THE SUNDAY HERALD REPORTS

Full steam ahead
ROARING LION: A legend in a blue shirt and in a red one, Finlay Calder has his sights set on elected office at the SRU, discovers Alasdair Reid
IN FOUR weeks' time the jury of Scotland's rugby clubs will pass judgment on Finlay Calder's suitability to be president of the SRU when they assemble for the governing body's annual meeting at Murrayfield, but for the moment the former Scotland and Lions captain is musing on the verdict that might someday be handed down by an even higher authority.

"I hope," he says carefully, "that when I come to meet my maker He'll say that I was a fair man. Whatever else I might have done, I'd like to be thought of as that."

With his eternal salvation in mind, the rest of us should probably offer the prayer that Calder's maker felt no particular allegiance to the Australian rugby team beaten by the Lions in the notorious Battle of Ballymore, the second Test of the 1989 series. The Lions' victory in Brisbane squared the series at one-all, but they did so with a performance of such eye-watering ferocity that Calder was briefly cast as the most hated sporting pom since the bodyline tour of Douglas Jardine and Harold Larwood 66 years earlier.

That consideration aside, Calder enjoys a reputation for integrity almost unmatched by any other player of his status. It speaks volumes about his approach to rugby that he is here, sipping coffee in a cafe near his Borders home, rather than exploiting his standing in the game on the Lions' hospitality circuit. To him, rugby still runs on love, not money.

"It's pretty well known that I don't crave media attention," he replies when asked why he isn't in South Africa. "I've nothing against those that do, but I'm just as happy watching a game between two second XVs as I am watching the Lions. I know that probably sounds trite, but that's just how it is."

Such apparent ambivalence belies his deeper enthusiasm and interest in the Lions' current venture. And, for that matter, the rising sense of horror he felt when the 2005 tour to New Zealand unfolded as the disaster he had anticipated before it even set off. Having studied the successes and failures of tourists past, he felt bewildered that Sir Clive Woodward could get the whole thing so hopelessly wrong.

"My main concern this year is that the Lions have to win and keep winning. The last tour was a complete and utter shambles; the results were woeful. This year's squad are actually carrying the very future of the Lions in their hands.

"They have to bring the brand back up, polish it up, make it more meaningful.

If we have two or three poor tours in succession then the professional clubs will start to question the wisdom of it all. There are competing forces and competing paymasters out there.

"In 1989, we took 30 players and five staff. When I saw what was happening in 2005 I could see what was coming. So many players were not going to be involved in games, which is when factions are created and people get homesick. I have a lot of time for Clive Woodward, but appointing Alastair Campbell as his spin doctor was a disaster. I'm so glad that the powers that be decided to get back to basics this year."

In his presidential bid it will probably earn Calder few votes to advertise the fact he considers the Lions tour of 1989 to be the highlight of his rugby career rather than the Scotland Grand Slam of the following year. Yet he is as typically blunt in that admission as he is with his contention that the pawky xenophobes who belt out their strangled renditions of Flower of Scotland at Murrayfield are guilty of the sort of out-of-date, bitter small-mindedness that has no place whatsoever in a modern Scotland.

For example, the Calcutta Cup match of 2004, when the entrance of the English team - who had only recently become world champions - was delayed by a ludicrously overblown pre-match routine that had all the cringe-worthiness of an episode of the White Heather Club.

Calder shudders at the memory. "It was like watching a remake of Bannockburn," he says. "It was a farce. It was a complete and utter shambles. As a Scotsman, it was humiliating. I came away from that so saddened by the day. We tried to humiliate England that day and it was completely out of order."

Eh, hang on a minute Fin. What about that slow march onto Murrayfield in 1990? Or the fact Scottish players wore Australia scarves at the England-Australia World Cup final the following year? Or that Will Carling was about as popular among Scottish players back then as Julie Kirkbride is among the voters of Bromsgrove right now?

"That was for then," he offers. "We've had devolution since. Look, I'll hold my hand up and admit that I was pretty pivotal to what went on in 1990, and proud to be so, but that was then. You can't use the same tactics 20 years on."

Significantly, Calder's presidential statement focuses on Ireland as the rugby nation Scotland should be trying to emulate. Yet it is not their Grand Slam nor Heineken Cup successes that most impress him, rather the maturity the country's rugby community demonstrated two years ago when they gave England a respectful welcome to Croke Park - a venue with far more historical resonance for the Irish than Murrayfield could ever have for the Scots.

Calder's rivals for the presidency are Jim Stevenson, who is seeking a second term in the office, and Jim Gracie, a long-serving Murrayfield apparatchik. Calder cannot match their administrative experience and is candid about the fact he has scant knowledge of the union's bureaucracy and inner workings. But, to a role that was redesignated as a largely ambassadorial function in the sweeping reorganisation four years ago, he would bring the quality of being a recognised character across the rugby world. Being blunt, recognition is not something either Gracie and Stevenson can often have experienced beyond Murrayfield.

Calder's manifesto is slim, but he is adamant that Scotland's elected officials should not attempt to grab back the powers they lost in 2005. "If the office of president has too much power then everyone will try to change things to suit themselves," he explains. "I'm happy with the supporting role. The president can't change anything, but he can raise points and ask questions. Primarily I see it as that. If there's something you vehemently disagree with then you can make it known. But actual power is minimal.

"As president, all I can try to do is try to set the tone and make suggestions about things. If they then come back to me and say: Finlay, with respect, you're a dear old boy but this is what we're doing,' I'll say that's fine. At least they'll know where I'm coming from."

Calder was one of four former Scotland captains who challenged the SRU's concentration on district sides in the early years of professionalism. They lost that battle, but he remains adamant that their cause was just and that the Union was guilty of squandering resources and goodwill on a flawed policy of bullying and marginalising top clubs.

"But we are where we are now," he stresses. "And there's no going back."

The presidential vote will be held on Saturday, June 27, the same day as the Lions' second Test against the Springboks. If Calder does become the friendly face of Scottish rugby then at least the Australians will be able to appreciate the iron

This article was posted on 31-May-2009, 06:56 by Hugh Barrow.