Charlie Pritchard

DoB : September 30^th, 1882

Appearances : 217

Tries scored : 21

Did you know? Pritchard retired from International rugby in 1910, giving up a last chance to play for Wales to allow his team mate from Newport to gain his first cap.

It was right and fitting that the original Welsh rugby superstar, A.J.Gould, should be present on the 16^th of December, 1905 to witness one of the sport’s great moments. The much fancied All Blacks had come to Cardiff unbeaten, having scored 801 points on tour, and having conceded only 22. The ex-Rodney Parade favourite turned selector was swept up by the emotion of the day as Wales beat the tourists by just one score to nil. Gould was out of his seat as Teddy Morgan ran towards the try line, waving his hat and shouting excitedly. It was all a sign, perhaps, of the growing status of the All Blacks as the team to beat in world rugby. It was also a sign of how desperately the welsh wanted a seat at the top table.

The 1905 victory is often held up as a key moment in the nation’s history, when Wales found a voice. It was the first occasion that the national anthem was sung – a direct response to the mythical “Haka” – and the game has been at the centre of a sense of “Welshness” ever since. In the run up to the game, however, there was a great deal of self-doubt. The bruising Dave Gallaher, the All Black skipper and the destroyer of opposition attacks, personified the peceived physical superiority of the New Zealanders. Any side wishing to challenge this side would have to subdue him, and not many gave five foot Dickie Owens much of a chance.

The Welsh players agonised over their tactics. Should they play the “Welsh Way”, moving the ball quickly away from the pack and attack through the one area where they knew they had an edge, out in Gwyn Nicholls’ back line? Or should they seek to challenge the All Blacks in the forwards, and try to win parity there?  Opinion was divided. Preparations were hampered by a glut of injuries, and a Trial match resulted in a disastrous defeat for the Probables, with the Possibles winning 18-9.

As the days ticked by, the All Blacks continued to put British rugby to the sword. It was clear that their superiority lay in their seemingly invincible control of the scrummage, and Welsh preparations began to focus on this area. Gallaher’s side scrummaged with only two men in the front row, a tactic that allowed them to leave their engagement late enough for them to always pack down with one of the two on the loose head side. This effectively ensured a stream of All Black possession from the scrums, as well as rendering the traditional third front row forward useless. Wales decided to fight fire with fire, and practiced the same formation. They knew that once the All Blacks had recovered from the initial shock, each and every scrum would be a battle as both packs wrestled for the loose head position. The Welsh would have to stand their ground. Over 40,000 Welshmen would expect nothing less.

Given the importance of a tight defence in the game plan, it was no surprise to see one of the Welsh forwards being singled out for praise on that day. The fearlessness of Newport’s Charlie Pritchard was well known beyond the confines of Rodney Parade, and his tough tackling made him a feared opponent. Rugby matches are won and lost in the innumerable collisions that occur between the first whistle and the last, and Charlie Pritchard was the master in that area. George Travers, the hard nut hooker who spent most of the game eyeball to eyeball with the ferocious New Zealand forwards, afterwards remarked that Pritchard’s tackling was a key component in the Welsh victory. Travers described how his Newport colleague “sent ‘em down like nine pins”. Inevitably, “Dromio” reported on the match, noting the fact that Pritchard “performed prodigies of aggressive defence”. Charlie Pritchard had been put on Earth to play in this game.

Born into a family of nine children in 1882, Charlie’s father had been a founding member of the Black and Ambers. He was educated in Bristol and in Newport, and worked in the wine trade when he left school. He played his first senior game for Newport at the age of just 18, playing in front of 12,000 people at St Helens. Pritchard played his part in defeating the previously invincible All Whites. He became a fixture in the Newport side for the next ten years, captaining the team for three seasons.

The Daily Mail noted that Charlie was “always in the thick of the fight” in the match against the All Blacks in 1905, but there was more to his game than brute force. Reports on games note his ability to beat opponents with a powerful body swerve, and his strength in the scrums was matched by his agility in the line outs. David Smith and Gareth Williams, in their history of the WRU “Fields of Praise” note that what they call the “Newport Legacy” was crucial to Welsh success in the first Golden Age of Welsh rugby in the 1900’s. This legacy was as much to do with the club’s scientific approach as much as a style of play, and Pritchard was an intelligent thinker on the game. Although he was a man to have on your side in that crucial collision area, Charlie was a firm believer in playing fair. Indeed, he wrote some articles for the RFU on the matter, and his support for youth rugby showed a belief that sport was important in his community. Charlie also arranged charity matches, and on one occasion he kitted an invited team out in his own collection of rugby shirts swopped after various club and international matches. Quite what that collection would be worth now is anyone’s guess, but the whole episode does give us a sense of his public spirited approach to life.

Charlie Pritchard was obviously officer material, so when he joined the South Wales Borderers in the early stages of the war he was picked out as a leader of men. By late October of 1915 he was a Captain in the 12^th Battalion of the Borderers, the 3^rd Gwent. This was a “bantam” battalion, made up of men who had initially failed to meet the requisite height criteria of 5ft 3in for new recruits. As the losses of 1914 and early 1915 mounted, so the bar was lowered, and “Bantam” battalions were formed. The athletic six foot frame of Charlie Pritchard must have dominated the parade ground!

There were inevitable concerns over the standards of fitness of the Bantams, so Pritchard and his men spent a lengthy period of time in training. In the summer of 1916, however, the 3^rd Gwent crossed the Channel with the 40^th Division and moved into trenches in the Loos area of the Western Front. Marked by terraced miners’ cottages and coal heaps, the boys from South wales must have wondered if they had just woken up from a dream. It was a bleak, exposed part of the front line, with the destruction from the failed offensive of autumn 1915 in evidence all around. Several kilometres to the south of them, the Somme campaign was raging as Pritchard’s men went into the trenches. It was bogged down by late summer too, but Haig’s planners were insistent that pressure should be ratcheted up in the Loos sector to stop the Germans sending their reserves to the Somme.

Charlie’s unit was ordered to raid a section of German trenches near their position on the 13^th August, 1916. Trench raids were designed to be quick dashes across No Man’s Land. The aim was to grab a prisoner who could be bundled back to British lines to be interrogated. As it was important to keep a trench raid as quiet as possible, his men would have been armed with clubs and knives. Charlie led his men across and dropped into the German front line trench, and in the ensuing fight he subdued two Germans just with his fists. Unfortunately, he was wounded during the fight, but they were able to capture a Bavarian officer. On the return dash across No Man’s Land, the German troops in nearby trenches were fully alerted to the situation, and Charlie’s men were fired upon. He was wounded a second time, this time more seriously. When he was back in the British trenches, it was clear that Charlie would need medical help. The Bantams struggled to carry their officer back along the narrow, slippery communication trenches to the medical post. The severity of Charlie’s wound meant that he was transferred to No.1 Casualty Clearing Station, near Chocques.

His last words were recorded thus.

“Have they got the Hun?”

The answer was yes – Charlie’s captured Bavarian was indeed in custody, and undergoing interrogation.

“Well,” said Charlie, “at least I have done my bit.”

He died a short time later.

Charlie’s words were quoted in the London Illustrated News as an example of the sort of sacrifice that was required to win the war. Charlie Pritchard displayed selfless leadership throughout his life, his final words almost the stuff of fiction. The letter to his pregnant wife Florence said it all – “The Battalion lost a gallant officer and a generous and chivalrous gentleman.” The family was crushed by the loss. Charlie's young son Cliff took his air rifle out into the fields behind the house and shot a rabbit, which he put on the family dining table.
"That's for Dad" he said.
Florence gave birth to a daughter on December 10^th 1916, and relatives tell of the pain felt by Florence and her daughter at this lost relationship. Of course there were many other fatherless children, orphaned by that dreadful war, but there is a particular poignancy about the Pritchard family’s loss. For Florence, the 14^thof August, the date of Charlie’s death, was a difficult day to cope with for the rest of her life. Her daughter, the little girl who never knew her father, died in 1985 – on the 14^th of August.

New Year, Old Gripes

Gareth Anscombe seems to be finding his feet in Welsh rugby, displaying a cool head in the heat of the local derby at Rodney Parade on New Years Day. Welsh fans will be charting his progress keenly, although the performances of Dan Biggar in the Autumn seem to suggest that the No 10 shirt fits the Osprey quite snugly. Still, it is traditional that we debate that hallowed shirt above all others, so there seems little point in trying to make that obvious point. English fans will be engaged in the same kind of frenzy now that Big Sam has made the move from League, but I suspect that his arrival will only serve to complicate matters. Lancaster and his predecessors seem to have been engaged in a protracted game of Lucky Dip when it comes to the 12 and 13 shirts (43 centre combinations since the 2003 WC, folks...). Sometimes less is more, but more choice gives you less...
Anscombe's floated miss pass to Cory Allen proved to be the game winning decision that decided a match that seemed to splutter its way from one collapsed scrum to the next. Lots of kicking, as we could expect on a day when the high ball was swirling around in the leaden skies over Newport, but so much of it is becoming the standard ploy from the maul. The plain fact is that you stand more chance of creating a scoring opportunity by booting it up in the air than you do by keeping the ball in hand. Defensive lines are so strong in the modern game that many sides prefer to play without the hassle of a bit of leather getting in the way.
Likewise, some front rowers seem blissfully happy to set and reset the same scrum, perhaps revelling in the attention they're getting from indulgent referees. Nice cozy chats in a huddle, sympathetic nods about the state of the pitch, coaching tips on how to keep on their feet and maintain their angles from the bloke with a whistle who probably played junior rugby on the wing.
Now that Christmas is over I can say "Bah, Humbug!" to all that. The scrums, Mr Ref, are going down because someone in that nice cozy huddle wants them to do so. In the short term, the yellow card has to be brandished. Longer term, a panel of gnarled veterans have to sit down with referees and law makers and sort this out. Scrums ARE better since "the hit" was taken out of the equation, but it is still an area of concern.
Too many box kicks (why not re establish a "mark" for any area of the pitch?) and too many collapsed scrums (handles sewn onto prop shirts???!) will do nothing to turn people on to rugby in World Cup year.

Under construction...

On Parade - Legends of Newport Rugby

Starts with this man - Arthur "Monkey" Gould, rugby's first superstar. His 37 tries in 24 games still a Rodney Parade record.

“We were rubbish…”

 

Football managers, mindful of the brittle sensibilities of their charges and the fickle temperaments of their bosses, tend to blame referees when they get beaten. Conor O’Shea’s response to the Quins defeat at Exeter was refreshingly honest. Lucky not to get beaten by more, he said.

Coaches and managers need to talk sense if teams are to improve. If all reverses are due to other people’s incompetence or some malevolent Fate, then athletes will not learn the lessons they need to learn to avoid it happening next time.

With the Heineken campaign just a few days away, this weekend’s Aviva matches are a pretty good illustration of why the powers that be are crying foul over the qualification criteria. As O’Shea noted, none of the top sides can take results for granted. There are just too many good players around. As well as the mighty Quins being given a warm West Country hospitality, the supposedly struggling London Irish side blew the Saints away. Over the border, unfancied Glasgow went to the Arms Park and gave the Blues a lesson in how to scrummage.

Some of these results may well be down to players and coaches having an eye on the European ball. Some of these results reflect some teams learning some harsh lessons. But all of these matches show what all rugby players know, that the mentality goes hand in hand with the physicality in any given game. Get that wrong, and you’re rubbish.

The Stoop to conquer ?

 

Leicester 9 - 22 Harlequins

 

On close examination, this match represents more than two strong sides in a high tempo, high energy encounter at Welford Road. Leicester have made a habit of confounding critics for some time now, but it is tempting to say that the ascendancy of the Quins in the Tigers' den may well give us a glimpse of England's rugby future.

IF they choose to go down that road...which is a big IF...

English rugby has been so risk averse for so long that it is etched into the red rose DNA. When coaches blithely talk about their charges playing "heads up rugby", they mean "Kick it as high and as hard as you can". The secret to the Quins system of recycling is that they don't even look for the supporting ball player. They just hear a call from behind them, then off load the ball into the hole for the next attacker to surge forward. When it works, they flood (sorry Toby...) the opposition midfield, throwing numbers at a weak point, punching holes. All in all, very difficult to defend against. Tacklers are chasing back, not surging forward into the hit. Defence is no longer King.

And that, for English rugby, is a sea change.

It is also great to watch, because Quins play it all at a high tempo.

Stuart Lancaster was at Welford Rd to see it all. He must be wondering how he could replicate the standard of this terrific game at international level. For too long now, English sides have been inferior to the club sides that feed them.

I used to be paranoid, but they’ve stopped following me…

So was the English/French inability to perform at Heineken level a massive conspiracy after all ? Was it just setting us all up for this endgame ?

The story from France and around the Premiership grounds is that they’re hard done by. Since they are the best teams around, playing the best rugby around, there has to be a REASON why they don’t routinely win the Heineken Cup.

And the REASON is devastatingly simple. The Irish have their teams kept out of harm’s way, playing the odd light warm up match against local knitting circles. The PRO 12, the story goes, is a thinly veiled attempt by the Celts to cheat the exceptionally rich French clubs out of much needed euros. In an attempt to keep the wolves from the door, the English Premiership clubs have just signed a deal with BT (honest…) that will guarantee that they accumulate cash at the same rate as their friends across the channel. But like Master Twist, they want some more. And part of the deal has guaranteed rights to Heineken matches, which is a bit like a market trader flogging you stuff off someone else’s stall on the basis that you’ve just bought your spuds from his…

Two (related) thoughts on all this.

1.       How much is this to do with what’s fair, and how much is this to do with suits acting like football executives? . No one is asking the bigger question here – what about the players in all this ? The more the suits rake in the cash, the more the game sells its soul.

2.       The likes of Leinster are not the best because the players are spending all their time on the chez longue, being fed freshly peeled grapes by dusky maidens. It is undeniably true that the Pro12  isn’t as gruelling as the French or English competitions, but much of that is to do with the attritional nature of the Premiership and Top 14 games. To assume that the English and French clubs would beat Leinster on their version of a level playing field (!)  is to deny a fact that is as plain as that ugly scab on the end of Steve Borthwick’s schnozzle – that O’Driscoll’s boys are a gifted outfit, brilliantly coached.

Party over...

With the Closing Ceremony finally over – and without sounding too churlish, can anyone explain why George Michael wasn’t quietly told that one song was quite enough, thanks – the rugby world can look forward to cheering our own Olympians next time round. Rio will have a sevens tournament, as well as a golf championship.

I feel torn on this, and must confess to a feeling of some relief when Chelsea’s Daniel Sturridge missed his penalty, having feared that the national obsession with football would overshadow the genuine Olympian feats that we have witnessed during the past fortnight. The sight of those ridiculously wealthy young men alongside people who have struggled to get any funding at all would have made me gag. I have sympathy for Sturridge in having to live with his miss – but only up to a point. He gets more money in a month than our entire swim team would get in a year. The highly paid pros going out against either completely amateur, or lowly paid part time professionals can be distinctly unedifying. The US “Dream Team” may be great for the sponsors back in the States, but it’s a bit like Tiger Woods sweeping the monthly medals at your local golf club.

Similarly, I was delighted to see Andy Murray produce the goods. (It would have been brilliant to hear a piper knock out “Flower of Scotland” there too. How long before we ditch that dreadful dirge of a “National Anthem” ?) But does the highly professional, highly televised world of tennis need Olympic status ? Do we NEED another golfing tournament ?  

Sevens rugby will, as ever, be great fun, but let’s produce a GB team of our existing sevens players, rather than trying to put together our own “Dream Team”.  And even as a Welshman – can we not sing “Jerusalem” at the medal ceremony ???????

Gavin still hunting for Stacey?

Cynics might say it was inevitable that Gavin Henson should sign up for a team based in the big bad city. After all, they might say, he’s more interested in being in the limelight than he is being under floodlights. London Welsh, they would say, are the latest in a long line of suitors who are destined to have their hearts broken.

But let’s just look at things from our Gav’s point of view.

On a personal level, he gets to work and live near his kids. As they grow, he’ll be more and more aware of the need to build those relationships, and this could represent a major opportunity for Henson to put down some roots. Lyn Jones, his old mentor from the early Ospreys days, knows him well, and will play the role of the wise owl.

In playing terms, the quest to rediscover the Henson who played such a critical role in the Mike Ruddock Grand Slam team may be unrealistic anyway. Henson is now on the wrong side of 30, and his lack of exposure to the fast moving demands of the game in the meantime will make his selection a gamble. On a basic level, the fact that these lost years have been largely self inflicted mean that there remain huge question marks over his desire to play the game.

And the Premiership is no place for someone who wants to play a bit of touch rugby before going home to read bedtime stories to the kids. Henson will feel more wanted at London Welsh, with all his experience, and will not be playing second or third fiddle to the likes of Jamie Roberts, but he will have to be completely committed to battle it out if he is to persuade those around him that this move is the one…

Moving on ?

A glance through these names will be enough to send the average Welsh rugby fan back to chapel on Sunday to start praying. This may be the biggest raid on the reserves of rugbying talent since the dark days when rugby league teams brandished cheques the way Gordon Ramsey wields his chopper.

The glass half full fraternity may just offer the opinion that these movements may allow younger, hungrier players to come through. To which I say - they better ! In the words of the Scottish Sage of BBC punditry, you don't win anything with kids. Young rugby players need experienced players around them to develop. Sam Warburton needed Martyn Williams, Priestland needed Stephen Jones etc etc. If those older players are off (and who can blame them ?), then that precious process simply does not take place.

In national terms, this need not affect the development of what is a pretty young, ambitious set of players. But at club level, I can't see any of our teams managing to challenge for honours in the Heineken Cup. There again...what's really changing ????

And the winner of x factor is...?

Genia, Pocock, Barnes, Higginbotham...or Joubert(again) Not Priestland, who looked laboured at 10, or Adam Jones, whose lack of mobility was constantly targeted by the Aussie half backs. Or Sam Warburton, who came second to David Pocock before his early departure in today's final Test. With only eleven points to separate the two sides after 240 minutes of high intensity rugby, the Welsh have some cause for satisfaction when reflecting on how far they have come under Gatland. This team will challenge the best, even away from the Millenium cauldron. But the overall feeling will be one of a missed opportunity. They let the Australians bite back in the final moments in the decisive second test, and Gatland's team will rue the lack of the killer instinct that did for the French so magnificently in the Grand Slam match. The coaching team will study the videos, perhaps reconfiguring the kick and chase game (do we need someone to do the kind of job Habanna does for the Boks, a fast hustler who may not actually make the tackle on the gathering player, but who stops him scanning all the options?) More than anything, Gatland's team will be thinking about how best to keep this team of players hungry. That, above all else, will be the decisive x factor come 2015.

Hot Tipuric for the top ?

 

I feel a little bit like Martin Luther hammering the 95 Theses to a church door, or perhaps the first Tory to suggest that Maggie may have lost it back at the end of the 1980's, but I'll go ahead and say it anyway. Should Justin Tipuric be starting at 7 for Wales ?

It is a measure of Capt. Sam's impact on the world rugby scene that such an opinion might be considered blasphemy, but the Ospreys flanker with the Croatian name is, quite simply, one of the best open sides around. Warburton's medical travails may just present Tipiric with a lorry load of caps anyway, but the multi-skilled flanker just keeps performing at such high levels that the Welsh selectors will have to consider this brave move if David Pocock manages to burgle as much ball as he did in the 1st Test. 

The pressure is on the Home Nations this weekend. Can Ireland prevent the series against the All blacks becoming a rout ? Can England offer an alternative to the "in yer face" approach they adopted last Saturday ? Can Capt. Sam's Wales turn the tables on Pocock and Co. ?

Ho hum. Another busy Saturday on the couch...

Casting a Long Shadow

When Shane Williams was picked to go to the World Cup in 2003, it was on the basis that he’d played a bit at scrum half, so he might be useful to have on the bench. Too small to be an out and out contender, they said. Too many tricks in his box, too likely to land his team mates in trouble in a rugbying world where risk was a dirty word. Where coaches put teams through hours of retention drills on the assumption that sooner or later the oppo would flop over the ball and give your version of Jonny his chance to have a pot at goal. Then jog back to halfway and do it all again. What you don’t want in a team with that game plan is some fly boy with happy feet. Someone who will expose you to turnovers.

Shane duly went to the World Cup, where Wales shocked the living daylights out of the All Blacks and the eventual champions, England.  The fly boy with happy feet became the idol of every vertically challenged rugby player in the world, and for a while even prop forwards stopped practising their drop goals at training to try to imitate that jagging side step.  In Wales he became one of the new breed of rugby celebs.  His talent to entertain meant that soon the media came calling, and they found that his easy style on the pitch was replicated in front of the cameras.

His ability to unlock defences made him a key member of successive Welsh sides. Usually, wingers are the great finishers, the boys with the wheels who are able to round moves off in the corner.  Shane could certainly do that, but it was his appetite for work that made him so difficult to defend against. Look at his two “last” tries. Against the Wallabies in the Autumn, and again last night against Leinster, he drifted off his wing, and scanned the defence in front of him. Then there was a call, a swerve, and he skipped past despairing dives.

But don’t let this easy charm fool you. Shane is no enthusiastic amateur who just made it because he was an outrageous talent. He is also one of the great professionals, a player who knew he had to work hard in order to make it at the highest level, who had to learn to be more than the fly boy with the happy feet. That makes him a great role model for all those who play the game. He reminds the coach of the dangers of restricted thinking, he reminds players young and old that there is always something you can do to be a better player. Most of all, he reminds the spectator of why they love this stupid, rule ridden game in the first place – to see talented players do things you could only dream of doing…

Just too good

Thoroughbreds from the RDS canter on.

Having patched up O’Driscoll and beaten Clermont in one of the most impressive Heineken matches of another great year, there was no earthly way that Leinster would get beaten. Having said that, the rugged Ulstermen had managed to negotiate this year’s “Group of Death” – which is usually the one without an Italian side in it – murdering Leicester 47-0 in the process, then went and won at Thomond Park in the quarter finals. 

The very idea that it could be Ulster’s year was kicked into touch early on, courtesy of that man O’Driscoll, who executed one of his trademark offloads. The muscular certainties that Sean O’Brien brings to a rugby field did the rest. I still have question marks over young Sean as a 7 – O’Driscoll and D’Arcy’s excellence at the breakdown mask his shortcomings when quick thoughts and deeds are needed in the tackle area – but he is one hell of a ball carrier. And I would never, ever, pick a fight with him. Just ask the redoubtable Ulster back row, who tried to subdue the Leinsterman all afternoon, but left the field of play exhausted. Ferris, one of the players of the tournament,  came off second best here.

The vital cog in the Ulster machine, Ruan Pienaar, had an average game. He lacked authority, perhaps finding too much on his shoulders with the 20yr old Paddy Jackson at 10. When Pienaar did try to utilise his kicking game, he was just setting Kearney up for another virtuoso high catch. Even when the Ulstermen managed to breach the blue wall, the clock was ticking on, and they had nothing left.

So it’s 3 out of 4 for Leinster. And that ain’t bad…

Peerless Pienaar kicks Ulster all the way to Twickenham

The neutral may well be rooting for Brian and the Leinster boys come Heineken final day, if the semi final displays give us any clues as to the likely entertainment factor. Despite the fact that Ulster will be travelling across the Irish Sea as underdogs, the average rugby fan will probably feel that Heaslip, Sexton, and  O’Driscoll  offer rather more pazzazz than an Ulster side built around Wannenburg, Muller and Pienaar. As in 1999, when they won this competition, they have a grinding, remorseless pack of forwards allied to a strong kicking game. Like Saracens, they have chosen to import some hard nosed Boks into the set up to play the physical, territorial game that wins the tight matches. All this has been a carefully considered strategy. Not many internationals here to distract the focus, just some key personnel with the experience to handle the big occasions – Best, Wallace from “home”, and the key acquisition of Pienaar to direct the forwards, set the tempo for the backs, and kick goals from just about anywhere. And a look at the Celtic league standings will show that this is a team built for the sharp end of the Heineken Cup.

In short, they are a tough, uncompromising outfit, a nightmare to play against. Brian and the boys will be hoping this wet spell of weather is out of the way to give them a dry track at HQ. But they would be foolish to think that a meeting with Pienaar and his pals will be a warm hearted Irish craic of a day.

Big Phil to fill the Blues gap ?

Cash rich French teams continue to circle over the corpse that is the Cardiff Blues squad, determined to take the opportunity to strip the Grand Old Dame of Welsh club rugby of its juicy morsels. Alex Cuthbert gave a gloriously non committal reply to the inevitable question after his man of the match winning performance against Edinburgh, so we can assume he’s on his velo, too. Bon voyage, and Welsh fans will truly wish him all the best. In such an uncertain world, playing a game that is made up of potentially career ending collisions, we can hardly blame him. But will he get enough game time at a place like Toulon to learn his trade ? Hardly a concern for an old stager like Gethin Jenkins – indeed, careful management of game time is just what a 30+ prop needs – but a young player like Cuthbert needs game time He needs time reading games, needs time (in his case particularly) under the high ball, chasing back, covering kicks.

News that Big Phil Davies, one of the most highly regarded coaches either side of Offa’s Dyke, is in the frame for the vacant Blues job has to be good news for Welsh rugby. Although I don’t share the sense of doom and gloom that accompanies the big money signings, it has to be acknowledged that the National set up needs a strong Regional scene. The success of Gatland and Edwards has to a large extent hinged on the Regions being able to expose young players to a good playing environment.  Big Phil’s reputation may do a great deal to keep the Blues squad looking forward.

With “foreign” stars moving on, the Blues are looking closer home for replacements – Jason Tovey from the Dragons is a sensible piece of business, for example. Money is clearly tight. The move to the Arms Park – yet to be confirmed, but obviously on the cards – would also make sense. The players can’t be happy playing in front of vast empty stands as they are at the City Stadium. They can always return there when the big Heineken games demand it.

The job now is to ensure that the Blues – and the other Welsh regions – get to play those big games often enough.

What will life be like with these Lions ?

Good question, Mr Gatland. I expect you know the core of your side already. Most would expect it to be formed of your own Welsh players, so no surprises...perhaps.

Gatland is no rosey eyed loyalist. The strong foundations he has built in this Welsh squad have been based on a lack of such emotion. Players who failed to perform heard it in no uncertain terms. Ryan Jones, one of the players of the 2012 6 Nations, had to bounce back from being stripped of the captaincy, then seeing that young buck Faletau emerge from relative obscurity to become Wales' bolt on starting No 8. The canny Kiwi coach will also remember some of the Lions lessons of the past. Most painfully, Woodward learned that attempting to reassemble the 2003 WC winners in Lion skins was doomed to failure.

The starting Welsh XV may well form the core of the Gatland Lions pride, but some of those big names will need to look over their shoulders. Can any coach afford to leave such players as Heaslip, Ferris, Best, O'Brien, Sexton and Kearney of Ireland on the touchlines ? Foden, Tuilagi and Croft ?

For what it's worth, at this ridiculously early stage, here goes my Lions starting XV - Jenkins, Best, Jones, Gray, Charteris, Lydiate, Warburton (c), Heaslip, Phillips, Sexton, Roberts, Tuilagi, North, Halfpenny, Kearney.

Croft for Gray, O'Brien for Lydiate, Foden for Kearney, Healy for Jenkins after 60 mins.

The Rise and Rise of the House of Lancaster

So have the blazers got it right at last ? In essence, they were on to a hiding to nothing. England’s woeful WC performances were all but forgotten after the 6 Nations Championship. There was such palpable relief in the Twickers crowd that a resurgent Welsh team didn’t beat them senseless that they hardly objected to the Strettle try being turned down. After a lacklustre Irish team was turned over on the last weekend, the ink was as good as dry on Stuart Lancaster’s contract. To look beyond the caretaker coach would have been seen as illogical (nothing new there) and unpatriotic (ouch).

Players such as Lee Dickson waded in with their support - but then again, he would, wouldn't he ? The previous regime didn't have our Lee anywhere near the top of the scrum half pecking order.

Like several others, I remain unconvinced.

Lancaster is addicted to sports psycho-babble on a scale not seen at Twickenham since the dying days of the Andy Robinson regime. People will indulge you when they think you know what you mean, even if they don’t. But if your team starts playing like they don’t know what you mean…do you know what I mean ? My suspicion is that the “new dawn” for English rugby is still some distance away. Doubts remain over the side’s ability to create. When Charlie Hodgson’s charge downs, and penalty tries gained against an Irish scrum locked into reverse gear, are the only points gathered beyond Farrell’s trusty right boot, then those doubts will remain. Lancaster’s side will go to South Africa determined to “lay bodies on the line”, and to be “difficult to beat”. Against a Springbok side that is busy rebuilding after several years under a coach who seemed to distrust the turf within a stone’s throw of either touchline, I can’t help but feel that attrition will be the order of the day. As Captain Blackadder once noted, there will be a lot of casualties in a desperate attempt to move the HQ drinks trolley 50 yards closer to Berlin.

Meanwhile, north of the border, Robinson keeps his job. No new dawn there for our Scottish friends. Or for the players, who profess to believe in the old Bath flanker’s methods, but who looked entirely unconvinced in the final match against Castrogiavanni and his assorted legions. Cue more psycho-babble, if only to cover the plain fact that the Scottish are too mean/broke to pay Andy off…

Dan's the Man

The Dragons flanker Dan Lydiate turned in another man of the match performance as Wales closed out St Andre's stilted French side at the Millenium. The French coach had succeeded in bringing some rain down on Gatland's parade, but his controversial insistence on leaving the roof off was ultimately just another expression of his limited thinking at work here.
 In the second half, with the French forwards at last gaining a foothold in Welsh territory, Beauxis chose to go for a drop goal. He scuffed it wide - his dreadful game in a microcosm - and we knew the game was won. The final few minutes, with only a converted try between the sides, should have been hushed, with fingernails gnawed to a bloodied pulp. Instead, such was the superiority of the Welsh side, each man confident in possession, and sure of their technique, that a rendition of ”Hymns and Arias” grew and grew, the sound tumbling down from the terraces high up then rolling out over the grass. The players sucked it in, and we all realised that St Andre had done the whole of Cardiff a favour, because with the roof off the sound was able to spill out onto St Mary's Street, away across the Taff, out over Bute Park, and they could all stop worrying. The old Max Boyce classic only gets a proper airing when the boys in red are winning. When the final whistle blew, the stadium camera picked out Gerald Davies as he wiped away a tear. Perhaps for his old mate The Swerve. How he'd have loved that game. And the new Welsh legends can reflect on the fact that colleagues like Chopper Lydiate wouldn't have been out of place in that team of the 1970's.
And that, for any Welsh rugby fan, is what this Grand Slam is all about. Now this team can stop looking back over its shoulder, and head towards its own future.

Leg of Lamb on the menu after starters in Dublin and London.

England strettle for second best…(sorry...)

Whisper it, think it, but don’t say it out loud. It rhymes with “leg of lamb”, and Wales could be grabbing it at Cardiff on the 17th of this month. The players and coaching staff refuse to mention the magic words, but things are getting feverish on St Mary’s St. If it all comes together, it’s going to be one heck of a party. And after the gut wrenching disappointment of the WC semi final, few rugby fans would be churlish enough to say that this Welsh side don’t deserve it. The display at Twickenham was, by common consent, pretty ordinary, apart from that explosive (but point free) opening, the awesome discipline displayed when they went down to 14 men, and the boyish fearlessness of Scotty Williams’ try.

England played pretty well, particularly in defence. They exchanged some huge hits with the Welsh pack, and the midfield trio of Farrell, Tuilagi and Barrit refused to allow the Welsh three quarters to get up a head of steam. There were also glimpses of the English attacking threat, so sadly lacking against Scotland and Italy. Tuilagi made all the difference here.

Having said that, the overwhelming feeling at Twickers was one of relief – that the home side had put up a fight, that they were competitive. As a Welsh fan who lived through the dark days of the early 90’s, I can but sympathise…

England’s Three Steps to Rugby Heaven ?

      1.       They must kick their goals, so Owen Farrell must play, and at 10.  Sorry, Mr Flood, but that cop out moment at the death against the Sarries has put you back in the queue. 

      2.       Tuilagi must play. England are so bereft of go forward that they are depending on charge downs to score tries. They’ll need more than that against the Welsh, who on current form WILL cross the whitewash. So another apology – this time to Brad Barritt. The Sarries hard man has shown that he is no soft centre, but in attack this England back line look about as likely to score as Nick Clegg at a party at your local Student Union.

3.       Win the battle in the air – catch and return the kicks with interest, Mr Foden, and mess up the Welsh line out, Mr Croft, and your boys may stand a chance. If you’re still in the game at the hour mark, Farrell’s boot may see you exploiting home advantage.