We need to watch rugby in the raw

ACCORDING to Inkoo Kang, a leading critic at The New Yorker magazine and, almost by definition, a writer whose words are barely distinguishable from music, it was "like a box of bonbons gifted around the holidays: pleasing, elegant, forgotten as soon as it's consumed...driven by intricate plotting rather than by meaningful character development".

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An American journalist spending her festive time watching English club rugby on the gogglebox? Who'd have thought it? Time for a reality check: she wasn't. Watching rugby, that is. Kang was casting her educated eye over Black Doves, the latest spy yarn to spin itself all over Netflix. But who cares? In the age of Trump and Musk, why let the facts get in the way of a good story.

And the story is this: Kang's weighty opinion on the Keira Knightley-Ben Whishaw fandango would have worked just as well in relation to the Northampton-Bath match in the East Midlands a week ago. There were nine tries - a surprisingly meagre total, given that the Saints seemed to spend the opening quarter scoring with every touch of the ball - yet for all the Flash Harryism and Fancy Danitis of the attacking play, the after-match analysis was dominated by the England centre Ollie Lawrence and his on-field audition for a place at RADA.