THE HERALD REPORTS

Scots fans acceptance of defeat shows the depths the sport has sunk


NEIL DRYSDALE November 10 2008
The death of a parent tends to induce a proper perspective about other matters in the world. When I walked out of Murrayfield on Saturday evening, it was difficult to feel overly downcast about the scale of Scotland's latest mauling at the hands of New Zealand, if only because the experience resembled watching a re-run of a depressing old movie.

The All Blacks came, they saw and only fitfully conquered, but were helped by a familiar plethora of basic mistakes and lack of killer instinct from Frank Hadden's men, which meant that while 32-6 was perhaps an unfair reflection of the contest, many of us on the periphery started preparing our reports at the half-time interval.

What surprised me, however, was the equanimity of the vast majority of the 51,000 crowd, who had endured an absurdly late kick-off, frozen weather, allied to another tryless effort from the Scots, and yet seemed to regard the outcome as acceptable.


En route to the traffic congestion nightmare that is Haymarket, I heard several of the Barbourati and Pringlettes, exchanging their opinions of the match and one could almost have forgotten the extent of the defeat. To wit: "I think the boys did really well. We had these All Blacks scared."

Or: "Well, Samantha, that was nothing to be ashamed about."

Or, maybe most surreally: "If you take away the four tries, we were the better team."

These, then, are the depths to which the sport has sunk in less than 20 years in Scotland. Back in 1990, when David Sole's troops travelled to the Southern Hemisphere, they knocked the stuffing out of their Kiwi hosts in the second Test and, but for some, ahem, controversial refereeing decisions in the All Blacks' favour, the Scots would have secured a thoroughly merited victory rather than lose 21-18.

But that offered not a shred of consolation to the tough-as-teak Sole, who subsequently said: "Not winning was desperately disappointing, it was incredibly frustrating. A few things didn't go our way, like when Finlay Calder was judged offside, and for once he wasn't. But that is the reality about rugby. People have to earn respect. I always remember Ian McGeechan's words when we arrived in New Zealand that we would be given nothing out there, except what we did on the field. A lot of players have a fair bit to go to understand that."

The words are as prescient now as they were in the mid-1990s. In the build-up to Saturday's clash, a slew of breathless stories adorned the Scottish media, whereby the public were informed that the Scots had "a licence to thrill", which helps explain why it was devilish tricky to derive more than a quantum of solace from their overall display.

But there again, expectations have been gradually scaled down - some critics of the SRU claim the process has been orchestrated by past members of the governing body - to the extent that much of yesterday's coverage treated the 26-point loss against a near second-string New Zealand ensemble as if it was something to be proud about. Of course, it wasn't, and the faces of Jason White and Mike Blair at the end spoke volumes.

So what are we to make of these supporters for whom respectability and/or damage limitation is the prime objective? Are they merely being honest about Scotland's position in the global game or does their compliance in mediocrity contribute to the malaise? With regard to the man who brought the match ball out to Murrayfield on Saturday and whose unceasing quest for perfection, most of it spent in a shroud of anonymity, has ensured that he has entered the ranks of sporting folklore.

Chris Hoy could probably have made a decent fist of life on the rugby stage had he so chosen. But instead, he veered in an entirely different direction and displayed the attributes which are still deficient in Frank Hadden's squad. Even before he sped to a trio of Olympic gold medals in Beijing this summer, Chris had experienced being king of the world four years previously in Athens, in the most pressurised scenario imaginable.

One after another, cyclists in front of him had shattered personal bests and broken world records. All that Hoy could do was watch and wait and ignore any extraneous issues he couldn't control. He did so, magnificently, with a steely-eyed show of consummate competitiveness, impervious to the knowledge that the tiniest slip would wreck his aspirations.

Ultimately, it was what professional athletes dream of and what they strive towards. But, whereas Hoy has mastered his craft to the nth degree, our rugby luminaries still appear incapable of completing the journey. Time and again, opportunities are carved out, as indeed happened against New Zealand. But, just as regularly, basic errors, the minuscule mistakes which spell the difference between scoring a try and knocking on with the line at your mercy, return to haunt them.

These failings wouldn't be tolerated in any other profession, so why should so many Scottish fans have been charitable when Sean Lamont committed a fresh-air kick with a touchdown for the taking this weekend?

Until that question is answered honestly, both by the players themselves, and the patrons, Scottish rugby will have to continue to gaze admiringly at Hoy and wonder: "What if?"

This article was posted on 10-Nov-2008, 08:36 by Hugh Barrow.