Number of games dilutes specialness

NOT so very long ago, rugby union was a game for 30 players of all shapes and sizes, who played for 80 minutes and only left the field injured if a man with a flat cap and trousers tucked into his socks carrying a bucket of icy water and a sponge that should have carried a government health warning couldn’t do anything for you.

Many times a team would travel away with the bare 15 players, having persuaded a friend of one of the players to have a game on the wing with a promise of a few pints and a bowl of faggots and peas.

It was called character building. You could be penalised for “not straight” and “foot up” in the scrum and give away three points – imagine.

The season started in September and finished around Easter when seven-a-side tournaments took place on rock hard, bare pitches and teams often embarked on Easter tours to play a bit of rugby, sing rude songs and run out of restaurants to avoid paying the bill.

International matches were limited to two home games in the Five Nations and perhaps one in the autumn if a touring side was visiting these shores.

Overseas tours, including Lions trips, were looked upon as an opportunity to travel to see the world – if you could afford to take the time off work.

Fast forward to today where squads of 23 players are engaged in gladiatorial combat hurling themselves from collision to collision.

We now have specialist coaches for every position and a vocabulary only known to a few: emptying the bench, going through the phases, skillset and so on and so on.

International teams now play on average once a month, thereby diluting the specialness of the game.

We have to sit through pundit laden hours of highlights, while waiting to see the crowds waving “I’m on the telly” over and over.

With so many law changes, matches from only a few years ago look almost quaint by today’s processed offerings.

Is the game any better? Who knows?

One thing hasn’t changed though. Before going to my first international in 1965, my father told me to keep my hands in my pockets. When I asked him why, he told me: “Somebody might pee in them!”.

Rob Saunders Murton Swansea