness guaranteed to put a smile on your face. That sounds vainglorious but it’s a really a measure of how good Frank Keating was. Keating, who has died aged 75, was one of this country’s great sportswriters. For many years he was the Spectator’s sports columnist and his weekly epistle, though the last thing in the magazine, was always

Two Nations; One Calcutta Cup

Flower of Scotland is really a dreadful dirge. The one time it is acceptable, however, is when England come to Murrayfield. ‘Tis 30 years since I first attended the Calcutta Cup. That was a 9-9 draw courtesy of the English prop Colin Smart who, in the dying moments, yapped at the referee causing a Scotland penalty to be advanced into the English half and therefore just within Andy Irvine’s range. The great man duly kicked the goal to earn a draw. Happy, relieved times. The following year I visited Twickenham for the first time and, lord, if you had told my eight year old self that would be the last

Scotland vs England

For obvious reasons and though I harbour no* ill-will towards our southern neighbours, it would be grand if tomorrow morning’s Scotland-England game unfolds much as did the 100th meeting between these ancient combatants… For reasons even I cannot quite fathom, I’m oddly confident Scotland can prevail tomorrow. Admitting this publicly is obviously, then, to open oneself to much mockery. But there you have it. Then again, Ruaridh Jackson is not John Rutherford and, when it comes to enjoying the match, ITV’s commentators are no Bill McLaren either. *Well, not much.

Six Nations; One Festival of Rugby

So here we go again. The Six Nations is back and just as unpredictable as ever. Happy times and so much better than the dark days when some – mainly English journalists admittedly – argued England should always play France on the last weekend of the championship since, invariably, that would be the game that would decide the tournament. This year’s championship is ripe with uncertainty. The fixture list does not favour France who must visit Twickenham and Lansdowne Road (I refuse to call it the “Aviva Stadium”) but England themselves, though showing signs of improvement, have won just four of their last 16 away fixtures and haven’t picked up

Kids Like Playing Rugby. So They Shouldn’t Be Allowed To.

This may be today’s most infuriating “story”: Rugby scrums should be banned in schools to protect children involved in a sport which is “not safe enough” for them, an expert has warned. Professor Allyson Pollock, director of Edinburgh University’s Centre for International Public Health Policy, called for the ban after research into child injuries. The study was carried out during 190 rugby matches at five schools. There were 37 injuries recorded, with 20 taken to accident and emergency. The tackle was the “commonest phase of play causing injury” with the head and face the most injured body part, along with sprains or ligament damage. Prof Pollock, one of the study’s

To Murrayfield…

No blogging here until Monday: it’s Calcutta Cup weekend and I’m off to Edinburgh today for the festivities. It’s an odd feeling this, the notion that England aren’t the obvious and heavy favourites. Two average sides will meet tomorrow and it’s quite possible they will produce the worst match of the championship. How grim that would be depends, naturally, on the actual outcome. It can’t be any worse than the 1988 fixture which was, quite possibly, the worst game of rugby I’ve ever attended. Really, we should have a better anthem than Flower of Scotland. It’s a pretty rotten and, in some senses, sentimental dirge. Just occasionally, however, it aspires

Until 3pm Sunday, Hope Lives!

This is optimism’s optimum moment. Twelve hours from now everything will change. That’s when, alas, France will most probably begin to take control of this afternoon’s encounter with Scotland at Murrayfield. And yet, stubbornly and despite logic that dictates Chris Cusiter’s boys have just a one in four chance of prevailing, hope still flowers. That’s partly because no-one looked very good today. Beat France and all sorts of things suddenly seem possible. Unlikely? For sure, but this is the time for dreaming. Italy were an affront to rugby and a sad one too; Ireland were pretty poor on Saturday and I still think that David Wallace’s best days are behind

Bill McLaren 1923-2010

He’d been ill for some time, so the news that Bill McLaren, the “Voice of Rugby” has died is sad but neither surprising nor shocking. For nearly half a century, from his debut in 1953 until 2002, his voice dominated the game. No other rugby commentator came close. Nor, in this multi-channel age, will any again. The voice – a mild Hawick burr – was only part of what made McLaren so distinctive. McLaren’s commentary combined great colour with precision. He gave viewers a sense of the drama of the game and relished the physical confrontation that lies at the heart of rugby and without which it is, if not

Autumn Rugby Round-Up

So, now that the autumn internationals have been completed, we can assess who’s best advanced their preparations for the Six Nations this spring and, longer-term, the next World Cup which, while still distant, is now within sight. In descending order, then, of satisfaction (not quite the same as achievement), the rankings might go something like this: 1. Ireland: The only northern hemisphere side to survive November unbeaten, even if they were mildly fortunate to escape with a draw against Australia. Better than anything on the scoreboard, however, was the emergence of Jonny Sexton as a true international-class fly-half. Next projects: finding a fresh tighthead prop and a genuine open-side flanker.

An Irish Grand Slam and a Lions Party

It wasn’t a great championship this year, though few in Ireland can be expected to give a damn about that. And while there are plenty of folk who might think that Ireland’s Grand Slam (sixty one years in the waiting) was hardly vintage stuff, that’s often been the case with Grand Slam winning sides. The great England team of the early 1990s didn’t play much champagne rugby while outside observers might say the same thing, and with some reason too, of Scotland’s twin triumphs in 1984 and 1990. Nonetheless, there’s little denying that there was no truly outstanding team in the championship this year. Apart from their performance against France

The Flower of Scotland Lies Cold in Flanders Clay

Back in the days when the Edinbugh Evening News printed a “Saturday Pink” edition, it used to be said that there were two headlines on hand for whenever Scotland played England for the Calcutta Cup. Occasionally the sub-editors could scream “It’s Bannockburn!”; more often they were left to lament “It’s Flodden”. The latter, as always when the game is played at Twickenham, seems the more probable result tomorrow. Still, talk of ancient battles is merely tabloid hyperbole. Other conflicts loom larger. Frank Keating had a characteristically lovely piece in the Guardian this week, recalling the terror of the First World War and the calamitous toll it took on rugby: The

Scrummaging for Jesus

Another Saturday, another trip to Murrayfield. Frank Hadden is not a lucky coach; the Scotland front five was supposed to be the team’s strength but Nathan Hines will miss the entire championship, while Euan Murray’s rib injjury has kept him out until this afternoon’s must-win match against Italy. Murray’s an unusal rugby player. Not only is he a qualified veterinary surgeon, he’s a born-again Christian. This would scarcely be worth mentioning if he were American (many NFL locker rooms, for instance, are well stocked with religious fervour and team prayers and prayer meetings are common) but in British rugby it’s something rather different. You get a flavour of this from

Rugby League Pipedreams

Here’s today’s nominee for Most Deluded Man in Britain (Non-Government Division): Wigan head coach Brian Noble believes Super League clubs should be buying up rugby union’s big stars. The former GB coach is advocating the scheme in order to bring more British and Irish talent into the sport. “Every club should be given a remit to sign one union home nations player,” Noble told The Super League Show. “Just imagine the national headlines our game would generate for bringing the likes of a Jonny Wilkinson or a Brian O’Driscoll across.” Just imagine! Well that’s all you can do, isn’t it? I can’t think of a single reason why any leading

The Threat from Australia

Adapt and change or die is the mantra of the day. And not just in economics neither. Here, for instance, is the Australian rugby coach Ewen McKenzie, currently in charge at Stade Francais, arguing that the experimental rules used this season in the southern hemisphere be adopted in europe too: “I understand the debate, change is difficult,” he warned. “But we are now in the entertainment business. Kids have all sorts of technology in their homes now so we as a sport have got to do things to make them get off their bums and come to watch our game, especially when the weather is cold. “That means you have