The Six Nations’ rampant nationalism cannot be imitated
The renewal of ancient rivalries make it much more than a rugby tournament.
OPINION: Oh well, as everyone else seems to be playing the game Top Trumps at the moment, this column may as well join in. So, what do the Six Nations Rugby Championship and Donald Trump have in common?
Those of you in Queenstown who may have answered that both are examples of overblown buffoonery go straight to the bottom of the class and sit on the naughty step with Malcolm Turnbull. The correct answer is that both the Six Nations and Donald Trump get high on rampant nationalism.
Only we don’t have to make the Six Nations great again, because it already is. A survey by UEFA concluded that the Six Nations was the best attended sports event in the world, with an average of 72,000 fans in 2015.
The Six Nations is the template for sport, but it is almost impossible to imitate. It has all that history; it has the closeness of its geography which means a weekend out in some of Europe’s great cities; the fans come together, often the same ones year after year, unsegregated at matches and united in song.
Oh, and I forgot to mention, everyone hates the English. A minority hate the English in a vile and visceral way, but for the majority it is a pantomime of national resentments. You give us centuries of war and oppression and we will kick the smug stuffing out of you on a Saturday afternoon in February.
And so it would have been in the early hours of this morning at Twickenham as Eddie Jones’s England took on a France team that has been reborn under Guy Noves and given back to the French people. England were missing half their first choice pack and France were missing Wesley Fofana. English roast bif against French flair.
Every year the English will trot out Shakespeare’s Henry V for the occasion, happily oblivious that Henry was actually of Welsh descent.
There will be a bit of ‘‘we happy few, we band of brothers’’ and a lot of showing ‘‘the mettle of your pasture’’ in order to ‘‘follow your spirit, and upon this charge, Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George’!’’ as Kiwi Dylan heads once more into the breach.
And the French will want to wipe the self-satisfied smile off the face of all those Euro exiteers. No 8 Imanol Harinordoquy once said, ‘‘The only memories I have of England and the English are unpleasant ones. They are so chauvinistic and arrogant.’’
And in this new age of Brexit perhaps the English are seen as more arrogant than ever, because it was the England of the shires that led the charge out of Europe. Perhaps they have even fuelled new Six Nations resentments.
But we will come to those countries in time, because next week it is Wales versus England and no country more fervently hates the English than Wales. Graham Henry and Steve Hansen could never quite get their heads around it. The Welsh band The Stereophonics actually composed a song called As Long As We Beat the English.
How could a seemingly mild man like Phil Bennett once have said, ‘‘Look what these bastards have done to Wales. They’ve taken our coal, our water, our steel. They buy our homes and live in them for a fortnight every year. What have they given us? Absolutely nothing. We’ve been exploited, raped, controlled and punished by the English - and that’s who you are playing this afternoon. The English.’’
And then all hell breaks loose. After one particularly savage match the Rugby Union banned four of its players. The WRU took no action. It probably awarded medals. Martin Johnson tells the story of the English bus driving through Cardiff towards the reception when, ‘‘One Welsh fan actually ran up and head-butted the vehicle. He turned away, head streaming with blood and a big, silly grin of triumph on his face.’’
And then there is Scotland to come, with a new vibrant team and a national anthem that talks of rising again against proud Edward’s army and sending him home tae think again.
Already the insults are flying. Former coach Jim Telfer likened Eddie Jones to Trump in wanting to be the big man and lacking respect. He added; ‘‘If you ever think about wanting separation from England just sit 10 minutes in Twickenham and listen to them. They think they’re superior.’’
Finally England will travel to Dublin on St Patrick’s Day. You just know that the story of 2003 and all that will come up, the story of when Johnson refused to make his England team budge, obliging president Mary McAleese to leave the red carpet and get her shoes dirty.
And yet there is so much more to the Six Nations and that is what makes it so glorious. There are trips to Rome, now a favourite destination among the fans, a haven where balmy stories are told long into the night. There are the Celtic and Gaelic rivalries, matches that often produce some of the best football of the Championship.
There is new stuff too, this year, with the introduction of bonus points. Horrible, as Trump would say. What idiot thought of that? And then the refs will have to cope with the new tackle laws and surely, someone, somewhere, most likely in Cardiff next Saturday, is going to get sent off.
And yet somehow, when it is all over, when flesh is hanging by a thread and British and Irish brains have been pickled with alcohol, everyone will come together as one and head to New Zealand for the Lions tour. And for all his nationalism, Telfer once stood in a changing room in the bowels of South Africa speaking blood and thunder and it was the yeoman forwards of England who led the subsequent charge.
This and so much more is why the Lions and the European Ryder Cup are the two most special teams in sport. Old enemies come together in friendship (and beer) (and wine) (and more beer). They sing their songs against a common foe. And win or lose, the beauty of a camaraderie born of rivalry is a top trump that can’t be beaten.