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Hugging, kissing and booing
Rugby365
Recently, they had old cricket footage on the television - South Africa against a mighty Australian side in 1948. In the first over of the first Test at Ellis Park, Cuan McCarthy had the great Arthur Morris caught by Hugh Tayfield. In the second over Jack Moroney was run out for 0. Australia were 2 for 2. They went on to win the match by an innings.
When Tayfield caught Morris, he threw the ball in the air, folded his arms and spoke to his team-mates while McCarthy went off to chat to Dudley Nourse at mid-off.
In 1981 South Africa played a resilient Irish side at Newlands. Danie Gerber scored a brilliant try and Naas Botha went over to congratulate him, seemingly patting him on the back. The referee, Frenchman Francis Palmade, blew sharply on his whistle and wagged an admonishing finger which said Cut that out. Afterwards Palmade said to me: "You do not allow that, do you? We are not soccer."
The other day I saw Rory Best, the Ulster hooker, fall on a soggy ball in a Heineken Cup match against Harlequins. His jubilant team-mates rushed to him to hug him. He looked uncertain about all of this and seemed to try to weave away for them.
And I remembered a great try scored by the All Blacks at Twickenham. Try scored, those big men turned and with blank faces jigged back to their side to receive the kick-off.
Palmade's warning would now fall on deaf ears and we have moved nearer the mores of the round-ball game. We act with great jubilation when a try is scored. We don't quite run around, skiing on our knees while team-mates dive on us, but we raise triumphant fists on the way to scoring, throw the ball away in triumph and then hug and carry on. Kisses are not unknown. Clearly we live in an era when Victorian puritanism is well and truly overthrown and emotions are given full - and public - rein.
That sort of exuberance possibly says that we are not used to scoring tries; it's an exciting novelty. But the blank-faced All Blacks made the scary statement that they had done this before and would do it again; it was all part of the job.
In that same match the referee - days before electronic assistance - ordered a drop-out to New Zealand when it seemed that a try had been scored. Those same All Blacks wheeled round, same blank faces, and ran back to receive the drop-out. No show of disappointment either.
No dissent, either. Now there are shows of defiance. Now captains are lauded if they can manipulate the referee, a la Sean Fitzpatrick. But then soccer seems to allow much dissent. Award a penalty and the referee is surrounded by crowding players who angrily disagree with him. The IRB has recently issued a directive to referees to act against dissent. The first Springbok sent off in a Test match, James Small was sent off by Ed Morrison for dissent in 1993.
In 1924 Albert Freethy of Wales was sent off at Twickenham, the first player sent off in a Test match. A match report noted that the England captain Wakers Wakefield did not try to intervene on his behalf. This was noted because it was normal practice for the opposing captain to suggest to a referee that he allow a -player to stay on. The Prince of Wales who was at the match offered to intervene on Brownlie's behalf. But he stayed off.
It is different now. Captains will suggest vigorously to a referee that he send a player off.
On Saturday, when Gloucester played London Irish, Olivier Azam, the Gloucester captain, suggested to the referee Dave Pearson that he sin-bin Chris Hala'ufia. The referee answered him quickly: "Don't come across and tell me give a yellow card." Lots of people would applaud the referee for that.
In the Heineken Cup Azam was accused of putting on an act to get Cardiff Blues wing Tom James sent off for a fairly feeble head-butt. Perhaps Azam - not an angel - needs a talking to about rugby's traditions and mores and the difference from soccer. Compatriot Palmade could help him.
The Irish are traditionally rambunctious and noisy, a talkative nation. But go to Thomond Park, the heart of working-man's rugby in Ireland, and listen when the opponents are kicking at goal. Listen hard and you will hear only silence. It is wonderful.
It is wonderful because outside of Ireland it is so unusual - unusual enough to put kickers off! That it is unusual is sad. But sadder still is the booing - whistling in France - at rugby matches. It must be sport's ugliest sound.
It was said of rugby that it differed from soccer in that it had hooligans on the field and gentlemen in the stands. That is less the case. There are hooligans on the stands. At a Stormers match against Saracens there was a time of silence observed at the start in honour of Tinkie Heyns, a great rugby gentleman who had died. The silence was pierced by an uncouth voice shouting Stormers. There are hooligans on the stands.
Perhaps it is the modern freedom to express yourself without restraint. It's the I-do-what-I-want generation. Perhaps it is professionalism.
Perhaps if the players are gentlemanly some of that my rub off on the general public. There is no reason why professionalism should kill sportsmanship.
Anybody lucky enough to see the match at Thomond Park between Munster and the All Blacks may just have seen the game played best in the amateur spirit in the professional era.
(Original HERE, didn't feel it appropriate to abridge)
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