New Zealand Collectively Exhales

"They are not the All Blacks, they are New Zealand. New Zealand is two poxy little islands in the South Pacific" - Scott Johnson, Australian rugby coach.

So that's our lot for another four years. We have our champions, our relieved champions rather than our elated ones. We have a distraught French team and an angry French nation who feel l'arbitrage prevented them winning their first World Cup in the most unlikely of circumstances.

Social networks are crawling with debates over the referee and Richie McCaw the cheat. I mean, I'm sure you'll agree that it is quite outrageous that this openside flanker should play 'on the edge of the law' and get away with it so flagrantly! How dare he!

I am of the opinion that New Zealanders are the most intelligent rugby players in the world, from prop to full-back, and this means they are the most effective cheats. And in rugby, if you can cheat, you do. Craig Joubert had a poor game, but it wasn't disastrous and it didn't affect the outcome of the game. The standard of refereeing must improve, however, for they have been discussed too much this past month. Referees should drift seamlessly through a match, leaving spectators at the end asking who the referee was.

It feels right that New Zealand won. They are the best team in the world and they deserved to win. Too much was riding on this one, in their home country, with too much pressure. If they hadn't done it, schadenfreude would have been tricky to muster. Had France nicked it a whole successful world cup event would have been slightly soured. They would be labelled 'World Champions' for the next four years, the words taking on a hollow ring. It's admirable the way they got their act together to produce such a dogged performance, after such a huge rift in their camp, led by the endearing oddball Lievremont but they would not have been worthy champions.

They have much to be proud of, and much to sort out. Philippe Saint-Andre might just be the perfect blend of pragmatism, French Flair, and eccentricity to bring this team up to where they should be.

Did the All Blacks choke today? I'd argue that they didn't. Piri Weepu did, and he knows it. But I like Weepu too much and find him too fascinating a player to be down on for too long. The Blacks choked four years ago when they lost by 2 points, so the fact that today they won by one today doesn't justify calling today a 'choke'.

It's been an excellent world cup. I say that because I haven't the heart to lambast it like some journalists do. They only come around every four years so it would take something very drastic to happen for me to say a bad word against it. I can't imagine waiting four years with a sour taste in the mouth, so let's celebrate this New Zealand 2011. England 2015 should be equally good, if not better, as more of the top teams should be at the peak of their cycle by then.

Now our focus turns to the Heineken Cup, the best, the most colourful, and the most exciting tournament in world rugby.

In Defence of French Rugby: Part 4

What for the future of French rugby? I have consciously focussed on the French club game as my knowledge lies in the leagues and not the national side. But it’s Les Bleus who are the flagship of the nation and who represent the country, so they cannot be ignored. With club rugby being so strong one would assume that this rubs off on the national side. This is true, in part.

Warning shots are being fired, however, about the future of the national side. With the game flooded by foreigners, young Frenchmen are struggling to find a foothold in the game. A young player used to rise up through the ranks of his club, through under 19s and under 21s and under 23s, and then get his shot at the first team. This was true for all clubs, even the top flight. It still happens today, but not in the top two divisions.

Imagine a young player at Stade Francais Paris. He has played for the under 15s, 17s, 19s, 21s but cannot push any further. His route is blocked. His options are limited if he wants to remain in the game, and especially if he wants to remain in Paris. If he wants a career in rugby then he’s going to have to work harder than players ever have done in the past. He’ll have to move, undoubtedly towards the South. He’ll be looking for a club like Albi, a small club with little money yet still with a foothold in the second tier of French rugby. They have no money, so they have no foreigners – they are obliged to take risks on young French players. Only through performing well for a struggling side like Albi for a couple of seasons will he be able to attract attention from clubs like Stade Francais, and even then it’s tricky. It’s widely known that clubs want internationals, so getting that one cap for France is crucial for your career. If you’re French and outside that sphere then it becomes difficult in the extreme.

Those in favour of the salary cap maintain that it keeps the league competitive, that it prevents an elite of clubs streaking off by pricing everyone else out of the market for the best players. In England, this hasn’t stopped the Premiership being won by the same old clubs. The lack of a salary cap in France is creating an elite. Or rather, it is strengthening an elite that has always existed. Toulouse have the biggest budget now and have always been the most successful club. A large population in your town now makes all the difference, helping established clubs like Clermont-Auvergne and Perpignan, and giving a huge boost to those on the make like Montpellier, Lyon and Toulon while those like Brive, Castres, Bourgoin lose out.

It’s important to note that the French Top 14 is set up in such a way to reduce the effect of this. In theory, a side finishing 6^th can win the Championship. It gives hope to teams like Agen, a great club hanging on to the top flight with their fingertips.

The days of the small town club are over. These are the days of the powerhouse that sells shirts and attracts 20,000 spectators every week and can fill an 80,000 seater stadium three times a season, that competes on the European stage and has a first team (and sometimes a second team) packed with World Cup winners and superstars from every continent. This is globalisation, and while it adds glamour and flair, clubs like Pau, Grenoble, Agen (8 times Champions), Beziers (Champions 10 times in the 1970s and 80s), Narbonne (twice Champions), Auch, Albi and La Rochelle. These clubs all have stadiums of around 12,000 capacity, history and mighty impressive lists of former players. But they are being squeezed out to the backwaters of the League system, priced out and reduced to accomplished but resentful feeder clubs for the big-city slickers.

It’s in a place like Beziers and Agen that many claim to find the real French rugby fan, not the pink-wearing Parisians who have recently taken a liking to the sport.

French rugby is rapidly evolving and no one really knows where it is going. Like a beautiful bubble, it may continue to rise and those watching in awe all have a knowing suspicion that it will pop at some point. Recent developments at Stade Francais have shown that the money cannot keep flowing, and everyone knows that money can’t buy success. 

So while everyone longs for the re-emergence of the small town tie, the earthy gladiatorial French rugby encounter between resurgent Beziers and Agen, we can’t take our eyes off Toulouse v. Clermont; as one home town hero Parra feeds another in Rougerie who in turn takes the double tackle of McAlister and Caucaunibuca, only to pop an offload to Sivivatu who scores under the posts. Sorry.

In Defence of French Rugby: Part 3

So French rugby and money have always been randy bedfellows. That leads on to our next contradiction. Why are the French so ‘amateur’ in the way they go about things, in their preparation. ‘Amateur’ is an interesting word, especially when used in connection with the French. Firstly, if a Frenchman uses the word amateur in his native tongue, he is a lover of something, probably rugby but quite possibly petanque or even the Paris metro. I like the idea of amateurs being lovers of what they do, and it raises some questions over professionals – cold-blooded mercenaries... The English language has warped the word so that amateur can be derogatory. When I say that the French are so ‘amateur’ in their approach, I mean they differ from the hyper-professionalism of the Anglo-Saxon in the rest of the rugby world.

On an individual level, the players seem to take their responsibilities less seriously. Smoking, culturally, is treated differently in France than the UK. That’s not news. But surely the sporting people, the athletes would be different? It seems not. Smoking, to a Frenchman, is an inalienable right, rugby player or otherwise, and it certainly doesn’t make my spin pass any worse or my tackling any weaker, they would argue. I am young and fit, let me enjoy my cigarettes, just as I enjoy my rugby. I overheard a conversation between two professionals:

“What are you doing tomorrow on your day off?”

“...smoking...”

The same goes for alcohol, and ending up unconscious face down on the Champs-Elysees during pre-season is merely a funny story to be regaled at training.

Increased wages doesn’t seem to lead to increased professionalism, and I think that is fantastically refreshing. We’ll see how this makes the players more relaxed and leads to better rugby for the player and the spectator.

There are also differences with how teams are run and trained. Defence is given the least amount of attention. Amateur second XVs training in deepest middle England will devote more time to defence and defensive systems than French professional sides. Astonishingly, the attitude seems to be thus: if everyone makes their tackles then we’ll be absolutely fine. There aren’t defence coaches, and there aren’t defence sessions. Again, refreshing. This doesn’t, however, lead to Super 15 style scores and leaky, boring to watch defence. Odd.

So what do they practise throughout the playing of France south of Bordeaux and Lyon? That can be answered in 3 words, and then some more. Pace, pace, pace. There are certain tenets of French rugby and they can be summarised thus: i) A ruck is a failure: the failure of the ball carrier to remain on his feet and the failure of the supporting players to assist the carrier; ii) The ball must never be slowed down, it must accelerate, and if you are going to slow it down then get out of the way; iii) Attacks must be structured as a rugby pitch is structured: longer and deeper than it is wide, but still use the full width of the pitch...

All really quite simple.

This all points to ‘French Flair’ that everyone loves to see. The dashing three-quarters breaking out and covering the ground like the wild horses of the Camargue, creating order out of chaos, and chaos out of order. In short, it is impossible to play against. Is this 15 man rugby union, the holy grail of every young idealistic coach?

No. It isn’t, and it is a myth to think that the French play 15 man rugby. So often it may appear like every player is involved in the sweeping movements but more often than not, they aren’t. There is a modern thought which has seen props being picked for their mobility and their ‘work around the park’. This has not reached France, and it has many barriers to overcome before it penetrates into the collective French rugby psyche. Props are designed to scrummage. “No no, props don’t need to be able to pass and catch, they must scrummage”. The ugly truth about the ‘Flair’ is revealed in the knotted faces of these gnarled Kings with the big pay cheques. It’s all about the scrum.

So many contradictions. The flair based on the scrummage (not so much a contradiction but the unfolding of a widely held belief), the money and the fags, the money and the defence.

In Defence of French Rugby: Part 2

Some of this natural rebelliousness stems from some Southerners not feeling French at all, instead considering themselves to be either Catalan or Basque. It wouldn’t be hyperbole to suggest that the only way these proud populations can express themselves on a wider stage is through sport. Barcelona Football Club are obviously the main focus for Catalans and while Union Sportive des Arlequins Perpignanais or Unió eSportiva Arlequins de Perpinyà (USAP) are smaller, their fans are equally as committed and the Stade Aimé Giral is one of the most intimidating venues I have ever visited.

Where the Catalans have one team to focus their attention on, the Basques are spoilt for choice. L’Aviron Bayonnais are the first, and their name points to a past where multisport clubs abounded. Clearly some Basque rowing chaps decided they quite fancied this rugby lark so they grouped up and formed a rugby section. The same happened in Paris at Racing Club de France and certainly elsewhere. Biarritz Olympique are their supercilious neighbours. Such is the strength of Basque feeling that Biarritz transport their bigger matches to San-Sebastien, a couple of hours over the Spanish border. Rumour has it that Bayonne were keen to ‘host’ a Top 14 derby against Biarritz in San Sebastien at the Stade Anoeta. Instead, Biarritz influence in the LNR (League National de Rugby) ensured that the first derby of the season had Biarritz at home. They duly moved the derby over the border and became the first side to host a derby there. Such rumours are plentiful and widely believed.

Influence is brought about partly by tradition and history, but also by money. Money is flowing into the sport because people want to watch it, they want to see it and the product improves because of the money, as the money flows in because of the world class players. The other week, Toulouse hosted Racing Métro, during the World Cup. Where most other teams are fielding inexperienced, unknown young players, this class featured names like Jauzion, McAlister, Poitrenaud, Nyanga, Bobo, Delasau, Cronje. Every league in the world taking place during the world cup is suffering but the Top 14 is bearing up relatively well.

French rugby and money is not a new phenomenon. 

The French national side were, of course, expelled from the 5 Nations at the beginning of the 20^th Century and again came very close in the 1950s for some bending of the strictly amateur code that pervaded the sport.

Then there is the story of Quillan. Quillan is a town situated on the road between Carcasonne and Perpignan and has only 4000 inhabitants. But in 1928, they stormed the upper reaches of the French championship, losing in final of the Bouclier de Brennus to Section Paloise, otherwise known as Pau. The following year they won the final before coming second again in 1930. This in itself is not unusual, clubs often chart a meteoric rise before a fall. But in the case of Quillan, their rise was atypical.

There was a hat factory in the town, and the owner of this factory was a wealthy man. He enticed the best rugby players in the land to play for Quillan as he gave them well-paid jobs in the upper reaches of the factory.

This was the sort of thing that begun to happen in the rest of the rugby world in the 1980s and 90s but we can see that ‘shamateurism’ was alive and well in France fifty years earlier.

In Defence of French Rugby: Part 1

Such a roguishly poetic title is what seemed to come naturally for this account of the game in a place so perplexing to the outsider, and especially to the Anglo-Saxons who make up most of the rest of the rugby world. “We just don’t know which France will turn up!” is a frequent phrase trotted out by lazy pundits on match days. But why do we not? Why are the French so damned unpredictable? Is it their attitude? Is it their upbringing? Or are, as some people assume, French people, never mind rugby players, hard-wired to be eccentric and erratic one minute and then dull, pragmatic and downright awful the next? Big questions, indeed.

For French rugby really needs no defending. Unprecedented television deals, bumper crowds, and huge ‘investment’ has made it the place most rugby players want to be. The fans are the most passionate and enthusiastic anywhere, the pitches are hard and fast and then of course there’s the bread, the food, the café and did someone say wine?

But there’s no point trying to get away from it, the main reason is the money. Jacky Lorenzetti of Racing Métro 92, Mourad Boudjellal of Toulon, Michelin of Clermont-Auvergne, Pierre-Fabre of Castres, the town of Toulouse ably assisted by Renault amongst others. Also, crucially, the Top 14 has NO salary cap whereas the English Premiership does. Hence, France is the place to be if you want to start a bidding war for your mercenary services. It’s important to note that Local governments happily pump money into their rugby club. The club is the town’s way of promoting itself on a national stage, so if the club loses it reflects badly on the town. That’s why the city of Lyon, never a rugby hotbed (although the surrounding Alps are very rugby oriented), have recently spent huge amounts on getting their team promoted to the Top 14. Also, rugby is far better viewed than soccer, but hey, what’s new on that front?

This feeling of rugby representing the town can be explained through the phrase l’esprit de cloche, the spirit of the clock-tower. Every town has a clock-tower or large church spire, and if you can see the clock tower, you must defend the town’s honour. This explains the extraordinary statistics on home wins in French rugby. In the Top 14, 73% of matches are won by the home side. To put that in perspective, the figure is 68% in the Rabo Pro 12, 63% in t he Aviva and 56% in Scotland’s Prem 1.

Teams must win at home; absolutely imperative. When away from home, teams are content with putting up a decent fight, and coming away with a losing bonus point if possible. As more becomes invested in the game, these statistics are changing as attitudes change, and club owners are no longer content with flying their stars around the Hexagon to just put up a decent fight.

If you look at a map of the south of France, this l’esprit de cloche becomes significant. Nearly every town is a well known rugby name. From Perpignan, round the South coast to Narbonne to fallen giants Béziers to new heavyweights Montpellier to Aix-en-Provence to Toulon. Toulon is the last rugby outpost as one moves round to Italy, as people seem to be keener on films and beaches and celebrity to knocking lumps out of the next town’s butcher or baker; an anomaly, I’m quite sure.

The inland region centred on Toulouse is another of the hotbed region. In a very small area you’ll find Agen, Castres, Albi, Colomiers, Toulouse, Montauban, Carcasonne and the painfully named Auch.

So the South is where it’s all happening. I think there’s something disobedient about the south of France; they certainly mistrust the north and often downright dislike it, especially Paris and Parisians. The south is boisterous, colourful and rebellious. In short, where the northerners are Norman and Anglo-Saxon, the southerners are Mediterranean: impulsive.

Old School

This is nice picture, one to hang on the wall.

Apparently it's one of the earliest games in France, sometime in the 1880s between Racing Club de France and Stade Francais. But I like to think it could be one of the earliest games in Scotland too, if you see what I mean.

Exeter v Ospreys: Delight

After much indecision, I eventually decided to go and watch this evening's LV Cup match between Exeter Chiefs and the Ospreys. This cup is undoubtedly the rugby equivalent of the CIS Cup or the Johnston's Paint Trophy. But it delivered.

I wrote in the previous post about the weight of expectation that is piled on certain games between certain teams in certain competitions. Well I was treated to a game with very little expectation, between two teams who were fielding slightly weaker teams, in a competition that no-one really cares about.

I was also interested to see what an Exeter Chiefs match felt like. They're a young, developing club, with a smaller budget than most teams. They are not part of the traditional English elite, and so have clearly developed an 'us against them' culture, that is helped by being geographically isolated. They like to portray themselves as the club representing the South-West.

I couldn't have been more impressed by the whole set-up. Sandy Park is slightly out of town, so the club  in conjunction with Stagecoach, lay on buses from around the city to ferry fans in. As soon as I stepped off the bus, I was struck by the amount of Chiefs branding there was, the clean cut main stand that doubles up as the conference centre and the amount of fans wearing Exeter merchandise.

Having over-budgeted for time by about an hour, I had some milling about to do. The club shop was very full, with people discussing Christmas presents. The 'Tomahawk Bar' had lots of fans chatting and kids had broken out into the games of touch that everyone used to play, swept up in the excitement.

Being a student, I felt obliged to buy a cheap ticket (still £16!!) in one of the corner stands, but I was there so early that I walked into the main stand and managed to stay there for the whole game, as I nervously watched the seats around me fill up.

The stadium reminded me of when I travelled to Bourgoin: one main stand, with various others dotted around, some seated, some terraced. Sandy Park is far more modern, however. Mainly, they were the type of stands that get erected at the Greenyards for the Melrose 7s.

Exeter's pack shoved the Welsh around all day and the backs were enterprising enough. I was on Scot-Watch, too! Bryan Rennie, much lauded by ignorant Scotsman commenters who clearly have many issues, initially struck me as a player who was too slow for international rugby, but he changed my first impressions with a couple of outside breaks and Sonny Bill-esque offloads. Ali Muldowney came on for 20 minutes at the end and looked big and strong. The Chiefs won 35-9 in the end, to a crowd of 6365, though it definitely did not look or sound as if there were 4000 empty seats.

It struck me that Edinburgh Rugby must implement the following things, some of which they may already do to some extent:

• Half-time competitions
• A Lotto draw
• Fans can text in to vote for their man of the match, and then get entered into a prize draw
• Player's sponsors read out after a score
• Some sort of song - Exeter have a chant which can best be described as some sort of American Indian thing. I have no idea what Edinburgh's would be, but something would be good, to create some atmosphere
• A Community Super-Saturday where you pack out the ground with youngsters who have all received coaching from players during the week - they parade round the pitch at half-time etc.

Today's rugby worked out in an odd fashion, but not a bad one. Yes, the superstars' game wasn't what everyone hoped or expected (unless you're French) but this evening was a treat. Maybe we should never expect, and just accept what those rugby gods throw at us, because it always seems to come from the direction we least expect.

Until tomorrow then, when we shall all rise again to become emotionally involved in what should, yet again, be the greatest match of all time. The rugby world expects, but should they?

Great, Spoilt, Expectations

This morning, like many in my halls of residence, I rose early to take in what promised to be one of the greatest rugby matches of all time.

But maybe we shouldn't have been so naive, for rugby matches very rarely live up to the hype when it is heaped upon them, normally falling somewhere in between great and dismal. That's the nature of the beast, and that's what makes the special ones so very special. Sadly we didn't get to see an exuberant Wales back 10 flowing freely, but we did get controversy and talking points a plenty.

Alain Rolland, with a fine disregard for common sense, sent off the Wales captain, Sam Warburton, or 'Sam' as those who have never met him are now calling him. But when you cut through the sentimentality, and the unhappy faces of those 61,000 in the Millennium Stadium, you have to understand why Rolland pulled out red: he was following orders, directives given out by the IRB.

I quote from an IRB referees memo:
"...tackles involving a player being lifted off the ground and tipped horizontally and were then either forced or dropped to the ground are illegal and thus constitute illegal play."

"The lifted player is dropped from a height with no regard to the player's safety. A red card should be issued for this type of tackle"

Of course it wasn't malicious, and Sam is a lovely guy, he is really, I promise! But the integrity of the referee should not be called into question. Sentimentality should not come into the debate either - semi final or otherwise. There are not different rules for big games. Just because the rugby world collectively rose to watch this match does not mean that Alain Rolland should act any differently. You can question the IRB's dogmatic memorandums, but not the application of them by their referees, especially with regard to the nature of the occasion that you may have felt was ruined by the Irishman.

Tough love, indeed, but it's the only way to be. The World Cup semi final does not owe us, the rugby public, an outstanding contest of free-flowing rugby, so let's appreciate it for what it was, and leave the tears and the righteous indignation out of it. How DARE he 'spoil' our big day...