Imperious Itoje steps into Johnno’s giant shoes
Not since the glory days of the old Red Rose empire can an England player have lorded it over Twickenham the way Maro Itoje did yesterday. There have, of course, been a multitude of more important occasions since Billy Williams converted the old cabbage patch more than a century ago but very few can have given a more convincing impression of actually owning the place than the armour-plated Saracen.
From start to finish, Itoje towered above the rest, like a country squire eager to see the trespassers off the estate with a collective flea in their ears. His performance can be acclaimed as positively Johnsonian, a reference which has nothing to do with the PM and everything to do with England’s original second row colossus.
Martin Johnson, of course, won the World Cup. Whether the Londoner now wearing the same No.4 jersey emulates him in ten weeks’ time is in the lap of the gods but any team capable of generating a tour de force like this one demands to be taken seriously.
England have long sworn by Itoje. Ireland, Grand Slam champions the season before last and conquerors of New Zealand last autumn, ended up swearing at him, albeit as a back-handed compliment to his primary role in the capitulation.
The confession came from Rory Best when asked what had gone wrong. “It’s hard to describe,’’ Ireland’s venerable captain replied. “Without using a lot of profanities.’’
While the shattered men in green were no doubt turning the dressing-room air blasphemous blue, across the tunnel the England hierarchy might have been tempted to ask Itoje whether he fancied rejoining his favourite
football club in the short period left before take off for Japan.
His imperious display followed a training stint with Arsenal earlier in the summer, thereby reviving a historic alliance between the Gunners and the RFU, whose list of past-presidents include Ken Chapman of Harlequins, the elder son of Arsenal’s most successful English manager, Herbert Chapman.
Itoje took a matter of seconds to throw his weight about, beating Conor Murray to the first turnover in a manner which would have heightened Irish fears that they were about to suffer the humiliation which comes with being trapped at the wrong place at the wrong time. Rarely can any team have been made to pay a more fearful price for having the brass neck to score the opening try.
The eight-try English landslide which followed ought to have come with the heartfelt thanks of World Rugby for saving their ranking system from being brought into further disrepute. An away win would have put an end, temporarily at least, to Wales’ reign and sent Ireland top instead.
Had that come to pass, the Welsh sense of injustice at being superseded by the same Irish team they had outclassed to win the Grand Slam less than six months ago would have left them feeling every bit as aggrieved as the whole of New Zealand over seeing All Blacks elbowed off their pedestal the previous week.
In that respect England could be deemed guilty of being an accessory after the fact, aiding and abetting the Welsh rise by failing to make a single line break in Cardiff, let alone score a try. Starting with only three first-choice players, Itoje, Billy Vunipola and Elliot Daly, did not help.
Against Ireland they started with 14 of their Test team, everyone bar Mako Vunipola whose failure to negotiate a truncated appearance off the bench provided the only source of anxiety.
At last the real England stood up. All the component parts, from the restoration of the Owen Farrell-George Ford axis in midfield to the dual openside pair of Sam Underhill and Tom Curry, worked a treat, giving England a majesty which they haven’t had for too long.
Lest anyone is tempted to make assumptions about England reclaiming the long-lost Webb Ellis trophy on the first Saturday in November, it has to be said that the Irish hardly missed a trick to make their opponents look still more majestic.
Their line-out, suspect even on good times, had collapsed in a heap by the end, so much so that Luke Cowan-Dickie caught a throw meant for Iain Henderson at the tail and scored. The Exeter hooker had done exactly the same a fortnight earlier against Wales at the expense of Ken Owens and Alun-Wyn Jones.
If Eddie Jones could stretch credibility to breaking point by embracing the Welsh defeat as ‘a big step forward for us’, who’s to say he won’t plagiarise Neil Armstrong’s lunar landing and refer to this as a giant step for mankind.
Those England fans who felt like spending last night in a such a state of suspension will sober up fairly rapidly at the prospect of the obstacles awaiting their team in Japan, like a quarterfinal against Wales or Australia and a semi against the Springboks.
Ireland were a complete shambles, prompting former internationals to use harsh words like humiliation and embarrassment. They left HQ clinging to the time-honoured last refuge, that they were too bad to be true.
They go to Cardiff next Saturday, revisiting the scene of their Six Nations surrender with precious little time to contradict the growing theory that they peaked a year too soon. Now that the downhill graph has taken a further demoralisingly steep decline, Schmidt must somehow stop the slide without the muscle and nous of the injured Lions loosehead, Cian Healy.
England, condemned to successive World Cup misadventures of nightmarish proportion, have at last declared themselves to be serious contenders. With Itoje, anything is possible.
“Rarely can any team paid a more fearful price for having the brass neck to score the opening try”