THE CURSE OF TWICKENHAM
Optimism turns into humiliation as Cotter tries to make sense of another painful defeat
VERN COTTER wore the expression of a coach who had just witnessed disaster unfolding in front of his eyes. His team had come to derail the England chariot — instead they threw themselves under it.
A game that was supposed to show how far Scotland had come instead became one of humiliation and embarrassment with key questions now facing Cotter, his team and coaching staff.
Why did his players freeze like rabbits trapped in the headlights? Why did Fraser Brown lose his head so quickly in the contest to hand England a numerical and physical advantage? Why did Alex Dunbar and centre partner Huw Jones look like strangers meeting for the first time? What on earth happened to Finn Russell that made him choke on the big occasion?
Up front, why did the Scotland pack looked so powderpuff against an English outfit that destroyed them physically? And what happened to the likes of Jonny Gray, who had by far his worst game ever in a Scotland jersey?
On the long journey north Cotter would surely have been asking these and other questions. It is easy to blame the coach but the responsibility lies with the players he entrusted — they let down themselves, their coach and their supporters so abjectly.
‘We were useless,’ was how captain John Barclay described it but it could be argued Scotland didn’t reach even the dizzy heights of useless.
‘Men against boys,’ was how Scotland legend Gavin Hastings saw it. Heck, boys everywhere could sue!
As England celebrated their double triumph of securing the Six Nations championship and lifting the Calcutta Cup, Cotter slipped into review mode. He has been here before — he calls it his curse. In 2014, Saracens destroyed his Clermont team 46-6 at the home of English rugby in the European Champions Cup semi-final.
‘Both games unravelled in a similar way, so it must be the curse of Twickenham for me,’ said the shell-shocked Scotland head coach. ‘There are games where this sort of thing happens, whether you call them rogue games or whatever.’
Things went wrong almost from the off. Scotland assistant Jason O’Halloran had spoken pre-match of playing ‘the game, not the occasion’ but all those plans were cast asunder when Brown lost every ounce of control to tip tackle Elliot Daly within the first minute. It was dangerous, deserving of a red card and lucky to produce only a yellow.
With the hooker sin-binned for ten minutes, England pressed down on the accelerator. They have been criticised for slow starts in the championship so far but, slipping into top gear, they were in the fast lane from the off.
Dunbar was hopelessly out of position when his missed tackle allowed Jonathan Joseph through Scotland’s defensive lines. With the whole of Twickenham opening up before him, the English centre raced into score. He would go on to do that again, twice, in the match with similar, embarrassing ease.
With Owen Farrell peerless with the boot, England were 20 points to the good after only 24 minutes. By then, Scotland had lost both Stuart Hogg and his replacement Mark Bennett to injuries. Wingers were playing at full-back, scrumhalves on the wing. It was chaos.
By the blessed relief of half-time it was 30-7. Swing Low, Sweet
Chariot echoed around the cavernous stadium like nails down a blackboard to every Scottish fan who had travelled in such optimistic mood yet now wished for a couch to hide behind.
A team built in his image, Eddie Jones would not allow his players to take their foot of the gas. He said afterwards he wanted England to be ruthless and this was a statement of intent to all those who question their right to take No 1 spot in the world.
It was wave after wave of England attack and even when Scotland did get points on the board through two tries from centre Jones, they immediately threw the initiative back to the hosts.
A Scotland bench that had already been utilised early in the match was dipped into again. Stand-off Duncan Weir was pitched in to play on the wing, Allan Dell, Ross Ford and Simon Berghan trotted on. Others came, too. Tim Swinson and Cornell du Preez. All played their roles of sacrificial lambs to aplomb.
England, on the other hand, could call on heavy hitters like the brothers Mako and Billy Vunipola, the latter returning with a tryscoring performance after a long injury lay-off. Scrum-half Danny Care came on to score twice — his second, the last of England’s seven, saw him swallow dive over the line, his face a picture of glee.
Jones refers to his bench as ‘the finishers’. You can see why.
When referee Mathieu Raynal called time on the contest, there was a sense of relief that it was over. This was a real reality check for Scotland. Swept up to fifth in the world on the crest of the wave that saw wins over Ireland and Wales, here we hit the rocks.
Were there any doubt over the cavern that separates the great teams in the world from the also-rans we know it now. We have been put back in our box for what we are — a stoic team on our own Murrayfield turf, cannon fodder on a foreign field.
England march imperiously on to Dublin this week and the chance of back-to-back Grand Slams. Good luck to them, they have earned the right. For Scotland, there is only a shot at redemption.
Italy come calling in Saturday’s early kick-off. Murrayfield is sold-out. Nearly 68,000 will be squeezed in. This sorry bunch of Scotland players owes it to each and every one of those fans to give them not just a victory but a comprehensive one.
And they need to do it for Cotter in what will be his last game in charge. Dear God, lads, don’t let it end like this.