I'm a little late with the blog this week, as I'm away with work. I'm currently doing a European Tour taking in 4 countries in 4 weeks, arriving back home on Christmas Eve. My ever expanding waistline, my increasingly grey-speckled hair and stubble and the timing of that trip may lead you to believe there could be reindeer involved in the transportation, but you're wrong, honest.
It has been difficult to keep up as usual with the goings on in the world of rugby, with England appointing their Temporary Interim Caretaker Fill-in Stop-gap Coach in Stuart Lancaster. He seems a level headed sort of bloke, who has done things with the Saxons which have gained respect. I hope he can take this into his new role and succeed, thereby giving the selection panel a headache. That panel must get this decision right, as failure to do so would be jumped upon by every newspaper journalist and blogger worth their salt, and many not worth it too.
Lancaster could have thought he would have been graced with a small period of time to get his feet under the table... How wrong he was. A courtesy call to Toulon to discuss things with Jonny Wilkinson was met with the bombshell (not unexpected though) that Jonny would be hanging up his England boots after a thoroughly successful stint (more of that later) while Lancaster was also called upon to give Danny Care a good talking to after he stepped out of line this weekend and was done by the Police for being drunk and disorderly.
What is it with the current crop of England Internationals and their seemingly incessant desire to be in the Newspapers for all the wrong reasons? Good luck Stuart, and if you want some advice from someone who has never been there, never done it and never worn the t-shirts (which would be a couple of sizes too small now too for what its worth), go for youth: Nothing to lose, no-one will blame you, success will give you a major chance of the permanent job, and the old ones need more than a little kick up the backside!
Before I move onto a spot of waxing lyrical about Jonny Wilkinson, let me briefly sum up the European weekend. Intense. That's one word. Sunday, with Bath and Leinster going hammer and tong for 80 minutes, and Clermont and Leicester having a great old arm-wrestle (punctuated by a high tackle from Tuilagi, a cheap shot from Chuter and yet more proof, were it needed, that Morgan Parra, while undoubtedly a star performer, is one of the snidest, lowest rugby players of all. His acts on the pitch frequently leave me speechless, and I am sure I witnessed an attempted bite of Chuter and there was a clear kick out while on the ground. Concentrate on the game, you're too good for the stupid stuff.
Friday and Saturday saw some more quality games, and I actually tootled along to la Garenne Colombes to watch the somewhat laughably mis-named Galacticos of Racing Metro 92 against London Irish, who I had shared a Eurostar with on Friday afternoon. Mike Catt was in cheerful mood as we briefly shared a few words on the platform (after he had worked out which way the carriage numbers were going). Toby Booth was equally ebullient, and confidence oozed from the pores of the whole squad, who were clearly dressed to travel in comfort in various combinations of training kit.
Racing settled well in the first half and only a late Irish try kept them close, though they did have what I thought was a perfectly good try ruled out earlier in the first half. 14-10 was the half-time score as we supped our Heineken from the comfort of our 10 Euro seats. Irish edged closer at the start of the second half, but the crowd were baying for one man, and the legend that is Chabal entered with 20 to play to a chorus of cheers. He was, frankly, slow, impactless, indecisive, behind the game and playing a season too many from my perspective. 21-0 to Irish while he was on the field. 34-14 the Final Score, an unexpected bonus point in the bag for the return journey home and a slim chance at progressing remains.
A great day out for 10 Euros plus beer money to be fair.
So to Jonny, who has been given legendary status in the various press reports I have read today. Those equating him with David Beckham do Wilkinson a disservice for me. He, more than anyone, is responsible for England's 2003 World Cup triumph, not only for his 100th minute drop goal in the final, but for his all-round excellence in both that tournament and the years building up to it, which were unequalled until Dan Carter started doing the same thing for New Zealand.
Wilkinson is an absolute legend. His metronomic goalkicking saw England through many a close encounter, his tackling was of such ferocity that it led to many an injury, of varying degrees of seriousness and pain, his exemplary attitude to training and the way he lived his life (virtually teetotal and dedicated to rugby and making the most of every last drop of his considerable talent), all lead me to believe with all sincerity that he is one of the outstanding sportspeople of his generation.
If Sir Geoff Hurst was knighted for what he did for English football, then Sir Jonny Wilkinson should not be too far away. He transformed the way the game was played, he brought the game's biggest prize back to our shores and he proved an inspiration to a whole nation of rugby players (many of whom let themselves down in this respect over the last 3 months).
Thanks for the memories Jonny. See out your career safely in Toulon, or come back to England for a final swansong in the Premiership. I wish you nothing but the best for whatever way you go from now on. You are a true legend.
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