Even though rugby is on the verge of dying on its feet, with Tony Ward decreeing that the only solution is to cut each team by four players, make them wear armour and helmets, allow forward passes and pause for ads between phases, there is one gleaming white light on its horizon. A light that isn’t just white and gleaming, but well-mannered, good-looking and creative. That’s right – it’s the team formerly known as England (actually foemerly known aas St. Boshingtons), but now rebranded as the Harrow Globetrotters.
The gloriously-monikered chaps talk all proper, are upstanding gents, and, best of all, have this weird idea that scoring tries might, y’know, help win the game. England, who recently arrived at the Aviva bearing a centre partnership of Shontayne Hapless and Matt Banahan, are now the great entertainers of the Northern Hemisphere – they have become the hipster’s choice. On their way to Fallon & Byrne, the skinny jeans-wearing, moustachioed, pipe-smoking ironic glasses-donning denizens of hipsterdom proclaim their ironic love for England. Truly, it was never meant to bwe this way.
“The Premiership is excellent to watch – I’m thinking of streaming BT Sport on my ThinkPad” they remark while their Jamaica Blue Mountain brews on the counter. “I love the way James Haskell quit his job and went to find himself abroad .. then came back a better person” they crow, as their independently-brewed Slovenian pilsner cools to 5.8 degrees in its specially shaped glass. “I’ve always expected that the England coaching staff would recognise that Danny Cipriani has more to offer than Stephen Myler” they opine while flicking through a dog-eared copy of Bernard Jackman’s ‘Blue Blood’.
Every year, we tell ourselves “this has not been a vintage Six Nations” although what we really mean is “it’s as un-watchable as ever” – it didn’t take the advent of modern defences for Northern Hemisphere rugby to be a forward-dominated bosh-fest on rubbish pitches. The difference is that, while in recent years we have tended to rely on the roller-coaster fortunes of Ireland and of course the French, with their madcap coaching appointments and smouldering good looks, to provide some entertainment, this year the English are bringing the party. Daft Punk are playing at their house. You’ve got to set [their dashing midfield] up, set them up!
So England are the hipster’s choice, but how good are they really? They might score a bucket load of tries, but they also conceded three tries against Italy – three too many against a team piloted by Kelly Haimona – perhaps the worst yet in along series of terrible Italian imported outhalves. Even Craig Gower would have fancied himself against Haimona, and not just in an offal jim-jam contest. Or to put it another way – which coach would have slept sounder after England’s win over Italy – Joe Schmidt or Stuart Lancaster?
We’ll wager the way the rosy-cheeked bright-eyed youthfully vigourous English backs went out to bump up their points difference didn’t fill Lancaster with glee. Plenty of England teams have fed forty- and fifty-burgers to the Italians in Twickers, but none them did it while looking so pourous. Sure, it’s great fun, but we expect the recipe to beat the boring Irish in the Palindrome will fall less on the shoulders of George Ford, Jonathan Joseph and Anthony Watson than on the beef of Dan Cole, George Kruis and James Haskell. Can they organise themselves well enough to defend the super-cohesive Irish rolling maul? The impeccable manners of Chris Robshaw and the way he selflessly tackles his heart out forever, and the ability of Billy Vunipola to keep getting over the gainline and recycle quickly will just as important – this is going to be a tightly fought contest where each metre is fought out in the trenches. The party stops here, it’s time to get down to seriously putrid rugby.
If England come out and throw the ball around, one could expect the ironclad Ireland defence to keep them out with ease and induce some lateral and directionless shuffling – or an intercept when the first forward is skipped for the centre behind him on static ball. England might have saved the northern hemisphere from eternal damnation in recent times, but they’ll probably need to be playing some decidedly non-vintage (or, if we are true to reality, “vintage Northern Hemipshere”) bosh-it-up-the-middle rugby to leave Deep Blue Schmidt’s hard drive with a win.
They have the capability to do it. Don’t forget that for all the frothiness, it was their forward power more than anything else that dominated Wales in the opening match. They suffocated the life out of the Valleysmen. That is the template they’ll hope to bring to Dublin. If Ireland’s maul is a weapon, the scrum is a concern, where Dan Cole and Joe Marler are black-belt scrummagers, and nobody needs reminding ofthe manner in which Marler milked penalties from Mike Ross in the Leinster v Harlequins double-header this season.
The backline will be busy, but perhaps not in the same way as against Italy. Chances are the back three will have to catch a lot of kicks and Mike Brown’s absence will be felt. Ben Foden is also injured and it leaves them playing Alex Goode at full-back. Goode is a classy runner in open field (such that that ever occurs these days) but how will he, and the two inexperienced wings (with Jack ‘Tryless Wonder’ Nowell expected to replace Johnny May) go under aerial bombardment from Ireland’s halves? Note to Jared Payne: don’t do anything silly now.
One thing is certain – it won’t be pretty. A second thing is certain – it will be a chess match. The maul, the kicking game, the scrum; these will be the decisive factors. It could well come down to whoever best holds their nerve. We’d back Johny Sexton over George Ford if it comes down to a shootout.
Our money is on the computer. Ireland to win.