England v Ireland with Statler and Waldorf
Let me tell you about Stuart who you may have met in two previous blogs – the trip to France and Camp Dick. I have known him a long time. He is one of life’s gentlemen, a beacon of values that are fading fast in the rest of society.
He likes things that are built to last, is suspicious of change and remains implacably opposed to what I might call the “disposable society.” Instinctively I know that Stuart would have no problems with a charge on plastic bags.
He is wearing the same Tricker's shoes he was wearing thirty years ago and has a Morris Traveller that is nearly as old as I am, that is still driven regularly, and that still works just fine. “The mechanics like to work on it because it has bits of familiar machinery that remind them of a real car,” he says.
We were sitting together high up in the east stand at Twickenham for the England v Ireland match. Stuart’s match commentary was fairly predictable, demanding that I take note of various nuances.
Rule changes
He didn’t approve of the move from the amateur to professional codes. Now he worries that Australian and commercial influences could further undermine the game he knows and loves. The Australians are favouring rule changes that will dilute the power of the scrum. Indeed some believe they would happily do away with the scrum altogether.
The danger here, says Stuart, is that we could be left with two teams of powerful running athletes, much as you have in Rugby League. This would be the beginning of the end for the slower, scrapping, forward who, he argues, has been the stalwart of club rugby throughout the history of the game.
So yesterday, when, after two or three phases of play, Stuart was spotting forwards such as Lee Mears and Phil Vickery, standing in ball-receiving positions, he was almost apoplectic. Why weren’t they in the rucks where they should have been?
Inflated prices
Meanwhile a couple of chaps in front of us were up and down like jack-in-a-boxes to visit the bars that are now open during the game. This never happened at one time but corporate greed now loses no opportunity to sell beer and pies at inflated prices while play is carrying on.
This meant that each of these two so-called supporters was missing large chunks of the game. But it wasn’t the beer drinking that upset Stuart. After the second England try, the man in front of him - a big bloke - rose out of his seat and started jigging from side to side. Stuart (who is not a large man – he played at scrum-half) tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to sit down.
The big man took umbrage at this and argued, with some justification perhaps, that he had not obscured our vision while the try was being scored. Then the big man’s friend joined in, shouting abuse at Stuart. It was starting to get ugly. Stuart was wearing a thin smile that had nothing to do with laughter. This was bad news for me since the first rule of mates is to stand by your mate. So I adopted the role of appeaser, saying “let’s calm it mate,” to the man who was not my mate.
Football supporter
But Stuart had taken against them. He didn’t like the way the jeans of the big man were hanging around his bottom. Neither did I. In fact the man was marked, in oh so many ways, as a “football supporter.” His hair was cropped short. He had too many gold rings on one finger. Indeed, he looked like he had never seen a piece of Tweed, never mind worn one.
Stuart does not approve of the behaviour of football supporters - you know the sort who bare their chest at matches - and is fearful that their ilk will invade our precious game. I share his fears. Fortunately our new friends did the football supporter thing and left before the end of the game. I noticed too, with some satisfaction, that they remained seated for the third England try.
By that time the match had been changed by a whole string of replacements. The game has allowed far too many substitutions. When fewer were allowed there used to be high scoring finales as the sides tired and made mistakes. Today the result is usually apparent within 10 minutes of the end of play.
Old farts
Of course such sentiments and criticisms mean that we and every other member of our small but happy group who go to the rugby internationals have become died-in-the-wool “old farts.” But if the older generation does nothing to educate the latest one, how will we preserve traditions of good behaviour?
As it is, few people know the words to songs anymore, not even Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. I struggle with some of the longer songs so have taken to using a song-sheet. Even this risks censure from those who think that knowing the words should be mandatory.
But I cannot hope to remember every verse of American Pie and there are times, such as during our post match singsong in the Prince Blucher, when you find someone who does know all the words and who needs a bit of help. Personally I prefer folk or classic pop themes, such as this one, to some of the baser rugby ditties, but there is a time and place for all things. It turned in to an excellent sing song (Simon, one of my fellow songsters provides a short history of Prince Blucher here).
Cheeky girls
So what about the game? Well, predictably the sports writers concentrated on personalities, overdoing the superlatives reserved for Danny Cipriani, and doing so in a way that belittled Jonny Wilkinson when both men played well and played well together. It was a vast improvement on the Scotland v England match that was ruined by the conditions.
I worry about Cipriani though. If you want to stay out of the tabloids, stay away from trans-sexuals and the Cheeky girls. Was this a sign of things to come? I probably came across him when he was a youngster when Robert, my middle son (now 21), was playing for Chobham. We often played Rosslyn Park where Cipriani played. Each of those junior teams had their star players and it’s nice to see one or two breaking through in to the international game.
Sadly the French did not beat the Welsh who can be insufferable in victory. At least the Welsh have a new hero in Shane Williams whose rugby is outshining that of Gavin Henson as much as Henson’s tan outshines the pallid (but authentic) complexions of his team mates. His skin is so orange I’m surprised he isn’t sponsored by Outspan.
Drinking vouchers
One last moan: the ticket prices at Twickenham have risen to ridiculous levels. My ticket cost £40 but the two middle-tier tickets I had for two of my sons each cost £68. When you have subsidised their drinking vouchers for the occasion it’s a costly day out.
On the other hand, at least going to the match means that we don’t have to listen to the discordant outpourings of Eddie Butler and Brian Moore, the Statler and Waldorf of sports commentary. We more than make up for that with our own.
He likes things that are built to last, is suspicious of change and remains implacably opposed to what I might call the “disposable society.” Instinctively I know that Stuart would have no problems with a charge on plastic bags.
He is wearing the same Tricker's shoes he was wearing thirty years ago and has a Morris Traveller that is nearly as old as I am, that is still driven regularly, and that still works just fine. “The mechanics like to work on it because it has bits of familiar machinery that remind them of a real car,” he says.
We were sitting together high up in the east stand at Twickenham for the England v Ireland match. Stuart’s match commentary was fairly predictable, demanding that I take note of various nuances.
Rule changes
He didn’t approve of the move from the amateur to professional codes. Now he worries that Australian and commercial influences could further undermine the game he knows and loves. The Australians are favouring rule changes that will dilute the power of the scrum. Indeed some believe they would happily do away with the scrum altogether.
The danger here, says Stuart, is that we could be left with two teams of powerful running athletes, much as you have in Rugby League. This would be the beginning of the end for the slower, scrapping, forward who, he argues, has been the stalwart of club rugby throughout the history of the game.
So yesterday, when, after two or three phases of play, Stuart was spotting forwards such as Lee Mears and Phil Vickery, standing in ball-receiving positions, he was almost apoplectic. Why weren’t they in the rucks where they should have been?
Inflated prices
Meanwhile a couple of chaps in front of us were up and down like jack-in-a-boxes to visit the bars that are now open during the game. This never happened at one time but corporate greed now loses no opportunity to sell beer and pies at inflated prices while play is carrying on.
This meant that each of these two so-called supporters was missing large chunks of the game. But it wasn’t the beer drinking that upset Stuart. After the second England try, the man in front of him - a big bloke - rose out of his seat and started jigging from side to side. Stuart (who is not a large man – he played at scrum-half) tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to sit down.
The big man took umbrage at this and argued, with some justification perhaps, that he had not obscured our vision while the try was being scored. Then the big man’s friend joined in, shouting abuse at Stuart. It was starting to get ugly. Stuart was wearing a thin smile that had nothing to do with laughter. This was bad news for me since the first rule of mates is to stand by your mate. So I adopted the role of appeaser, saying “let’s calm it mate,” to the man who was not my mate.
Football supporter
But Stuart had taken against them. He didn’t like the way the jeans of the big man were hanging around his bottom. Neither did I. In fact the man was marked, in oh so many ways, as a “football supporter.” His hair was cropped short. He had too many gold rings on one finger. Indeed, he looked like he had never seen a piece of Tweed, never mind worn one.
Stuart does not approve of the behaviour of football supporters - you know the sort who bare their chest at matches - and is fearful that their ilk will invade our precious game. I share his fears. Fortunately our new friends did the football supporter thing and left before the end of the game. I noticed too, with some satisfaction, that they remained seated for the third England try.
By that time the match had been changed by a whole string of replacements. The game has allowed far too many substitutions. When fewer were allowed there used to be high scoring finales as the sides tired and made mistakes. Today the result is usually apparent within 10 minutes of the end of play.
Old farts
Of course such sentiments and criticisms mean that we and every other member of our small but happy group who go to the rugby internationals have become died-in-the-wool “old farts.” But if the older generation does nothing to educate the latest one, how will we preserve traditions of good behaviour?
As it is, few people know the words to songs anymore, not even Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. I struggle with some of the longer songs so have taken to using a song-sheet. Even this risks censure from those who think that knowing the words should be mandatory.
But I cannot hope to remember every verse of American Pie and there are times, such as during our post match singsong in the Prince Blucher, when you find someone who does know all the words and who needs a bit of help. Personally I prefer folk or classic pop themes, such as this one, to some of the baser rugby ditties, but there is a time and place for all things. It turned in to an excellent sing song (Simon, one of my fellow songsters provides a short history of Prince Blucher here).
Cheeky girls
So what about the game? Well, predictably the sports writers concentrated on personalities, overdoing the superlatives reserved for Danny Cipriani, and doing so in a way that belittled Jonny Wilkinson when both men played well and played well together. It was a vast improvement on the Scotland v England match that was ruined by the conditions.
I worry about Cipriani though. If you want to stay out of the tabloids, stay away from trans-sexuals and the Cheeky girls. Was this a sign of things to come? I probably came across him when he was a youngster when Robert, my middle son (now 21), was playing for Chobham. We often played Rosslyn Park where Cipriani played. Each of those junior teams had their star players and it’s nice to see one or two breaking through in to the international game.
Sadly the French did not beat the Welsh who can be insufferable in victory. At least the Welsh have a new hero in Shane Williams whose rugby is outshining that of Gavin Henson as much as Henson’s tan outshines the pallid (but authentic) complexions of his team mates. His skin is so orange I’m surprised he isn’t sponsored by Outspan.
Drinking vouchers
One last moan: the ticket prices at Twickenham have risen to ridiculous levels. My ticket cost £40 but the two middle-tier tickets I had for two of my sons each cost £68. When you have subsidised their drinking vouchers for the occasion it’s a costly day out.
On the other hand, at least going to the match means that we don’t have to listen to the discordant outpourings of Eddie Butler and Brian Moore, the Statler and Waldorf of sports commentary. We more than make up for that with our own.
Labels: American Pie, Bill McLaren, Brian Moore, Cheeky Girls, Danny Cipriani, Eddie Butler, Jonny Wilkinson, Lee Mears, Phil Vickery, Statler and Waldorf, Tricker's, Twickenham
posted by Richard Donkin at
1:04 PM
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