I could be watching any one of four codes of football on television – and Alpha would be none the wiser. This is despite the fact that two of our boys work in AFL – one of those four codes.
Having been very loosely associated years ago with the Saskatchewan Roughriders (winners of the Grey Cup in 2013), Alpha might recognise a fifth code as being distinctive. In fact one of the possible reasons for an agnostic approach to the other four is that they all have one characteristic in common: no crash helmets and other bulky bodily armour.
So because of this disinterest, and in order to get my foot in the door with the TV’s remote, I suggest that we jointly view the national anthems prior to the Rugby World Cup final. Alpha is, if nothing else, a keen student and critic of vocal music.
Even to those not familiar with it, the South African national anthem can be immediately impressive. Its musical structure is pleasing and it is quite apparent that it represents and celebrates the a coming-together of several cultural, racial and ethnic groups, dubbed the Rainbow Nation by Desmond Tutu. On the TV we see and feel that individual players build themselves passionately in and around the anthem. The Springbok captain, Siya Kolisi – on the end as the Steadicam sweeps down their line – raises his head to the heavens as he sings, eyes closed. I smile out loud and recognise that the Springboks win on the anthems.
Theirs is also a good stirring sing and happens to have a special place in my family’s musical repertoire. Three of our four children learned it in preparation for the Woden Valley Youth Choir’s performance of it on the occasion of Nelson Mandela’s being awarded an honorary doctorate at the ANU. This event has legendary status in the choir’s history and in the recollections of its choristers due to the perceptible grace and favour Mandela demonstrated during the occasion.
As I have said before in a piece on this blogg, I come to rugby union with a particular vested interest. My father – Gordon George Gregory – played for England 13 times in the period 1931-1934. (They won the championship in 1934.) With England featuring in the recent final it is therefore impossible for me to be just a dispassionate observer.
About the only anecdote about his rugby I remember hearing directly from my father concerned the Welsh hooker who knocked him out at a lineout in front of the grandstand at Cardiff Arms Park. What impressed my father was not so much the blow as the fact that, despite that Welshman being “the best hooker going around”, he was never picked for Wales again. Incidentally, I wonder what my father would have thought of the contemporary Head Injury Assessment protocol to which he was not subject and which can have such a significant impact on the course of a match these days?
As a schoolboy and a few times thereafter I was a scrum-half – in the current parlance: a number 9. Those were the days when the ball had to be put in down the middle of the tunnel, with the loose head feed being regarded as being sufficient advantage – your own hooker was, after all, on the nearside! This meant that the scrummaging competition began with the put-in, with a good concerted shove being the only way one might win the ball against the head.
These days it is apparently accepted that the scrum-half will feed the ball into his own front row and it is only thereafter that the scrummaging contest begins. In the recent final, it only needed the scrum to be partly rotated one way or the other for a penalty to be instantly awarded. The expert commentators tut-tutted about the pressure that Dan Cole was said to be under at tighthead – the fulcrum of the scrum’s rotation.
What I don’t understand is how and why it can be assumed that the rotation was due to superior weight and forward drive. In the old days (there’s that phrase again!) wheeling the scrum could be used as an attacking or defensive ploy, with the tighthead certainly being the fulcrum but the circular motion being attributable not to his weakness but to a planned differential motive force along the two sides of the scrum. Until I understand the ins and outs of scrum penalties I will believe they should be worth only one point if converted.
Incidentally, although the scrummaging led directly to several points, it was not in my view the main contributor to the Springboks’ superiority over England. What impressed me most was their line speed and discipline in defence; no matter how often the English tried to rumble forward they found it difficult to get over the advantage line, including the much-vaunted 13, Manu Tuilagi, so potent against the All Blacks but muted throughout the final. And quite frequently the Springboks’ 9 was in the defensive line but facing the evolving play in such a way as to prevent or intercept a cut-out pass.
After such esoteric paragraphs as those, is it surprising that Alpha can’t be bothered with the code?
So back to the music which preceded the scrummaging. While South Africa’s anthem is complex and clearly reflective of more recent events, England’s is ancient, familiar, unitary. In contrast, supporters of Scotland, Ireland and Wales sing, respectively, Flower of Scotland, Ireland’s Call (“From the four proud provinces”), and Land of My Fathers – all of which out-music and out-emote God Save the Queen.
Perhaps the higher level of vitality and musicality of those three anthems is sublimated in the notion of the British and Irish Lions, helping to explain the deep attachment many – including myself – have to that brand.
I can’t resist a final politico-musical observation. If Boris and the daft Brexiteers get their way, the Lions’ matches might in future be the only occasions on which those four nations do anything together and in harmony. However The Power of Four failed to take off in 2005 so what supporters of the Lions might actually sing together in union is still to be determined.
