The English have become, by necessity, prisoners of the past and creatures of memory. I know this for a fact. Four years ago I wrote a column in this newspaper about the Rugby World Cup. To this day, I still meet Englishmen who remember the column, which is rather flattering for a humble scribe.
What I would find a lot more flattering, however, is if they actually remembered what I wrote, as opposed to what they think I wrote. So with the World Cup upon us in France, this is probably as good a time as any to recall those words and see if they are still applicable today.
As I wrote back then, I have nothing against the game of rugby. There is integrity in rugby that is lacking in so many other sports these days. Even though professionalism is starting to permeate the game, rugby players will never come close to the rarefied income bracket that soccer, basketball and baseball players inhabit.
While they make far less money than their sporting peers, the brutal nature of their game almost ensures them a series of crippling injuries that they may never recover from. They are brave and hearty souls. The best rugby players in the world play because they love the game, and how can you not respect that in this day and age?
Any problem I do have with rugby is with the World Cup, and more specifically with the people who administer the competition, the International Rugby Board (IRB).
They pay lip service to the notion of growing the sport. In the first week of competition, Canada, a decent rugby country, were steamrolled by Wales. World powers New Zealand decapitated Italy, a semi-ambitious side, and South Africa trounced Samoa, while Scotland did the same to Portugal.