After Friday evening’s pulverisation of Argentina by New Zealand, there was some fretting among the Virgin Media panel about the reputational damage the sport of rugby union would sustain should the second World Cup semi-final prove to be just as rubbishy.
Joe Molloy desperately sought reassurances that this wouldn’t be the case. He’s still waiting. Rob Kearney: “If the English scrum is completely obliterated, the game could be over by half-time.” Matt Williams: “If England can’t put scoreboard pressure on South Africa, then we won’t have a game.”
Joe, then, was left fretting himself. And left wondering, after the panel had spent the bulk of the build-up talking about “the weather, kicking and scrums” if this game was also going to be “an absolute stinker”.
His optimism levels weren’t heightened either by his observation that England play rugby much like Ireland played football under Jack Charlton: “Knock it in behind, put ‘em under pressure.” And South Africa? “Boring.” Not promising.
As for the mammoth forwards South Africa bring off their bench ... just don’t mention the term “Bomb Squad” to Matt. “I hate it, I refuse to use it – why is it a bomb squad? It’s just a bench. Where’s the bomb?”
The only beacon of hope was Ian “Mystic Meg” Madigan, him landing a bit of a bombshell himself when he forecast a South Africa win but “not by as much as people think ... I think it’s going to be close”.
And so it was.
After Handre Pollard left English hearts in smithereens with that penalty three minutes from time, it was Owen Farrell who deserved the man-of-the-match award when he managed to muster the smallest of smiles when his post-match interviewer said to him, in much too chirpy a fashion, “see you next week for the bronze game against Argentina”.
Why must the sporting world continue to inflict third-place playoffs on us and, more importantly, on players? Farrell, you can be pretty sure, would prefer to go fishing with his Da when the two of them could chat about Rugby World Cups inflicting nowt but pain.
Anyway, we have a South Africa v New Zealand final, reports of the death of southern hemisphere rugby a small bit exaggerated.
Matt, though, would like to see the demise of how scrums are penalised, South Africa’s rewards on that front leaving him reckoning that this very issue is banjaxing the game.
“They’re a bit like great tax accountants, they find every loophole and exploit them brilliantly – that is not good for the global game. It has all become so biased towards scrummaging ... the game is totally out of balance.”
Antisocial media responded calmly to his views.
“BOG OFF TO RUGBY LEAGUE, THEN,” the gist.
And when 61 per cent of the voters in the Virgin Media poll asking “are Rassie Erasmus and South Africa advancing the game?” clicked Yes – Rob alleging that all 28 per cent of the No votes came from Matt’s phone –,he was at a loss.
“Dear people, dear dear people, we need to talk. We seriously need to talk to the people of Ireland, we need a chat.”
We need a chat too about how The Late Late Show pair guests on their panel. Jean-Claude Van Damme and Liam Brady? Gas.
Brady was on to promote his autobiography, which includes his previously told but always-worth-repeating brush with Jack Charlton’s struggle with remembering players’ names.
“He went ‘Moran, you’re number four, McCarthy, you’re number five, he looked at me and said ‘Ian, you’re number six’. I said ‘hang on a minute Jack, Ian Brady was the Moors murderer’.”
“He said, ‘ah, you know what I mean.’”
Brady had no shortage of scrums himself with Jack in their time, their footballing philosophies at either end of the spectrum.
But on the weekend that Bobby Charlton died, none of that matters a jot. All great footballing men. And Bobby was, said Gary Lineker on Match of the Day, “the greatest English footballer of all time”.
And no one believed that more than Jack. “Wor Bobby”, he always said, was unrivalled. And to think Bobby went on to build the career he did after going through the Munich air disaster, when he witnessed friends die and might have died himself only for Harry Gregg.
Some man. Some life.
