Crash, Bang, Wallop, What a Series!

No, I still haven't got around to writing about this yet. But it's a good title for a post, isn't it?

The English disease

Yesterday morning, I had succumbed to it. Hubris, that is - not necessarily a historically English affliction but one that right now seems dangerously seductive to those of this isle concerned with the fate of the Ashes. Or at least it did until the events of last night, triggered by a weakness that is as English as train delays and tea cups swimming in custard: the batting collapse.

The possibility had lurked like a hell beast in a storm drain, despite England scoring 517-1 and 620-5 in consecutive innings. I wasn't prepared to believe we could wrap up the series without suffering at least one nightmare out in the middle - previous tours Down Under have marked out their territory in the darkened corners of my subconscious. But even as that redoubt remained standing I was steadily beguiled. The ordure heaped on Australia in recent weeks had firmly tipped the scales; England were in the ascendancy and, perish the thought, I had even mused openly on the possibility, however remote, of 4-0.

Such were the heights to which my expectations had soared that as Australia's tail ski-jumped their side to a respectable 268 I was already thinking, 'That's 70 runs too many'. Not, 'That's a decent effort against any Australian side on their own patch'. No, having reduced the hosts to 69-5, I wanted more; a brutal land grab, a beer hall putsch. The English boot was on the Australian throat and the prospect of resurrection was a non-runner, not with this bunch, this rabble of Raggy Greens, incompetents and half-blokes.

And then the dawn broke, with the news that we'd been Waca-ed by Mitchell Johnson. A glimmer of hope remains, but we have been been forced to reassess our opponent's capabilities. This should serve as a wake-up call, a reminder that we cannot slumber easily until the job is done and the Ashes are retained. The Boogie man still resides under the bed, at least for now.

Ashes ahoy!

The sleep function on my clock-radio kicked in at around 1am this morning, moments before Shane Watson bowled Jonathan Trott to leave England on 41-2. Watson's first two balls had been hit for four and called a wide respectively, so I felt reasonably content as TMS and Michael Slater's voice abruptly cut out.

As I slept, I dreamed of serene progress past the 400-mark, confident that there would be nothing to discombobulate Smyth and Bull on the guardian OBO ... then I awoke to drowsily check the score on my phone some seven hours later. A Siddle hat-trick? Bleurgh, there was nothing about that in my reverie. Still, it wasn't quite as horrific as four years ago.

Not too much can be read into England's score of 260 (though it looks a little short at first glance) until the Aussies have batted. Come tomorrow morning, we'll have a much clearer idea of how the first Test is balanced. Anyway, ahead of the resumption of hostilities, some recommended reading: Sam Collins' Ashes blog. It's a ripper.

Six Nations to savour could be rugby's saviour

If RBS is still synonymous with inflationary excess followed by a crippling crunch and an enforced bail-out, then it is perhaps appropriate that the bank-fallen-upon-hard-times remains the principal sponsor of the Six Nations. Rugby has suffered plenty of bad PR in the last couple of years, as the game bulked up on muscle and money only to be sucked into a downward spiral caused by contentious rule changes, tactical wrongheadedness and the odd scandal or two.

So a rescue act is required, but who will provide it? The public may still be putting its hand in its pocket when it comes to attending Premiership and international rugby, but the game needs more enterprise on the pitch if it is to avoid a recession in popularity off it.

Saracens, who currently lie second in the Premiership and could return to the top with victory in their game in hand over Leicester, have epitomised the grinding, ultra-pragmatic approach to the sport that has become prevalent in recent seasons. In 12 matches, Sarries have run in 14 tries and conceded just eight - that's less than two tries a game for the paying spectator. It's true that Northampton have scored 26 to 14 conceded - their aggregate of 40 tries in 12 matches (3.3 per match) equalled only by bottom club Leeds, who have conceded 30 - but Saints are running against the grain.

After a grim series of autumn internationals, in which England scored one try in three games against Australia, Argentina and New Zealand, and a 2009 Premiership final which is etched on my mind only because of the weight of its dull, thudding tread, coaches have begun to face legitimate questions about their modus operandi.

Martin Johnson, England's team manager, and Saracens coach Brendan Venter are easily made into straw men to take the brunt of public criticism, but ever since the advent of professionalism in the game the focus has edged more towards pulling together a physically imposing XV, fine-tuned to the last tree trunk-like quadricep, than cultivating exceptional ball-handling skills. Simon Shaw spoke out against the dominant 'gym monkey' culture last October - but we are yet to see a popular uprising against reps and sets, and the pervasive 'kick and tackle' approach.

That there are coaches out there who buck the trend, the 2009 Lions tactician, Ian McGeechan, among them, is a reason for optimism. Keith Barwell, chairman of Northampton (those side-stepping Saints again), made a point of praising the Scot in a Donald McRae piece for today's Guardian:

"I remember Geech telling me the problem with the England coaches, particularly the dour ones, is that when they get the team together all they do is beast them and work them. Geech opens his players' minds. That's the difference."

McGeechan, who is currently mentoring younger coaches away from the front line, was responsible for the best advert for Test-match rugby of the last 12 months: the Lions tour. Three fixtures produced an average of more than 40 points a game, and close finishes in the first two Tests (albeit both won by South Africa) coupled with a win for the tourists in the third helped to revive a concept that was beginning to seem anachronistic.

The Six Nations needs a similar splash of cold water across the face. We've had the crash (crash ball, crash tackle, crashing boredom) ... now must come the bail-out. Johnson has certainly selected his most adventurous line-up yet. A back line including Delon Armitage, Riki Flutey and Matthew Tait is shaped to punch holes in Wales when the sides meet at Twickenham, and one can only hope for the sort of display that England produced against France last year.

That sparkling performance must sit in the the history books alongside a particularly horrific display against Italy (surely one of the worst five-try victories ever). The grisly spectacle of the autumn series and this season's Premiership has cast an even greater shadow. Rugby now needs a Six Nations to savour.

Player bulk represents a big problem

Man down ... again. The news that Danny Cipriani will miss England's autumn internationals is the latest in a series of injurious blows to team manager, Martin Johnson. Cipriani, albeit he was well down Johnson's pecking order, joins the likes of Riki Flutey, Toby Flood, Delon Armitage, Jordan Turner-Hall and his Wasps colleague Tom Rees on the sidelines ahead of what is shaping up to be yet another testing November for England.

The only remarkable aspect of the build-up for England's first Test against Australia is the absence of Jonny Wilkinson's name from the list of casualties. Rugby's bionic man, so oft-operated on has Wilkinson been in recent years, is thriving across the Channel with Toulon - but the painful legacy of professionalism in rugby union continues to claim less high-profile victims.

Those who play are usually big enough and ugly enough to accept that it is a contact sport to its battered and bruised bones, and that injuries are an inevitable part of the game. But have we gone too far down a reckless road? Cipriani's injury, described by his club as a "contusion" - a bruise to you and me - resulted in a hairline fracture of his fibula. That's some bruise. This comes just 18 months after the horrific fracture-dislocation of his right ankle; and the lad's still only 21.

The 21st-century professional rugby player is an imposing physical specimen - as the Powerade promo shots in this gallery demonstrate. Players are bigger and more muscular, and the gaps between them on the pitch have got that little bit smaller. This has led to more tackles and less tries, increased collisions and, essentially, more man sandwichs. And the guys who get munched may find their bruise has become a break, their shoulder strain a dislocation, their winding a lacerated kidney ...

With South Africa, the world's No1 team, utilising a pragmatic, power-based gameplan focused on kicking points at every opportunity (a blueprint first perfected by Clive Woodward's England), the spectacles of scrambled line-breaks, successful sidesteps and dazzling dashes for the whitewash have become scarcer - something most fans bemoan. But it could be worse: we're not the guys getting crunched week-in, week-out, after all.

Now this may seem like ambulance chasing after a spate of injuries in the England camp, and it is certainly difficult to come up with current figures on injury rates. However, a BBC study in 2005 - 10 years after rugby union became a professional sport - pointed to the huge rise in players being sent to the treatment room over the course of a season. I'm guessing that the graph has at best plateaued since then ... though with young players now coming through already chiselled into huge slabs of men (think James Haskell or Tendai 'Beast' Mtawarira), it could well have got worse.

What to do, though? Reduce the number of games?Allow players to wear more protective armour? Change the rules? Maybe the ELVs, aimed at producing more expansive rugby but effective only at increasing the amount of kicking and inconsistent refereeing, should have been designed with a different goal in mind.

The talk over the last month or so has centred on the Harlequins fake injury scandal (known predictably, and depressingly, as 'Bloodgate') but it is real casualties - such as the ones that plagued the Lions' summer trip to South Africa, and which have depleted England's resources for their autumn programme - that should vex the administrators in the long run. Whatever the solutions, the issue of player welfare is only likely to become more pertinent.

As an aside, this piece in the New Yorker by Malcolm Gladwell, looks at the different but not unrelated problem of head injuries in NFL linebackers. Sobering, however you prefer your ball games ...

Farewell to all that ...

So, the big man has taken his final bow - though not without a flourish. In a way, victory at The Oval neatly summed up Andrew Flintoff's contribution to English cricket over the last decade: statistically unremarkable (29 runs from two innings; one wicket for 77 runs), but sprinkled with moments of irresistible genius (that Ponting run out).

I was hoping that whilst on a quest to win his second Ashes single-handed, Flintoff would manage to get his bowling average down below his batting average ... Alas, that wasn't to be (and perhaps inevitable, given the patched-up state of the man) and Statsguru at least will always remember him as an allrounder slightly outside the Botham-Khan-Dev bracket.

But Flintoff, certainly in the eyes of fans and team-mates, always seemed to transcend such workaday measurements of greatness; he was a man of 'moments', of enthusiasm, brio and showmanship. The crop bore a number of choice career cherries, and everyone has their Freddie favourites. From a blistering 84 from 60 balls against Pakistan as England chased 300 plus in an ODI for the first time in their history; to his maiden Ashes ton, adding 177 with Geraint Jones in 40 overs at Trent Bridge; to that down-on-one-knee stuff at Lord's. And who could forget 'Mind the windows, Tino'?

But that's the stuff of whistful reminiscence and grainy HD footage in years to come. Using the raw data of this statistical, chronological retrospective, I propose we do the Flintoff 'math' instead ...

• After 20 Test innings, spread over almost four years, Beefy's latest much-heralded successor was still to pass 50. Then something finally clicked, as Flintoff blasted 137 in an extraordinary Test against New Zealand in 2002 - following a run of three ducks in four innings, as well. The lad clearly didn't do things by halves.
• The following summer, Flintoff averaged above 50 in a series for the first time. His 423 runs at 52.87 against South Africa helped Michael Vaughan to elude a home defeat in his first series in charge. Even better, under Vaughan (Nasser Hussain resigned after the first Test), Flintoff averaged 54.71.
  
• Between March 2002 and August 2005, Fred scored five Test tons. The roughly four-year spells either side, contained none. Purple Freddie was exhilarating while he lasted, though.
• Flintoff took the new ball for the first time in India in 2001, claiming then best figures of four for 50 in the second Test. It was an early sign of his bowling proficiency outside of England (due to his back-of-a-length style); he averaged 29.69 on tour as opposed to 36.11 at home.
• Despite only taking three five-wicket hauls in his career, Flintoff was at his champion best bowling to the Aussies. Two of his five-fors came against the old enemy, and in total he claimed 50 Australian victims, more than against any other nation. His other five-for? West indies at Bridgetown.
  
• From 2002 onwards, when Andrew Flintoff really started to become England's Fred, his bowling was almost metronomically reliable, if not always devastating. Between then and his retirement, Flintoff only went wicketless in a match three times: twice at Edgebaston (against South Africa and Australia, in his penultimate Test) and at Perth in 2006.
  
• During those years as the attack's go-to bowler, between August 2004 and March 2006 Flintoff took a wicket every time he bowled - a run stretching across 37 innings.
• Flintoff achieved the allrounder's holy grail of a better batting than bowling average against three opponents: the relatively weak West Indians and New Zealand; and Australia. Again indicative of the man's capacity to seize the moments that mattered, Fred's 33.55 with the bat and 33.20 with the ball against the world's No1 side are indicative of how good his career stats could actually have been.

Anyway, that's enough numbers for now. The geek in me has been sated. But here's looking forward to the Stuart Broad version in a decade or so.

Fredheads

One man will be more important than any other to England's hopes of winning the decisive Oval Test, which starts tomorrow, and thereby regaining the Ashes - but it won't be the six foot four Lancastrian near-legend we call Fred.

Andrew Strauss has gone about his Ashes 2009 business with quiet efficiency, much as he has done since returning to the side against New Zealand in 2008 after being dropped due to poor form. He is England's highest run-getter by a clear hundred (344 @ 49) - as he was during the fight to save the series in the Caribbean (541 @ 68) over the winter - and he currently averages at least 10 more than any of his top six colleagues do against the Aussie attack.

That, coupled with a direct, pragmatic approach to the captaincy, means Strauss has emerged as the team's MVP - a status conferred as much by his approach and ability as the absence of a certain KP. He has also succeeded in defying the traditional affliction of batting like an England captain, ie. poorly - as this comparison of his averages with and without the extra responsbility shows (a handy link that will either add weight to or disprove the contention as time passes).

Strauss has thrived under pressure, leading by example and tackling the Australian menace head-on, albeit in his trademark undemonstrative manner. Contrast and compare with England's supposed titan, Andrew Flintoff, for a moment. Fred took the plaudits for his five-for at Lord's (when Australia made 400 in their second innings) ... but shouldn't, as Lawrence Booth points out in his Spin column, the MoM award really have gone to Strauss for his first-dig 161?

Not to say that Flintoff's presence in England's fifth-Test line up is insignificant. He appears as some kind of bogeyman in the tourists' psyche and his no-nonsense batting bolsters the lower-middle order a sight more than Steve Harmison's. But he bowls as part of an ensemble cast - with seven wickets at 49 he is fourth in the England standings - while Strauss is the team's standout batsman.

Australia must be bowled out twice on what is likely to be a batter's wicket, and Flintoff's fire will be as important as the hoped-for contributions from Jimmy Anderson, Stuart Broad et al. But England have also to score 'big runs' (and winning the toss wouldn't do any harm either). This is Strauss's department - and if he hits his straps again, he might just drag the rest of the team with him.

No pressure, Andrew ...

By any means necessary

It may seem superfluous to say it, but England needed to save the first Test in Cardiff. Psychologically it was important; in terms of remaining in the series, it was imperative. Australia's funk at perceived English time-wasting may well become a significant corollary - and Ricky Ponting did well to play the incident down.

Can England take 20 wickets in a match from here? The signs certainly weren't encouraging. And if you examine the form of England's bowlers against Australian opposition in the last seven years (encompassing three Ashes series), the question appears to echo that bit more ominously. What would you give for Simon Jones (19 wickets @ 21, strike rate of 34) to be fit right now?

Still, it is thanks to two bowlers, Jimmy and Monty, that we endure. To Lord's, lads, and let's make a fight of this one.

Fin de regime(?)

Rupert Murdoch! Bob Hawke! John Howard! Ricky Ponting! Madge Bishop! Kevin Rudd - can you hear me Kevin Rudd? Your boys took one hell of a beating! Your boys took one hell of a beating! Excuse me... just releasing some pent up emotion. Now, where was I?

Ah yes. Perhaps we should hold back from proclaiming a new world order, but, after victory as sweet as South Africa's was (adding 180 for the ninth wicket; JP Duminy's breathtaking 166; 10 wickets for Dale Steyn), it's tempting to get all flustered, if only for a bit.

To recap, the notion that Australia's cricketing empire is contracting - just as the West Indies' did almost 15 years ago - has already be tossed around; but a first home series defeat since the early nineties looks to have provided further evidence for the prosecution. An Aussie side with passengers? Game-winning opportunities declined with increasing regularity? Internecine bitching? All sounds familiar to this Pom...

Australia's case of subsidence may give KP and the gang heart ahead of the summer's Ashes dust-up, but it doesn't preclude England making a pig's ear of what looks right now a golden opportunity. Last time, it took a leonine effort to wrest back the Ashes. This year, maybe just calculated competency will be enough. For now, lads, keep Lance-Corporal Jones' advice in mind... Don't panic!

Straya on the ropes(?)

Before the 2006-07 Ashes series down under - The Ashes II, for cricket fans who think things all began with Fred Flintoff - Gideon Haigh wrote:

Not so long ago, the Ashes looked a spent force as a cricket attraction, a monocultural, irrepublican irrelevance amid our modern sporting cosmopolitanism. Then, with a single delivery, the one grazing Michael Kasprowicz's glove en route to Geraint Jones at Edgebaston last year, the world turned topsy-turvy: the sacred soot was up for grabs, and finally changed hands after an Ashes series to die for.

Haigh went on to predict the 5-0 whitewash that ultimately ensued, as Australia firmly shut the lid on the can of whup-ass opened by Michael Vaughan's team in 2005. But, were one to engage in such a 'long-range forecast' now, looking ahead to next summer's baggy-green tour of England, what odds would be given for another truly 'sooty' contest?

Looking at England's patchy form, and even given KP's ascent to the captaincy, they would possibly be long. But then, whilst England circa 2008 couldn't buckle on the pads of the 2004-5 vintage, Australia's progress has been far from serene itself in the past twelve months or so. From Monkeygate to Punter's over-rate ordeal, the Aussies have slip-slided from a record-equalling 16 Test victories in a row (20 from 21, including the ICC super Test, post Ashes) to three wins in the last ten, including three defeats. The last time Australia lost three times in the space of ten Tests was 2000-01, which included two defeats in India during VVS Laxman's series mirabilis, and the traditional dead-rubber Ashes turn-around the following summer; but, interestingly, it also was immediately preceded by that initial bar-raising 16 Test run.

These things happen, eh? Throw another Pom on the barbie... But, as Australia struggled to victory over New Zealand at the weekend, the extent of their diminished stock became a little clearer. The two best performers in a brittle Aussie batting display were Michael Clarke and Simon Katich. Clarke will likely be his side's middle-order cynosure next summer, and has added maturity to his undoubted technique - yet he only averaged 37.22 during the 2005 Ashes. Katich, whose 131* effectively stuffed a Kiwi side that, as England gleefully discovered during their own summer, offer generous slip practice, seems established in Justin Langer's boots - but his average against England is a frankly un-Australian 26.30. Without Langer, Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath, Straya's record reads: P14, W7, D4, L3. Less Wallabies, this side are closer to Wallabeens.

Whether England and their man-o-war captain Pietersen can make capital from Australia's devalued line-up is the [insert sufficiently inflationary figure] dollar question, but it seems nailed on that the 2009 series will once again be far removed from the "monocultural, irrepublican irrelevance" that was the mark of Australia's 16-year dominance. Our antipodean cousins have consistently set the mark for others to strive for; however, this time it looks like they might finally be brought down to our level.

A Guinness toast

Raise a glass of stout, because the Premiership is back. After three weekends of games, things are looking feisty as always in the world of English domestic rugby, and it seems that if ever there were old certainties, they aren't so certain anymore.

Take defending champions Wasps losing all of their opening fixtures so far. Or Leicester's kicking; without their former dead-eye, Andy Goode, who left over the summer for Brive, new signing Toby Flood has worn the mantle uneasily, converting just 55% of his attempts at goal. His 11 successful kicks have, however, ensured three wins from three for the Tigers, and their early-season solidity is in marked contrast to last year's quixotic quest to retain the crown they won in 2007.

Gloucester's traditional fragility remains, a problem bemoaned by coach Dean Jones, but Northants, relegated with barely a whimper in 2007, have added the steel of Neil Best and Ignacio Fernandez Lobbe, and fought their way to two wins from three and fifth in the table. Throw into the pot the newly-minted ELVs, which Jones reckons have been applied differently in all three of his side's games thus far, Jonny Wilkinson playing in two consecutive games injury-free, and Ollie Barkley in a Gloucester shirt, and the Premiership almost begins to look like a kind of newfoundland.

Some things don't change, though. Wilkinson's kicking percentage is up at 100, for instance. Worcester, for all the hype surrounding Chris Latham's arrival, find themselves at the wrong end of the blender; while Sale, the club who looked most likely to vie with Wasps and Leicester for domestic supremacy when they claimed a well-deserved title in 2006, are motoring again. And then there are the hardy perennials, the autumn internationals, just over the horizon...

England will play Australia, South Africa and New Zealand on three consecutive weekends in November, and, after the disastrous tour to Kiwi in June, that's a pretty fearsome-looking triptych. Even with Wilkinson fit having undergone shoulder surgery over the summer, it would be great to throw that physical manifestation of game-breaking unpredictability, Danny Cipriani, into the fray against the southern giants. Let's hope his own recuperation from injury is going well.

Oh captain, my captain

For a position that requires the bearer to wear an armband and not much else - bring their familiarity with probability to the coin toss? Yell stuff like, "'e ain't don' nuffin' ref!" at the fella with the whistle? - there has been an awful lot of hoo-ha surrounding the issue of the England captaincy. In fact, leadership is right at the top of the agenda right now, particularly in terms of setting an example. What was John Terry doing whilst Ashley Cole pulled the head off of his teddy bear (also known as Mike Riley) at White Hart Lane? And how about William Gallas's wobble at St Andrews after Birmingham's late equaliser? Yes, that little (c) has become a weighty matter of late.

The issue of who would lead the boys out in the Stade de France generated enough column inches to reconstruct the Parthenon. In the end, Rio got the job after Terry was apparently overlooked by 'Il Professore' because of the general aspect of indiscipline that marks out the Chelsea captain. Of course, Terry's got poor form, so to speak, when it comes to speaking ill of the powers that be: he was fined early last year for questioning Graham Poll's decision to send him off in a match against Tottenham.

The Cole incident was a recent flashpoint, and highlighted the brothers-in-arms mentality that is the common mindset among footballers. Rather than step in and act as a placatory influence, Terry's first instinct, just like the rest of his team-mates, was to converge on Riley and unleash a storm of invective at the official. Similarly, when Javier Mascherano let his kettle boil over after being told to 'offski' at Old Trafford, it was noticeable that none of his fellow Reds managed to restrain him - an action that, had it been effectively carried out in the moments before the Argentine opened his chatterbox, would have saved Liverpool the penalty of being reduced to 10 men.

At Arsenal, Arsene Wenger has said that he handed the responsibility of captaincy to Gallas to help forge a more committed, perhaps more stable, player who could help shore up the Gunners' back line. In doing so, he ignored the claims that Gilberto Silva - a more placid character by far - may have had on the role, and Gallas has undoubtedly responded with a certain vim and vigour. However, his passion has got the better of him at regular junctures (his recent lacrimation at Brum was preceded by a petulant kick at Nani in Arsenal's 4-0 drubbing against United), and the decision has highlighted the difficulty in trying to coerce your leader into also acting as an exemplar.

In picking Rio against France, then, Fabio Capello was perhaps just keeping the safety catch on. Ferdinand has performed creditably in the role for United in the absence of club captain Gary Neville, but then so has Ryan Giggs and even Cristiano Ronaldo. Roy Keane, who once skippered United with typical aggression, was symbolic of what has rightly come to be seen as the bad old days, and his ugly pursuing of Andy D'Urso as part of a pack of red-shirted team-mates was a nadir for player-official relationships. However, recently Ferguson seems to have abandoned the idea of having a 'representative on turf' - perhaps enforced by Neville's long-term absence - in favour of instilling a form of discipline throughout the team that needs little reinforcing by an armbanded senior player.

Because in reality, how important are such grass-stained generals? As Mascherano departed amidst much recrimination last week, where was his captain, Steven Gerrard? As a symbol for the crowd to exult and adore, Gerrard is a nonpareil - but as a communicator, a stabilising influence, even a motivator who can galvanise his team-mates through words rather than simply deeds, his worth must be questionable. Gallas and Terry are analogous figures - players whose characters override their ability to act as on-field prefects. A good example in the Premiership these days seems to be Gareth Barry, who quietly sublimates his own agenda in order to carry out his manager's bidding on the pitch. Martin O'Neill knows that Barry is a level-headed young man - and, more importantly, that the power of office won't go to his head.

Capello made a sensible call in throwing the elasticated black band Ferdinand's way. An unfussy player who can act as a focal point without distorting the focus, Rio is far more likely to embody his manager's ethos simply because he will concentrate on his game rather than grabbing the badge on his chest. And maybe, when it things get sharp and pointy, managers should be confident in their captain's ability to act as an ambassador for the team, rather than for their own ego.

Roses in bloom

Well, predictions are made to be dashed, I suppose... A cussed defeat of the French in Paris by England and a predictable win for the Irish over the Scots saw the table level out again, with Wales still just ahead. Although I remain confident that my forecast of a Wales-France showdown for the championship will come to pass, it looks like the equation may not be quite as simple as it looked like turning out.

England in particular will have their tails up after winning away to France in the Six Nations for the first time since 2000. Where the team had fallen away in the latter stages against Wales and Italy, Ashton's charges showed far greater resolve in the Stade de France, and their rugby was typified by a hard-boned aggression which Marc Lièvremont's youthful side could not compete with. Although France's lone try came from a front five push, it was chiefly in the tight exchanges where England confirmed their ascendancy, while the inexperienced half-back pairing of Morgan Parra and François Trinh-Duc were unable to harness the running potential of the back three outside them.

England's victory could yet turn out to be another false dawn, with a potentially troublesome trip to Murrayfield tomorrow, but at least they have finally shown some guts on the road after numerous disappointing international away-days over the last few seasons.

With a final match-up against Ireland at Twickers to come, England will hope for eight points and only the aberration of Wales' win at Twickenham to haunt memories of their 2008 campaign. Brian Ashton may then be able to unfurl the attacking masterplan we all hope he has up his sleeve and lead the red rose back to the lost citadel of try-scoring rugby. Fingers bisected of course.

For the Welsh, the fable of 2005 could yet be retold, and the Irish will need luck as well as judgement to resist the shimmering waves of red. A victory margin of anything more than 10 points will bolster the already-formidable Welsh difference, and see them practically assured of the title, if not the grand slam. Don't bet against it...

Two games leaves two teams

Although my rugby coverage has been remiss thus far in the 2008 Six Nations, I thought I would use the lull between game weekends two and three to analyse some of the goings on. After the belligerent renaissance orchestrated by England in the World Cup, their collective resilience appears to have dissipated, while a youthful French team and the resurgent Welsh have claimed the early plaudits. So how are things going to play out?

Well, it already appears that it's between two teams, with a second Grand Slam in four years in the offing for Warren Gatland's Wales, and a possible third successive title on the table for Marc Lièvremont's beguiling Bleus.

Although the Welsh must surely consider themselves lucky to have pulled off their sacking of Twickenham despite only turning up for the last twenty minutes, their enterprise and brio during that late period of the Championship's second game was enough to justify them the points. Quite how England's wheels fell off so spectacularly, Brian Ashton will probably never know; but if it keeps occurring, as it did against the Italians in Rome, then his time free for pondering will rapidly increase. The unemployed-sitting-on-the-sofa-watching-daytime-TV kind of time, that is.

While the post-World Cup blues have suckered England once again, the new-look French have come haring out of the traps, playing some of the free-flowing rugby that used to be such a quintessential part of their game. In particular a livewire back three of Cédric Heymans, Vincent Clerc and Julien Malzieu/Aurélien Rougerie has contributed to their impressive start - Clerc's five tries already put him only three behind an 80-year-old tournament record.

Heymans, a winger whom I greatly admire, but a full-back of dubious pedigree, has broken the shackles of his indecision and is penetrating the line from the No15 position with an insouciant swagger (just watch France's third try here). Clerc, so lethal in denying Ireland at the last in 2007, is as deadly a finisher as anyone currently operating in the world game, and has the quicksilver feet to damage most sides. England will be attempting to bag him early at the weekend.

While some uncertainty remains around the pack, France's ability to hold their own up front whilst running in tries from all parts of the field makes them one of the teams to beat. However, just such a beating may be meted out by the Welsh in a few weeks' time, as Les Bleus will have to attempt to confirm their ascendancy by avoiding defeat in Cardiff in the final round of games.

After last year's abject campaign where Scotland were narrowly forced to accept the wooden spoon, the Welsh dragon has grown a leathery hide; although one which still sparkles with the odd jewel. Shane Williams is still dancing through defences (even when they put him into touch), while James Hook continues to look like a world class five-eighth. The real fillip, however, has been the return of Ryan Jones, whose captaincy and skill behind the scrum have shored up Wales' tight play. It is, of course, pretty handy to have the recently-retired Martyn Williams lurking around again too.

Whilst Ireland might justifiably claim that their late assault on the French means they cannot be discounted in what will probably be another tight Championship, they find themselves in the same uncomfortable position as England. Close analysis does not treat either team well. Scotland have been heartbreakingly unenterprising, while the Italians' brute force and increasing proficiency seem destined to come to naught this year, possibly until Scotland visit the Stadio Flaminio in March.

So, with just two games played, it's looking like Wales versus France, just like it was in 2005. Only this time the French will travel to Cardiff, where they will have to be on their game to avoid getting burned. Once again, the dragon is roaring.

In Harm's Way

Steve Harmison has looked less like a shadow of his former fast bowling self than a fart trying to imitate a hurricane in the last twelve months. His wide to kick-off the Ashes will go down as the most famous misfire in English Test history; but every big-hearted trier is only ever a good towling down and a bottle of Lucozade Sport away from a shot at redemption, and Harmy is looking like he might have strapped his sights on this time.

After toiling at Colombo for figures of 3 for 111, Harmison's detractors had only to look at the surface to see what a stirling effort he had put in. Taking three wickets on a track worthy of the grim reaper after six months without a Test appearance was one thing, but chalking up over 40 overs in an innings on the subcontinent for the second time was quite another. For a man who has been accused of a rather lackadaisical approach to touring, it was timely riposte.

Onward to the third Test, and England's last chance of saving their place next to Australia at the top table, where 'Steady' Steve, as he'll probably not henceforth be known, is again right on the spot. Figures of 13-2-28-3 at the close of day one suggest that Harmison may well be motoring back to the sort of lethal consistency that once made him the fearsome fairy atop the fast bowling tree, and England's success in engineering a great Sri Lankan escape will probably rest on his broad Geordie shoulders.

Barring such an outcome, an impressive showing here and some target practice against the Kiwis will hopefully give England's big man the best chance of showing the watching cricketing world what he can do again when the Proteas come a-calling next Summer...

Favourites Dazzled by Northern Lights

Deftly sidestepping my last post on the dominance of the southern hemisphere, two giants of the northern game delivered hammer blows to antipodean rugby in a barnstorming World Cup quarter final weekend. Australia and the overwhelming favourites New Zealand were sent tumbling out of what is cranking up to be an outstanding tournament - setting up a repeat of 2003's Anglo-Gallic last four clash, and potentially clearing a path to the trophy for this year's form team: South Africa.

As the events of Saturday dramatically unfolded it became increasingly clear that we had been watching two games of incredible moment. Bernard Laporte's Redemption Blues will have left livid marks across the hearts and souls of many a Kiwi, and the recriminations will surely not be long in coming; but it was the English assault on their oldest enemy that was the more impressive, as unexpected as it was timely.

The odds on such an outcome as Saturday morning dawned must have been enticing. France were clinging to memories of their famous 1999 humbling of the All Blacks at Twickenham, having conceded over 100 points during two meetings between the teams in June. England, like Les Bleus runners-up in their group, had the withdrawal of Andy Farrell from Brian Ashton's original XV to contend with, as well as suggestions that the Aussies were less than daunted by the prospect of facing the English back line.

Yet as the dust settled on the opening exchanges, it became clear that England's early-tournament hesitancy had been banished. Opting to revert to traditional strengths, white shirts pounded into gold again and again, disrupting Australian phases, shaking the confidence of the world's second ranked team. Ashton's charges were emboldened as the ball was transferred efficiently if not electrically through the attack, a renewed purpose infusing their play; and then came the detonation of the Australian scrum.

It's clear now that the tests posed by Fiji, Wales, Japan and Canada were not quite the best preparation for Matt Dunning, Stephen Moore and Guy Shepherdson. As England's front row, powered by the man-mountain, Andrew Sheridan, ground repeatedly against the head, cracks appeared more devastating than the San Francisco fault line. And with Lewis Moody crashing into the breakdown, Nick Easter punching holes in the Australian defence, and Simon Shaw even displaying a cute eye for an offload, England's front eight supremacy left their opponents floored.

Not that it wasn't tight. The tension was almost paralysing as the minutes ticked away: and when Stirling Mortlock cocked his boot for a siege gun effort from way out on the left, a nation crossed everything it had to cross. But despite Jonny's errant kicking, and the inability to cross the try-line (though Mike Catt was a dropped pass and five yards from doing so), the lads sneaked home, worthy winners, huge drifts of pent-up frustration sliding from their shoulders. Bloody fantastic, and almost as exhausting to watch!

And then came the drama of Cardiff. Quite why the Kiwis played such a narrow game, picking and driving into a staggering French Resistance, with the calibre of the backs they had lining up outside, I don't know. But that mercurial cockerel, still recovering from its Argentine bullocking, crows on, and will fancy its chances against England. With both teams building their way into form, we could be set for an enthralling crescendo next weekend.

The winners in all this, other than in the immediate sense, must be South Africa. Jake White has navigated his team's path smoothly through to the semis, keeping his star performers fresh, and chalking up some impressive displays in the doing. While they will surely need to play better than against Fiji to end Argentina's continuing fairytale, the final beckons. And even if their performance arcs continue upwards, England and France must face a mighty Bok standing in the way of their quest for glory...

So where's it all going wrong?

England's RWC travails have left most of us wondering whether someone had significantly changed the rules since the last time out. A stumbling performance against the US Eagles was followed by bald failure in the face of South Africa's (not inconsiderable) threat. But for all the menace of the Boks, more worrying was England's paucity of ideas, pedestrian running and inept execution. The wheels haven't just fallen off; the transmission appears to have bust too.

Stoic resistance was one characteristic of Friday's drubbing - and defensively we fought pretty well, managing to head off Habana and co for the most part of the first half. However, in possession, not only were penetrative moves at a premium, but attempted incursions often became shambolic retreats, the ball slipping through groping fingers, bouncing of body parts, and compounding the already parlous lack of ideas.

How has this happened on Ashton's watch? A coach renowned for his ability to get players' hands on the ball and minds in gear, he has been reduced to piecing together a physically intimidating, but mentally slow, team of hasbeens and hopefuls with little opportunity to fine-tune their thinking. That said, even if they were all on the same wavelength, the low level of skill represented by the white shirt currently would probably see any semblance of sophisticated rugby remain an island in a sea of turgid forward play.

A case in point must be Andy Farrell, for all that I think he is a good player. His speed of thought at times cannot be matched by his speed of hand (and the first isn't particularly lightning), forcing him to try things that are patently not on. Giving away possession helps release pressure on a defending team and England as a whole have been guilty of basic mistakes that let their opponents of the hook. Amateurish errors and sloppy penalties have rendered what game plan we do have effectively null and void - the fact that no one appears to be running lines, attempting to outwit defences, or offloading effectively in the tackle shouldn't mean that simple passing through the hands is beyond us.

With the honourable exception of Jason Robinson, who played like blood and thunder against the Springboks, and Olly Barkley, who missed the most recent outing, we look glaringly ill-equipped to take on the top nations at this tournament. It's to be hoped that a certain Mr. Wilkinson will return to the fold for the Samoa game, if only for his ability to extract points in the face of the most stubborn resistance, while a fit Barkley wouldn't go amiss either. However, Ashton perhaps needs to go with his gut from now on, and stop attempting to balance old and new ideologies. Only by freeing his players from their mental shackles (and sharpening up their basic skills) will England be able to endure at this World Cup now.

The Man with the Golden Grin

Out of the fire, for now, and into the glare of the cameras, Steve McClaren must be feeling like a man who's lost VD and discovered a lotion that makes him irresistibly attractive (and my, what a powerful unguent that would have to be).

Although it's fair to say injuries played their part in the renaissance enacted on Wembley's immaculate surface, the coach must be chuffed to bits with the way things panned out. Recalling Emile Heskey, who hasn't exactly set the world alight at Wigan, was a bold move, but the link play of old between him and Owen was soon justifying McClaren's decision. Perhaps it was the familiarity of the partnership, as Owen put in two vintage goal-scoring displays - pleasing for Newcastle fans as much as for those of England.

With Frank Lampard and Owen Hargreaves' enforced absences McClaren's charmed week led him to stumble upon another perfect match - albeit one with a lot less history. Gerrard and Barry can never have occupied the centre of England's midfield together before, but the way they dovetailed was fuel for the fire of those who claim Lampard can no longer be accommodated as first choice (myself included). Barry's strength and composure on the ball enabled him to break down play, keep possession and then link with the attack; and while Gerrard was quiet by his own high standards, he clearly enjoyed the freedom given him further up the pitch.

Whether Barry or Heskey will able to retain their places once Hargreaves and Rooney have returned from injury remains to be seen. Barry certainly has the stronger case, and if the rise of the Villains propagated under Martin O'Neil continues, then he seems only likely to garner more plaudits. Heskey is surely a little too one-paced to trouble the likely opposition at Euro 2008 (presuming we finish the job and qualify), and his goal-scoring is unlikely to ever reach 'prolific'. But for now, McClaren seems to have found a couple of spark plugs to light his way out of the darkness.

The Platitudinous World of Fat Frank

Fingers crossed. That seems to be about as deep as Frank Lampard's tactical philosophy goes. Following the kind of no-frills performance that gives competency a bad name (there is, after all no shame in being competent, as long as that's all one aspires to be), Pobre Frank, he of the post-World Cup wounded pride, decided that the best way to get the fans back on side, and really show his commitment to the England cause, was to was to roll out a few of the old shibboleths.

It was like wandering into a fully-stocked candy shop of footballing clichés. "I'll have a pound from the 'we've got to keep our heads up' jar please, oh, and a handful of 'hopefully things will start to go our way', thanks..." This self-serving junk is the stock in trade of many a sportsman, but after the umpteenth pitiful performance from a man supposedly locked in a till-the-death tussle with Steven Gerrard - the only man currently worth the lion on the shirt - for one of two central midfield slots, it really begins to stick in the craw.

On Saturday Lampard again appeared to go about his business as if merely hovering around the final third of the pitch was indication enough of his ability. He may have picked up the runner-up gong to Ronaldinho in the 2005 World Player of the Year award by pinging in twenty yard pot-shots against whichever worthies happened to be caught in Chelsea's opulent maw week-in-week-out, but as a good few years in the England team have demonstrated, that does not an international player necessarily make. Not a clear-the-decks midfield dynamo, a la Roy Keane or latterly Owen Hargreaves, nor a puppeteer, like Cristiano Ronaldo or Zidane, Lampard seems to get by on a fairly quotidian range of delights. He is not known for his Beckhamesque passing - sure he can knock neat one-twos, but so can just about every player in the Premiership - while his aerial threat is certainly not manifest for someone who stands 6'3'' (barring, perhaps, his decent nod in the opening fixture of Euro 2004 against France). Okay, Lamps has been known to lamp the odd scorcher, but his strike rate in this field of endeavour is not always flattering, viz. World Cup 2006 (over twenty shots: no goals).

Against the doughty but limited Israelis, England's best chance, created by Gerrard, was frittered away by Lampy Jnr, his feet stumbling to get the ball under control as goalkeeper Dudu Aoute smothered with ease. When opportunity knocked again in the second half, Lampard's header wide could better be described as a deflection. The debate about whether Lampard and Gerrard can play together in the centre seems to have become one of how to fit Gerrard in without hurting Fat Frank's feelings, and even plonked out on the wing Stevie G outshone his erstwhile sidekick. Surely it wouldn't have taken much of a leap in strategic thought to have removed Lampard, brought Gerrard inside, and put Aaron Lennon back out on the right where he belongs. It needn't have mattered who was introduced on the left; even the largely unambitious Stuart Downing's presence would have restored the balance. The compromise that has seen both McClaren and Sven fudge the question must surely be jettisoned.

But then, it's understandable that the England coach is in a quandary when even the venerable Al Hansen professes a desire to keep having a bash at solving the problem (is that the sound of fingers crossing again). If Hansen needs a list of alternatives, perhaps Joey Barton can help draw one up for him...

Cutting the (French) mustard

Juxtapose, for a second, England's performance of two weeks ago in Dublin, against today's versus France. To heap opprobrium on England for their deficiencies in the Ireland match does an injustice to the levels of skill shown by their opponents at a wet and windy Croke Park, but if there were few sparks of life in that starkly stuttering performance, the corpse was well and truly reanimated to a rousing backdrop of 'Swing Low' this afternoon.

While I felt that there were signs of a willingness to try something new in the defeat to the Irish, with the big men in green marauding up front, and O'Gara pulling England this way and that with his kicking, there was little opportunity to evaluate whether the rose had any chance of blooming again soon or not. But from Toby Flood's early (and successful) chip and chase, through some of David Strettle's quicksilver footwork and George Chuter(!)'s backhanded offload in open play, right the way to Sean Geraghty's pinwheeling mid-tackle offload, minutes after entering the fray, there was an invigorating sense of 'he who dares wins' about England's play against France.

That there were so many errors in the game (even Brian Moore blanched at some of the skill levels on display, old quick-fingered virtuoso that he once was...) perhaps provided the best indicator that England were playing off the cuff, giving it some air - although Josh Lewsey took that mandate a little too far when he launched a pass so misguided it would have provoked guffaws at a colts match. For all of Nick Easter's impressive yardage, his two attempted 'hikes' from the back of the scrum came off badly, while there were some awful periods of turnover ping-pong in the first half; though this admittedly relied in part on some gracious return gestures in the shambles stakes by the French. Yet, it has become increasingly clear that 15 muscular hominids crunching into each other, phase after phase, does not only make for a dour spectacle, but is also less likely to bring results than it once was. Going long, as NFL Quarterbacks have it, helps to stretch teams, and quick offloads, cut-out passes, and high-speed switches all exist on the fine line between success and failure.

The most heartening aspects of England's victory - and boy, were they joyous - were the contributions of the two young stand-offs, Flood and Geraghty, who both played as if the legend of Jonny Wilkinson had never been written, let alone has a few chapters left to run. When Ashton picked his first squad as head coach, I voiced the opinion that while the fly halves of Newcastle and London Irish respectively may one day inhabit the same empyrean sphere that Jonny and Daniel Carter rule largely unchallenged, they were surely too callow for that day to come any time soon. Well, it's too early for superlatives, clearly, but Flood exuded supreme confidence in his decision making, while Geraghty made his presence felt like an electric heater dropped into a bath, all sparks and heat, slicing through the French midfield like so much Gallic butter. The only aberrations (if they were such) can have been Flood's two missed penalties, which, had they been scored, would have pushed England's total towards a (probably undeserved) rout.

So, plenty to be cheery about, from a fixture that loomed almost as menacingly as the Irish did. With a Wales scorned up next, some lessons in consistency and handling will need to be learned in training, without attenuating the free-flowing ideals that infused the best of England's moments today. I don't know about you, but I fancy munching on some Welsh rarebit this Saturday...