THE HERLAD REPORTS

HUGH MacDONALD, Chief Sportswriter February 04 2008
Only in rugby. A birthday celebration for a virile young man can normally expect to feature a French kiss. Andrew Henderson's 28th birthday ended with a Glesca kiss, in deference presumably to his club rather than his birthplace in Kent. The only concession to anything French was the recipient of Henderson malevolent nod after the visitors crossed the line for the first time, but not for the last, at Murrayfield yesterday. Damien Traille took Henderson's greeting on the chin. Or possibly the bridge of his nose.

It was all so unlike Henderson.

He is normally the sort of young man one would take home to meet mother without mater having to bow to the necessity of wearing a helmet. He is so affable he is almost temperamentally unsuited to a sport that revels in confrontation.

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He normally restricts his collisions to the eminently legal.

But strange things can happen on birthdays and on the day of 50th caps. Henderson started the afternoon in unusual fashion, leading his team-mates out. The unassuming centre was a reluctant centre of attraction. He was left briefly on the pitch alone to take the plaudits.

He looked sheepish. He was later to look wolfish, at least to Traille.

This was a difficult match for Henderson. Its aftermath may be no less vexing. It may be some time before his 51st cap comes along, given the likely intervention of the rugby constabulary. In addition to his butt, he also had a childish pull at a Frenchman's strip after the award of a penalty. This was innocuous but perhaps indicative of his occasional discomfort.

Yet, for the rest of the day, he gave a Henderson performance.

He was at the top of the tackle count. Once he joined with Mike Blair in throwing a recalcitrant Frenchman towards the stands.

He took the crash ball with relish. He was always on the shoulder of the debutant Nick De Luca. But his impromptu performance of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde oddly seemed to serve as a template for his side.

This was an awful, dispiriting day for the Scots. It started with a pipe band who stopped playing during the national anthem. It continued with a Scots team who stopped playing during the match.

Henderson had talked earlier in the week about a birthday wish that revolved around the notion that this should be a day to look back on with satisfaction. There was little of that for the centre and his mates.

Dan Parks, who kicks with all the consistency of an arthritic mule, set the tone immediately. He belted the kick-off out of play, immediately putting Scotland on to the back foot. He missed a crucial kick when the gap between the Scots and an increasingly confident France was still bridgeable. He kicked brilliantly for touch on occasion. But this is simply not enough for a stand-off at Test level.

Both Parks and Henderson were behind a pack that more than achieved parity. It was doubly frustrating, then, that Henderson and his mates could not make a breakthrough with ball in hand.

This frustration could not account for Henderson's nod to Traille, who incidentally emerged in the press room later blessedly unscathed.

It happened too early to be a result of any emotional imbalance, though Henderson might have been miffed at the forward pass missed by referee Alain Rolland.

The Irish official seemed to be limbering up for duty as an umpire for the Super Bowl as he failed to note a succession of passes that were not so much forward but downright pushy. This was a source of irritation to the Scots, as were later decisions by the official. Frank Hadden, the Scotland coach, was quietly unimpressed by Rolland. One suspects he will this week express his dissatisfaction with his team's performance in louder tones to the under-achievers in a Scotland jersey.

Henderson may be rendered deaf to these entreaties by the intervention of the authorities.

He was, yesterday, all too aware of what he had done. As Scottish players trooped into the press room to express with some honesty their disappointment at their performances, Henderson stayed in the dressing-room.

"He is in rehab," said an official.

Presumably for anger management.

His reflection on a moment when he lost his head and Traille found it could thus be made without the chirruping of excited pressmen.

The noise outside was all in a decidedly French accent.

The bands played. The visitors sang. The Marseillaise rattled the stands with all the force of a prop on speed. The French players jogged in after completing a joyous lap of honour.

Henderson could merely be imagined sitting with his head in his hands. And they can't cite him for that.

This article was posted on 4-Feb-2008, 08:53 by Hugh Barrow.