Rugby Backs - The Fast and the Fearless

The shirts may have been looser, the physique less muscular but when the amateur-era backs pinned back their ears and headed for the try line they were every bit as thrilling as their modern equivalents. In my black-and-white days, Wales had the flying moustache (Gerald Davies) on the right-wing and either John Bevan or JJ Williams on the left but, despite my antipathy towards England, perhaps the most memorable speedster was the dashing David Duckham. If the lilywhites went on the attack, it was usually the blonde rocket at the end of the move. England have featured many fine three-quarters over the years, from Slemen to Underwood, even the annoying egocentric Chris Ashton, but for me Duckham had the edge in the attacking department.

Facing him in the memorable Barbarians-All Blacks clash in 1973 was the New Zealander Grant Batty. Like Davies he was more moustache than muscle but I always remember his ability to scurry towards the corner, evading all but the quickest defences for the touchdown. Stu Wilson and John Kirwan were others wearing the silver fern who were worth watching ball in hand. Also from the southern hemisphere was the formidable Wallaby David Campese. Fierce in the tackle and fleet of foot, Campo could be a Marmite character yet was undoubtedly one of the finest Aussie backs in my lifetime, crucial to his nation’s early World Cup success.

In the Five Nations, Tony Stanger was an incredibly quick winger for Scotland, while Simon Geoghegan also scored some superb tries for Ireland in the Nineties. In more recent seasons, the men in green have boasted other great three-quarters such as Keith Earles and Geordan Murphy but my favourite has to be Tommy Bowe. Very much a product of twenty-first century rugby he’s so tough to beat and when in full flight, just as tough to stop.

In past decades, the likes of Patrick Esteve, Patrice Lagisquet and Philippe Saint-Andre were the epitome of the French flair I so enjoyed watching on the box. Later, Tomas Casteignede was another Gallic entertainer. His impudent smile, like a naughty schoolboy discovered scratching his nom on a classroom wall, was matched by his cheeky, often unorthodox play. He wasn’t a winger as such. He was very much Monsieur Versatile, though mainly wearing ten, twelve or even fifteen. Relatively small of frame, he could score tries and plant some decisive drop goals with aplomb and wasn’t averse to adopting a few eye-catching hairstyles or colours.

Speaking of dodgy barnets and, in the context of professional rugby, shorties, I doubt anyone has bettered Shane Williams. Only five foot seven, he nonetheless proved himself in the sport for Wales and Ospreys alike by being one of the most prolific finishers of all. With a sidestep to die for, in 87 Tests he notched 58 tries to become a true Welsh hero, if a bit of a cocky b*stard. In the early Eighties, Robert Ackerman made an impact on me, although principally because he was a fellow Exeter undergraduate when he launched himself onto the international scene. I never met him, but he was mates with some of the rugger buggers in my hall of residence.

Wales have fielded superior wingers to young Bob in subsequent years. In addition to Shane, there have been the lightning-quick Ieuan Evans – who made fools of some of his speediest contemporaries – and George North. The latter announced himself with some style as a teenage prodigy in 2010. How could anyone be so big, so fast and so young? Whilst hampered by injuries, including a dismaying propensity for suffering concussion, he remains a key figure for the Welsh and Lions.

When it comes to giant teenage wingers, not even North could hold a candle to the powerhouse that was Jonah Lomu. He utterly stole the show in the 1995 World Cup in South Africa. I’ll never forget the way he literally trampled over the hapless Mike Catt for the first of four – yes FOUR – tries against England in the semi-final. Defeated captain Will Carling called him a “freak”, presumably out of awe and respect rather than rueful rudeness. Lomu was indeed a completely new type of player. At six feet five and more than 18 stone, he generally required at least two men to halt his rampaging runs so if he didn’t score himself he succeeded instead in sucking in defenders allowing team-mates to exploit ensuing gaps. God only knows what he could have achieved had kidney disease not curtailed his career and, at the age of 40, his life.

Another player who originally made his name with a single tour-de-force performance was Gavin Henson. In 2005, his tackles could have halted a juggernaut, let alone Toby Flood, as he also ran and kicked his way into legend. Only 6 feet tall but nevertheless sturdily built, he was touted as the new star of Welsh rugby. Sadly, like his Ospreys contemporary James Hook, his versatility worked against him, though probably not as much as his addiction to the celebrity lifestyle. I confess I found his slicked hair, orange face and shiny legs rather hard to take and for a few years he seemed to be in more game shows than games. His CV now adds up to an amazing ten different clubs but his international years are long past.

The same could be said of the thirteen-stone centre. Defences are so well drilled these days that to pierce the wall, attacks often adopt the crash-ball tactic. However, It wasn’t always about employing human battering rams like Basteraud or Jamie Roberts. I recall the rapier approach of the amateur era, watching the likes of Mike Gibson and Jim Renwick in the Seventies slice their way through the gaps. Jeremy Guscott also seemed to float across the pitch for England a few decades later.

New Zealand’s part-time boxer, Sonny Bill Williams has turned the skilful offload into a modern art form and Brian Habana's hat-trick against the All Blacks once lit up a dark, drizzly afternoon at Twickers but perhaps my favourite centres hailed from France and Ireland, both of them under six feet tall. Philippe Sella wasn’t a prolific try-scorer but the Agen man made some scintillating breaks during his 111 appearances for les Bleus. I don’t think rugby statisticians maintain a tally of assists but Sella must have set up countless scores for Blanco et al between 1982 and 1995.

A few years after Sella’s retirement, a young Dubliner called Brian O’Driscoll made his Irish debut. In 2000, 21 year-old Brian grabbed a hat-trick against France, repeating the feat against Scotland two years later. As youthful bleach-blonde highlights gave way to a more sober look, O’Driscoll forged an amazing career for Leinster, Ireland and the British Lions, leading his country 83 times, becoming Ireland’s highest try scorer and outscoring all other international centres. When he quit after the 2014 Six Nations, even I felt quite emotional. ‘BOD’ has been described as one of rugby’s greatest ever players and it is hard to disagree. Pace, power, strength, improvisational skill and inspirational captaincy all came together in one package.

The Last Line: The Full Back

In most team sports I would suspect that the full-back should be the star. However, instead it’s the flashy fly-half who steals the show as the fulcrum between forwards and backs. I think that’s not always fair. Unlike, say, the football goalkeeper, rugby’s number 15 is not only the last line of defence, but also usually a reliable kicker, often allied to a potency in attack.

Throughout my rugby-watching life, full-backs have tended to slot into one of three broad categories: the kickers, the runners and the more versatile all-rounders. After all, it’s not a uniquely specialist role, and many of its most notable exponents have also played on the wing or indeed anywhere else in the back division. JPR Williams was even a frustrated flanker. A cool head, strong tackle and agile brain able to calculate a risk assessment in a split-second are common to all.

In the monochrome early Seventies, the international ‘15s’ I saw in the Five Nations tended to be in the former grouping. It’s not that they never scored tries; they did. However, my abiding memories of men such as Ireland’s Tom Kiernan, England’s Hiller and Frenchman Pierre Villepreux were of their punts for goal. Bob Hiller had a rather ungainly kicking style, as illustrated by these toe-poke penalties against the Irish. Villepreux had a more stylish elegance about him but was the go-to man for the longer kicks.

In later years, the likes of Dusty Hare, Paul Thorburn, Chris Paterson and Leigh Halfpenny all forged a formidable reputation for goal-kicking, reliably punishing any infringements by the opposition with three points. Starting in the amateur era, Midlander Hare was famously a farmer by profession but went on to score more points in club and international rugby than anyone in the sport’s history. Thorburn’s 70-yard monster penalty for Wales in ’86 remains an international record while Paterson’s sequence of 36 consecutive goals for Scotland between 2007 and 2008 was phenomenal. Halfpenny is still going, of course. Like Paterson, he is at 5 feet 10 a relatively small man for the position, and yet is a Wales cert as long as he stays fit.

However when it comes to the boot, Neil Jenkins was my favourite full-back. It may in part be explained by his being a fellow redhead but during the Nineties he was so metronomic with his point accumulation it was unbelievable. This son of Pontypridd also played number ten and it was in his position that he nailed nine penalties in one game against France in 1999 and combined all four types of scoring to defeat the same opposition two years later and become the first to accumulate 1,000 international points As kicking coach, it seems a bit of a comedown to see him in the role of waterboy and tee-carrier but at least he remains involved.

When it comes to those for whom goal-kicking was not on their regular list of duties, there have been some great crowd-pleasers. Personally I’m no fan of England’s Mike Brown but he’s a Twickers favourite, and the current penchant for full-backs fearless in the tackle and under the high ball has also given the home nations the likes of Liam Williams, Stuart Hogg and Ireland’s Rob Kearney. However, two giants of the game revelled in the attacking side of the sport.

JPR Williams was no physical giant; his most notable attribute was his pair of impressive sideburns rather than muscular thighs or barrel chest. Also, when not having his other facial features rearranged in horrific challenges, JPR was a respected Bridgend family doctor and orthopaedic surgeon, a handy skill to possess in such a crunching contact sport. On the pitch he virtually invented the modern full-back While he had a useful boot, Williams was rarely called upon to take penalties as Wales had a plethora of kickers. Instead, it was his attacks from defence which made him such a superstar throughout the Seventies.

However, when it comes to outrageous counter-attacks and tries, surely none can match Serge Blanco. Born in Venezuela but talent honed in Basque Biarritz, Blanco restored my faith in French flair in the Eighties. He must have given his coaches palpitations whenever he retrieved the ball in his own twenty-two. Safety-first was not in his psyche, but when he began sidestepping and streaking past forwards and backs alike, he could be thrilling in the extreme. How much was luck and how much pure skill it’s hard to say, but Blanco made and scored so many superb tries for les Bleus. Indeed, he still holds the national try record but what elevated him above his peers was the entertaining way he played his rugby.

The all-rounder is less prevalent these days, at least in the Six Nations sphere. Two memorable full-backs who could run and kick with equal skill represented Scotland and the Lions with pride and success a generation ago. I recall Andy Irvine wriggling his way through unlikely defensive gaps in the Seventies as well as planting numerous penalties and conversions.

However, the man who wore the 15 shirt between 1986 and 1995 was arguably even better. Gavin Hastings was a burlier figure altogether and possessed all the attributes a full-back could ever wish for. Blanco was more charismatic and a supreme athlete, but Big Gav was always worth watching.

Cauliflower ears and headbands - Memorable Forwards

Even after fifty years of watching rugby, the world of the pack remains a mystery to me. As a youngster I would gawp in bewilderment as sixteen enormous hairy cauliflower-eared blokes meshed together in a scrum, made crunching tackles, launched unsubtle haymakers or just trampled over each other in the mud. They may not, with a few exceptions, be as hairy these days. The kit is tighter and the players fitter, but the riddle rumbles on like a permanently rolling maul.

The front three offer the greatest enigma. At least Max Boyce created celebrities of Graham Price, Bobby Windsor and Charlie Faulkner in the mid-Seventies in his celebratory song “The Pontypool Front Row”. I’m not sure which has a tight head, and which is loose, but the props look the scariest of all. I guess that goes with the job, as does immense strength, given the dangerous physical pressures the have to withstand in the scrum’s engine room.

From Fran Cotton to John Hayes and Dan Cole, these giants have thundered around pitches over the top yet under the radar. I can’t honestly say I’ve had favourites, although I had a soft spot for the shaggy Italian Martin Castrogiovanni. Perhaps the most memorable of all were the equally shaggy-haired pair of Welsh props straight out of central casting. One was blonde, one dark, but each had a striking mass of permed curls more commonly spotted on four legs adorning Welsh hillsides. I doubt they ever visited the barber's to cut their hair; the local shearer would be more appropriate. The media labelled them the ‘Hair Bears’. In my household they were affectionately dubbed the ‘Sheepies’. I’m referring, of course, to Duncan and Adam Jones.

In between the props crouches the hooker. With scrums taking so long nowadays the Number 2 shirt is rarely spotted, as elusive as a Siberian wader on the Norfolk marshes. With wonky put-ins apparently accepted by refs, they no longer have a ball to hook so presumably all they have left in the setpiece is to bite the opposition’s ears off. Not even Brian Moore at his most effusive on the commentary box dares to reveal all the secrets: I guess what goes on in the scrum stays in the scrum. Luckily they are occasionally allowed out, blinking in the daylight, to throw the ball to the lineout jumpers, an increasingly specialist skill. 

The second-rowers are just props stretched out on the rack. They also seem to enjoy a penchant for the bandage headband look (e.g. England’s Bill Beaumont) or scrappy rags fluttering from the ears (Alan Wyn Jones) as they stride around the pitch a few inches taller than anyone else. Before lifting became legal, the numbers four and five used to dominate lineouts purely because they could simply reach higher than their fellow forwards. When I think of the lock forward, the likes of Gordon Brown (no, not the Prime Minister!), his Scottish 6 foot 10 successor Richie Gray, Moss Keane and Donncha O’Callaghan spring to mind, along with the ‘Toulouse Lighthouse’ Fabien Pelous or South Africa’s Victor Matfield.

Then there was Alan Martin of Aberavon and Wales. Draped in a loose red shirt the size of a superking sheet, he would often be the lineout target man who ‘palmed’ the ball back to Gareth Edwards. However, he didn’t win a shedload of caps so his place in my memory bank owes more to his value as a distance penalty-taker. If the kick was beyond the range of Edwards, Bennett, Fenwick or JPR, it was Martin’s job to heel out a mud pie on which to set the ball barely angled above horizontal, then give it an almighty toe-poke punt. Raw, rough and ready, perhaps, but surprisingly effective.

I suppose the back three are the glory boys of the pack. The flankers are the ones with the strength and pace while the mighty Number Eights hold it all together at the back, always in tune with the scrum-half with regard to the agreed ‘plays’. Back in the Seventies, there were great exponents like Tony Neary, Fergus Slattery and Jean-Pierre Rives. The French skipper, together with his number eight Bastiat, was a nasty so-and-so who had a dreadful reputation for the rough stuff, even in the era when blind eyes were normally turned from brazen violence on the rugby pitch. I always admired the French way of playing but it was hard to love what Rives and his pack were doing.

A generation later, France boasted the likes of Serge Betsen and the cool-as-a-cucumber Thierry Dusautoir, while the Nineties All Blacks featured Zinzan Brooke. Besides boasting a Christian name to die for, the number seven was a superstar forward, as was South Africa’s World Cup-winning captain Francois Pienaar.

Wales, too, have revelled in some talented and versatile twenty-first century back three exponents, so vital in their Grand Slam successes. Lydiate, Faletau, Ryan Jones and Warburton have all run, scrambled, foraged and tackled like Trojans but for me two others have stood out even more. Colin Charvis was unmissable in his scruffy semi-dreadlocks but the red-headed Martyn Williams was outstanding. He wasn’t as big as many around him but was superb around the fringes and, like Charvis, also collected many great tries. Nobody in Wales begrudged his contrived substitution against the Barbarians in 2012 which welcomed him to the 100-cap club.

Another Welshman, Mervyn Davies, was probably the first number eight I would readily recognise. It wasn’t his prowess on the field, although that was legendary, but his trademark moustache and broad white headband. He wasn’t bulky by modern standards but was a Wales and Lions mainstay in the Seventies before illness intervened. Another memorable back-rower from that decade was England’s Andy Ripley. I distinctly remember his head-down-high-knee action when sprinting away from chasing defenders, a style which also served him well when competing in TV’s Superstars. Like Merv the Swerv, sadly he died far too young.

Two other pack leaders I enjoyed watching are very much alive. In the Noughties, Sebastian Chabal was probably the most distinctive rugby player in world rugby. His epithet of ‘The Caveman’ was incredibly apposite. It wasn’t just his fearsome long, lank dark hair and beard, but also that unchanging expression which said: “Me, rugby player, me stop you running”, albeit in French. Obviously. 

Wild man Chabal is poles apart from balding, multilingual Sergio Parisse. The Argentine-born long-time captain of Italy seems the archetypal modern rugby forward. An athletic six foot five, he seems capable of playing anywhere and doing anything. There he is beneath the drop-out, leading a rolling maul, catching in the lineout, delivering an exquisite behind-the-back pass and storming over for a rare Italy try. I’ve also seen him plant a perfect drop-goal between the posts. I feel so sorry for him in that he has carried such a relatively weak side for so long. Had he been born a Kiwi or Englishman he’d be a genuine superstar of world rugby. If I had to pick a favourite player of all time, Parisse would surely sit in my top three. 

Crossing the Line: Memorable Tries

As with goals in football, tries are the lifeblood of the rugby historian. I daresay a crunching ‘hit’ will live long in the memory of the sport’s connoisseurs but for me it’s a player crossing the try line and the ref raising one arm in acknowledgement. These days, they’re more likely to signal to the video ref (TMO) for all but the most patently obviously legal scores, but you know what I mean.

Tries come in all shapes and sizes, of course, from the scrum-half’s burrowing through a forest of calves and a slow-moving morass of maulers to the neat passing move and thrilling solo run. For me, the ones which stand out are those in the latter categories. The Five and Six Nations competitions have served up some beauties over the years.

I was brought up on admiring the slick, rat-a-tat cross-field passing of the French and skilful breaks of the Welsh. Phil Bennett’s completion of a wonderful team move against Scotland in 1977 was one of the best. Wales have fielded some superb speedy ‘three-quarters’, too, from JJ Williams and Nigel Walker to Shane Williams. However, I recall this mazy run from Ieuan Evans also against the Scots, in 1988. Yes, there were missed tackles but he escaped from a touchline cul-de-sac with elan. I even had to applaud the occasional England effort, such as the Guscott break and Rory Underwood finish for the second try in the 1993 Calcutta Cup fixture.

Throughout the Eighties, nobody was more enterprising, or unpredictable, than Serge Blanco. As full-back, the Frenchman rarely took the easy option in his own ‘twenty-two’. Instead of booting into touch, he would often launch seemingly kamikaze attacks. Some failed within metres. However, when they paid off, he was in a league of his own. This amazing gallop the full length of the pitch stunned the Wallabies in 1987. France could also leave gaps or others to exploit. For solo efforts, Rob Howley’s tantalising run for Wales in 1999 was brilliant.

It’s not only the flamboyant backs who grab the glory. Sometimes the forwards get to stretch their legs. I remember Scotland’s Jim Calder finishing a fantastic move with barely a double-figure shirt in sight back in ’82, while Scott Quinnell and Andy Ripley were always a good bet for unlikely running try scorers. However, perhaps the greatest instance of a forward with a winger’s mentality was Italy’s Mauro Bergamasco. His brother was supposed to be the quick run, but flanker Mauro’s devastating sprint against the Scots in 2001 was incredible.

New Zealand’s Jonah Lomu looked more like a number eight than a three-quarter but he was a twentieth-century rarity in that he combined enormous power, pace and tackling strength. It was a case of give him the ball and watch him steamroller any defender who dared attempt to block his path. He scored many tries for the All Blacks in his illness-curtailed career but I’ll never forget the way, aged just 20 and in a 1995 World Cup semi-final, he trampled over the hapless Mike Catt as if he was just a troublesome divot. He went on to score another three in that match, too. No wonder the England skipper Will Carling called him a “freak”.

However, when it comes to all-time faves I’ve watched, I reckon two team moves top the list. In 1991, a cunning combination of speed, support and sleight of hand and boot created a glorious try under the Twickenham posts for Philippe Saint-Andre. It wasn’t enough to win the match, though. I was aged 29 at the time, well able to appreciate classy play.

Back in January ’73 I was a mere eleven, untutored in the niceties of rugby union. Nonetheless, watching Grandstand with Dad on Saturday afternoon I was left incredulous having witnessed possibly the finest twenty seconds of sport not only in my then rather short life but probably for as long as I live. It was a blistering start to New Zealand’s showpiece fixture against the Barbarians, and the All Blacks were on the attack. Phil Bennett struggled to retrieve a bouncing ball heading towards his own posts. Suddenly, instead of kicking for safety he opted instead to launch a counter. My sixth form Maths teacher Mr Smith (a proud Welshman) later described the fly-half as being able to “sidestep a house”, and he was probably not wrong. And so began a seven-man combination, six of them Welsh, which was to demonstrate an exhibition of flowing rugby which, even with repeated viewing 45 years later, never, EVER fails to cause goosebumps and tears in my eyes. Tom David’s one-handed pass was amazing but when Gareth Edwards popped up and dived full-length for the try, it seemed like perfection. It still does. As stand-in commentator Cliff Morgan exclaimed: “What a score!” It certainly was.

My Most Memorable Rugby Matches

While the three rugby games I’ve seen in the flesh have not been classics, there have been many memorable matches over the years I’ve enjoyed on TV. With the help of a trawl through old diaries, and the further memory-jogging aid of YouTube, I’ve come up with a selection of the best I have watched.

They tend to fall into a small number of categories. Some stand out for being agonisingly close encounters, often with dramatic conclusions. Others are memorable for their significance, while my contemporaneous notes indicate the warm, fuzzy feeling engendered by superb attacking play. Then there are the pleasant surprise results or the frankly bizarre.

The first Five Nations fixture which has stayed in my mind without any recourse to research was the Scotland-Wales clash in 1971. Seen in black and white, of course, it now serves as a reminder of how bewitching the Welsh side were in their early-Seventies pomp, how small the players look compared with today’s giants and also how loose defensive tackling could be in those days. For all the thrilling tries by Barry John, Gareth Edwards and Gerald Davies, the definitive image I have in my head is that coolly-taken towering conversion decider by the flanker John Taylor.

That ended 19-18, but I also waxed lyrical 28 years later when France and Wales served up a 34-33 cliffhanger in Paris. The peroxide-haired Tomas Castaignede and triple try scorer Emile Ntmack starred for the home team but Neil Jenkins’ boot made the difference. I was with Kim at the time so didn’t watch many rugby matches but I was thankful for the opportunity to witness this one. Six weeks later, well into April, the final Five Nations championship was determined by another nail-biter, although sadly this one eluded me. In the very last game, Wales came from behind to defeat the English favourites by a single point and hand the trophy to the free-scoring Scots.

More recently, the Scots were on the receiving end of another emotional cliffhanger. In the 2015 World Cup, they were robbed of a semi-final place by a dodgy penalty decision as Australia pipped them by 35-34. Ouch! However, for sheer disbelief, nothing can ever compete with the astonishing finale to the France-Wales encounter in the 2017 RBS 6 Nations tournament. At eighty minutes, the Welsh were five points ahead thanks to Leigh Halfpenny’s six penalties. However, a controversial reverse substitution, relentless French attacks and desperate defence created an incredibly tense situation. France were awarded a sequence of penalties but needed a converted try to win. When Chuly finally bundled over the line, the clock on the screen registered 100 minutes. Record-breaking for the tournament and heartbreaking for Wales, while as a TV spectator I felt totally drained.

That match didn’t affect the destination of the overall trophy but there have been many dramatic title-clinchers watched by me from one settee or other over the years. An early example came forty years ago, when Wales claimed a Grand Slam by beating France 16-7 at the old Arms Park. Much as I loved the French at the time, there was something awe-inspiring observing Edwards and Bennett in tandem. And three drop-goals was almost unheard of in the Seventies.

Two years later, it was England’s turn to win all four matches, including an “exciting, free-flowing” 30-18 defeat of the Scots at Murrayfield. It must have been a brilliant performance for me to praise England! Fast forward ten years and the Five Nations went to a last-game shootout between the same countries. On this occasion I cheered Scotland to a 13-7 triumph and their second Grand Slam in six years.

In the new millennium, since the arrival of Italy, it has been harder to achieve a 100% success rate and yet there have been several Grand Slams. 2009 produced another winner-takes-all finish, although Wales needed to beat Ireland by more than 13 points to take the Triple Crown and overall title.  It proved an attritional contest with the men in red 6-0 up at half-time. However, with skipper Brian O’Driscoll crossing the try line yet again and Ronan O’Gara kicking the goals, the Irish won 17-15 to achieve their first Grand Slam for 61 years.

In 2012, I was in the process of becoming an honorary Welsh citizen. With perfect timing I was able to absorb the very special Grand Slam fever which permeated the entire principality. It wasn’t a new experience for my fellow Cardiffians; Wales had won in both 2005 and 2008 with a new adventurous style. Whilst the dashing Shane Williams had retired, by 2012 Sam Warburton was leading an array of talent and, despite having scrambled wins against Ireland and England, went into the last day determined to beat France. They didn’t disappoint. Alex Cuthbert scored the only try, Dan Lydiate tackled like a trojan and even football fans went wild with delight.

Low-scoring attritional forward battles can make for absorbing television but for me, creative running is what rugby is all about. In this respect, two matches in particular have stood out. Both involved Wales, but in different ways. In 1991, after watching France romp home 36-3, my diary reported: “Brilliant back play in massacring Wales was so heartwarming to watch. Magic”. Twenty-two years later my loyalty was directed towards the men in red as they put the preening primadonnas of England to the sword by 30-3.

In 1993, too, Wales got the better of England but it was a much tighter affair. Will Carling’s side were the favourites but Ieuan Evans’ pace and resilient second half defence ensured a surprise 10-9 result. “One in the eye for the jingo boys”, I wrote breathlessly. In 2015, England were again hotly fancied, this time in their own World Cup. They were drawn in the group of death with Australia, and Wales were expected to miss out. The home team played all their fixtures at Fortress Twickenham so it was especially extraordinary to watch the Welsh upset the applecart with a vibrant 28-25 victory, having once been ten points adrift. That tournament also featured a match I missed but so wish I hadn’t: Japan’s nailbiting injury-time finale against South Africa. An astonishing upset.

A couple of summers previously, no fewer than ten Welshmen were in the British Lions XV in Australia. I’d never shown much interest in Lions tours. They take place in the cricket season, the games often kicking off at inconvenient times on the other side of the globe, and I struggle to understand what the Lions represent. 2013 saw a significant shift in my opinion.

It felt like we were watching a powerful Wales outfit (plus a handful of guests) take on the Welsh bêtes noires, the Wallabies. The first two Tests had been decided by extremely narrow margins and the whole series came down to the Sydney decider on the morning of Saturday 6^th July. We had been renting a cottage in the Carmarthenshire village of Llansteffan, and had to be out after breakfast. Luckily we were granted permission to keep our car outside in order to hang around for a few extra hours so we could sit in the Castle Inn and join the locals watching the rugby. The atmosphere was wonderfully convivial, boosted by the pleasure of experiencing a resounding 41-16 thrashing, So what if we faced lengthy jams on the M4 in a heatwave; we were on a rugby-induced high!

The background story can be the crucial ingredient in what makes a match memorable. My final choice is a perfect and unique example. It was Italy’s Six Nations fixture against Wales on 26^th February 2011. With exquisite symmetry, I saw the first half in an Italian restaurant, the second half in a Welsh pub. The score was irrelevant. What made it unforgettable was that it was my first date with Angie. For the record, Wales won the game but I won The Match!

Rugby Union - The Same only different

While football was always my first love, the oval ball game has constantly nibbled away at its supremacy. I never played it as a boy. It was only introduced at school for the lower school once I had advanced to what we then called the 4^th Year, ensuring I missed out. Just as well. With my lack of height and spindly legs, I’d never have survived to take my O levels had I been sent into the fray! But there was always the telly.

As a youngster, I found it difficult getting my head around rugby’s contrasting terminology. Having the backs, not forwards, scoring most of the points seemed particularly perverse. And why does the number 10 answer to stand-off, outside half and fly-half? One of many questions posed by an inquisitive boy and - let's be honest - a baffled 50-something.

Rugby League may have been on Grandstand every week but it was the short burst of Five Nations activity every fortnight between January and March which lent Union greater lustre. It was a very different sport in the early Seventies. Still strictly amateur, there were no organised leagues – the first attempt at a national ‘pyramid’ structure within England wasn’t introduced until 1987 - and the Final Score results section comprised a lengthy stream of seemingly random fixtures featuring places I’d never heard of. Where the hell were Rosslyn Park, Abertillery, Orrell or Heriots FP? (Actually I answered the final question when by chance in ’92 I stayed in an Edinburgh B&B directly opposite the ground!).

When I first started watching the BBC’s live coverage on Saturday afternoons, points totals were much lower than they are today and – let’s set my rose-tinted specs of nostalgia to one side – the play was more boring. That’s largely because a try earned only three points. As it was the same reward as a penalty, Rugby Union was much more of a kicking game. A free-running try was worth little on the scoreboard but its weight in gold for young spectators like me, especially when executed by France or Wales. And such creativity was carried out without spin passes which have so improved distance and accuracy

The 1971 Five Nations tournament was the last one before the try gained a point and it was a further two decades before its premium was raised again to its current five. I doubt very much that Wales’ Paul Thorburn would have been tempted to attempt this record-breaking ‘monster’ penalty from 1986 against the Scots in today’s game. His captain would have told him to kick for touch, take a lineout and fashion some kind of break for the posts.

The set-pieces have changed considerably since that time, too. The kickers had no benefit of those poncey plastic tees which some lackey has to bring on to the pitch these days. Instead, they had to mould a mud pie from the turf on which to place the ball. Watch the exemplary French full-back Pierre Villepreux go through the motions in ’72 for an idea of how ‘twas done.

The lineout has undergone more refinements than most. Five decades ago, it resembled a crowd of desperate refugees clamouring for food parcels, with only the tallest lock forward able to leap high enough to ‘palm’ it back to his scrum-half who could then launch an attack through the back line. Crucially, ‘lifting’ was outlawed. Only in the Nineties did the law-makers relent and make the illegal ‘hoist’ part of modern rugby. In my view, they have made it far more boring. Cleaner, perhaps, but the practice of catching and starting a slow-moving maul of meat is dull for those of us untrained in the dark arts of forward play.

Which brings me onto the scrum. Like many TV viewers, I’ve had to depend upon commentator Brian Moore for explaining infringements, for what the whistle had been blown and what the forwards were getting away with. Back in the day, scrums were probably more frequent but mercifully brief. The twenty-first century version is borne of our health and safety obsession but, with umpteen iterations of “Crouch, touch, set”, they can drag on for ages. Watch these Ireland-All Blacks set-pieces from 1973 for an amusing retrospective! And they are reminders of an age when the put-in had to go straight into the channel so that the hooker actually had a ball to hook. No matter how much rule-tinkering goes on, sides will always infringe to gain advantage, keeping one step ahead of the authorities. It would appear that sorting out the scrums is as intractable as Brexit.

Baggy shirts condemned once England sneakily discovered that by donning tightly-fitting shirts and shorts it made it much harder for opponents to stop them in full flight. Prior to the Nineties, a lot of ball-carriers were dragged back by handfuls of baggy material instead of text-book tackles. The highly successful national set-up under Will Carling’s captaincy owed almost as much to pushing refs to the limit as fine rugby. I’ll never forget Richard Hill’s penchant for dummy passes behind the scrum with the sole intention of fooling opposing players into moving offside, thus conceding a penalty. It was borderline cheating but within the laws of the game at the time. Consequently they had to be rewritten to halt this reprehensible practice. The new body-hugging kit must be a lot lighter and less likely to become weighed down with mud. Poor Gareth Edwards looks the worse for wear after this famous try for Wales in 1972 but for the forwards it was part and parcel of winter afternoons. For club players around the world, it still is.

Watching in black and white, it was necessary to identify teams by means other than kit colour. Wales v Ireland was the worst, their red and green shirts sharing an almost identical shade of grey. When stained with slime, even the English lilywhites were problematic. Fortunately the Irish shirtback numbers were larger than anybody else’s, while the French were distinguishable by the unique continental ‘font’.

In more recent times, the autumn internationals have become another major bookmark in the sporting calendar. In my schooldays, I would take mild interest in the All Blacks when they toured these shores every four years or so. I think this owed everything to the media focus on whether anybody could actually beat the all-conquering New Zealanders. The first I remember was at the age of 11, and their visit ran from October to February. Some tour! Hardly any games were televised but in the few I did see, the most memorable ingredient was the visitors’ rendition of the intimidating ‘Haka’ before the start. It’s still supreme theatre but has lost some of its attraction through over-exposure. With other South Pacific nations like Fiji and Samoa also performing their own choreographed tongue-waggling war dances, they are more likely to induce shrugs of shoulders rather than knee-trembling fear.

In 2018, Rugby Union appears to be thriving. It’s no longer a sport of fifteen-a-side (how I hate the haphazard rabble of multiple 'replacements' sullying the final quarter!) and the players are faster, fitter and stronger than ever before. Professionalism has lured major league sponsors, the Six Nations generates large TV audiences and matchday revenues, while most leading club competitions around the world are holding their own. But it’s not a level playing field. The Welsh heartland is struggling to support just four pro regional clubs and these are dependent on the WRU and autumn internationals for funds to retain the best homegrown talent. I can’t comment upon what’s happening in the southern hemisphere but as long as the Six Nations dishes up appetising fare each winter, hopefully the sport will continue to preserve my own trifling interest for years to come. And it would help if Wales didn't wait to go 0-16 down before remembering how to play....