See a swagman, grab him by his billabongs – he’s a spy!

THE idea of Eddie Jones perched high up on the balcony of a Tokyo office block disguised as an Aussie swagman viewing the lineout drill of England’s next opponents through a telescope may be stretching it a bit. However, the assertion that spying is a thriving dark art in Rugby Union is definitely not.

There is overwhelming evidence that oval ball espionage will be a factor in the 2019 World Cup in Japan, with success-hungry coaches desperate for any information which will give them a tactical edge over their opponents.

Jones says he dabbled in spying earlier in his coaching career – including sending a colleague disguised as an Aussie swagman to watch opposition training – but is no longer interested in covert operations because he can get the information he wants through legitimate video analysis.

However, the indicators over the last few seasons suggest he will be part of a small minority. Here are just a few recent spying snapshots which explain why:

Ahead of England’s 2015 World Cup pool showdown against Australia they were accused of spying by the Wallabies after a photographer was spotted hiding in the bushes at a Wallaby training session in Bath by security guards and fled the scene. The Australians reported the incident to tournament officials.

Before the Bledisloe Cup match between Australia and the All Blacks in Sydney in 2017 a security consultant working for the All Blacks who found a listening device hidden in a meeting room chair was later charged, and found not guilty in court, of making a false statement which led to an unnecessary police investigation.

However, the Australian court also heard that the All Blacks only decided to alert police about the bug once they knew the story was going to be reported in the media. It appeared in a New Zealand newspaper on the morning of the match.

Australia’s coach Michael Cheika fumed: “We had policemen in our offices asking us questions. That’s serious stuff to be accusing people of, and it’s not true.”

Jones also provided an insight this week at England’s Six Nations squad announcement of the blatant use of spies masquerading as rugby fans to gather information, with lineouts at the top of their snooping agenda.

The lineout is the launch-pad for the most effective attacking moves, and success in that department through code-cracking can stall the momentum of opponents and spur you to victory.

The England coach said: “You don’t want pre-information of your linout going out. That’s one area you can really set up a defence specifically for the opposition’s attack…I was sitting with Steve Borthwick in South Africa on our summer tour having a cup of coffee when a bloke comes out with a camera and starts trying to take photos of all our notes…”

He says the spying even extends to examination of what England do in the warm-ups. “Before the game the opposition are videotaping your lineouts to try to get a head start.”

What he didn’t elaborate on is just how forensic the spying game has become over the last 20 years. The analysts we see staring at laptop screens in stadium boxes alongside their coaches have arrived primed with a dossier of lineout detail based on previous calls and analysing television footage of the opposing team.

The aim is to provide instant lineout intelligence during the game by hoovering-up every bit of extra detail they can. In order to pick up lineout calls they monitor pitch-side sound booms and microphones on television feeds, and do the same with referee communication systems.

Physios and water-carrier coaches are part of the spook brigade, listening in to each of the pitchside calls and using their headsets to tell their anaworked lysts where the ball goes. If they crack the lineout code, the information is relayed to the water-carrier coaches and, at the next injury break, they will pass it on to their lineout leader.

The Lions have been the victims more than once of having their lineout codes deciphered, with the 2001 tour of Australia and the disastrous 2005 tour of New Zealand cases in point.

Both tours demonstrated that while losing a handful or more lineouts will probably cost you a match because of the tactical whip-hand it gives the opposition, it is more than matched by the impact spying has in terms of psychological warfare.

The idea of undermining your opponents by sowing the seeds of paranoia, getting under the skin of coaches and players because of the sense that they are being watched, or undermined, can be a priceless weapon.

In 2005 the Lions forwards coach, Andy Robinson, and some of his players were sure that New Zealand had out their lineout calls. The subsequent decision to replace them with an overcomplicated new set a few days before the first test resulted in a calamitous lineout collapse playing into the hands of the All Blacks.

Jones says he recognises the pitfalls of being manipulated psychologically. “I don’t want to get to the extent where we go to the team room and we’re putting ‘blue tac’ on the keyhole, and looking under seats for tape recorders. It creates a sense of paranoia.”

Yet, when it is pointed out to Jones that Ireland, who have leapfrogged England in the world rankings, will be his training neighbours in Portugal next week, he jokes about resorting to subterfuge.

“I might have to get the swagman’s hat out again. It wouldn’t stand out in Portugal would it!”

The only problem is that in a multimillion pound pro sport with big financial rewards for success, a dirty tricks culture is no joke.

“Top of the snooping agenda are lineouts, launch-pad for the most effective attacking moves”