What the Ruck V

By DC

Ok by now you must all realise that I am a grumpy old man, the kind of bloke that shakes his fist in the air and shouts at clouds for being too fluffy or not fluffy enough – to be honest I like to rant and rave and here goes another weekly rant. Seriously under European law, I have to direct all my rage at one weekly explosion, so thank Brussels for the entertainment for these articles, thank rage law 3.6 – sections 1 to 7, the law designed to prevent further wars and conflict – the law that causes and leads me to write once more. So what rattled the cage this week, what got me hopping around like a chicken trying to pass a watermelon, bare with me the tantrum is about to begin.

Ok before it begins, I would like to a take a few minutes or lines to be pay homage to a performance that deserves recognition and note. Bradley Davies, a week after the sudden loss of his mother, Bradley took to the field and played like a warrior- he showed heart, passion and power – his mother and the entire nation were proud. I can never begin to understand the emotions that must have been rushing through Bradley as he joined his team mates for the minute’s silence. I watched on with a lump in my throat, in awe. From the first shrill of the whistle, Davies rampaged around the field, it was a simply stunning performance from a man whose internal world must have been spinning like a washing machine. He was brilliant, a true

A simply stunning performance Bradley Davies

giant among men – he held the line and fought like a Trojan. Da iawn Bradley – your mother was proud and so should you be. It’s a wicked shame that the other men in red on the pitch showed neither respect nor pride, a shame not one of them bothered to follow your lead.

Beware the rantman cometh!

If Bradley was impressive, his team mates where gutless, heartless, spineless and as directionless as a weeble on a merry –go-round. The rest of the Welsh team might have been there for the kick off but let’s be honest they might as well have taken a seat on the next train to patheticVille, just south of disappointment Town. I have never seen a team less ready for kick off, it’s almost as if the first whistle came as a shock, I can only assume that the team forgot that the game was meant to be on Friday night and not the usual Saturday afternoon. The enigmatic Martin Williams looked dazzled in the glare of the Friday Night lights – the usual rock Nugget looked more like soft Nougat, could it be time that the old man is put out to stud and the young Warburton the heir apparent take his place? – I and the rest of Wales will be hoping that Nugget can light the fire and fight not just one more but for maybe 18 more months at least!

The Cold War is over and since then no one really cares about that finger on the big red button of destruction, in fact I think the Whitehouse and the Kremlin both threw their red buttons away years ago. Care should be taken when you are chucking a dangerous red button out with the rest of the rubbish you have no idea where it could end up. Stop the search, no need to hunt high and low for what was lost – the button that launches mass destruction has been found, it’s on big Warren’s desk. Wales seem determined to blow up, explode in moments of insanity, like a rabbit going for an early morning hop in a mine field – one step, two step Boom... stagger ...Boom....Boom...Boom! What the Hell are they doing  ... someone tell me ....what in the holy name of Gareth Edwards are they playing at??

James Hook is a talent, a serious talent and I understand the mentality that he needs to be on the pitch – he is a gifted, gifted player and he belongs in an international shirt. I believe that the Welsh Brains Trust have found his correct position my only point is that a few more games under his belt at 13 possibly would have been better. Friday night was not the first time that Hook has found himself on the wrong end of a Hail Mary Pass – the kind of pass that has no right being on a rugby pitch – why James why – why is it so important to chuck around passes that Brett Farve would be jealous of? Patience James, patience, break down the defence with grace and scalpel accurate passing not with hopeless obvious boomers – that pass was so readable, Hell there are jelly based creatures crawling around on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean that could see it coming. Stop forcing the play, get your head out of your jock strap and let instinct take control, either that or count to five before releasing the ball – oh and remember that the guys in the other colour shirts – don’t just give them the ball make the buggers work for it!

As for Hook’s centre partner, well don’t think you’re getting away with it Jamie – just cos you’re the size of a redwood on roller skates, just cos you have a jaw line that would not look out of place on Mount Rushmore, does not mean you’re free from the wrath. Jamie, just cos the media has you built as the next Superman or Batman or all round superhero – DO NOT believe the hype. Jamie you do not have to save the world and win the game on your own – it’s simple Jamie the ball goes to the man in the open space – don’t tuck it under your arm. All you had to do was open the ball out, Jamie, it’s not hard it’s what you do in a team game you let the other boys have a play too!

Modern rugby has changed, the angle running, deadly passing of the intelligent 12 has been lost to the rugged battering rams – in years gone by a 12 was a play maker he would draw in defenders due to the fear of giving him space. Jamie draws in defenders simply because it takes half the side to tackle him, do your job Jamie – create the space and unleash the other players in it.

Wales failed to turn up for the first 40 minutes, those people that keep banging on with the wow what a forty minutes of rugby – shut up for God’s sake. Rugby is a game played for 80 minutes, not 40 – its pointless playing thrilling rugby for half the game and giving the game to the opposition for the other half. Get ahead then win the game, you cannot create miracles every game, sort out the basics first. Find the pride that the national shirt should bring, play with passion yes, but keep your heads at all times – yes entertain and play the attacking game but even the most powerful sports car has a brake. Take a lesson from the great teams, points first then kill the game – champagne rugby is far better when it comes after at least a small starter and a tasty main course. More importantly sort out your centres – one of them cannot keep on to the ball and the other clings on to it like a possessed Howler Monkey with a banana. Get it right and get it right quickly before you’re made to look like prize chumps rather than prize winning champs.

DC