Professional game is fast losing its soul

SO there I was last Sunday night at a deserted Haywards Heath Hospital – and that is another story – and suddenly I was besieged by what I can only describe as May Day calls from three of rugby’s great and good. It was like sitting in the confession box, sworn to secrecy while listening to everybody’s intimate but previously unthinkable thoughts.

- BRENDAN GALLAGHER

There was a former England coach, a former England captain, and one of the best and most respected rugby broadcasters in all Christendom. All, by sheer coincidence, either texted or phoned within the space of an hour, and all, it seemed, had reached a breaking point and wanted to vent off the record, piling into the game they once loved and desperately want to love again.

The sheer paucity and mind-numbing boredom of the weekend’s rugby – Newcastle v Sale headed the roll of dishonor but the Autumn Cup also got shoeing – was the immediate cause but in all three cases it had been building for months. It had started with a miserably poor Six Nations back in February and March before the tournament was interrupted.

It was a real canary down the coal mine moment. If they collectively were at breaking point the flame was in real trouble.

In roughly descending order the list of things they wanted to be eradicated was the ‘fecking caterpillar’, box-kicks, offside from box-kicks, the jackal having to do so little to earn a penalty, offside in midfield, kick tennis, forward passes, not being able to touch a scrum-half who has suddenly become a protected species, off your feet at rucks and forward passes. Regular readers of this column will already know my complete concurrence with all of the above.