Professional Hitmen
I remember a time when one could be penalised at a ruck for something called ‘bridging’. This offence involved entering a ruck where your player has been tackled, and leaning on the tackled player on the ground to shield the ball from the defenders. The law was that it had to be a fair squabble for the ball at the ruck, and that you would have to fight for ball retention.
The reason I call this to mind, is that last weekend’s Super 14 action, wherein this old interpretation of the law has been seemingly abandoned, reminded me of some of the pitfalls of how the postmodern game of rugby is being played.
The ruck is anything but a contest anymore. The old school of coaching where you were taught to pass the ball before being tackled is simply redundant. One can be tackled, and hold on to the ball for far longer than ever being allowed to in the past. The attacking team then simply dives in over the ball, and strict offside lines – which are now in force at the tackle too – means the defending team have little chance of contesting.
But there’s more. This year has seen the outlawing of rucking with the boots. I know how painful this can be, but there has been an adverse effect to the ruck – although the change of law is not the only reason for this.
Turnovers at rucks have become so rare, that defenders also just simply lie on the ball or on the wrong side, not to turn it over, but to slow it down to allow their defence to re-organise. They have no studs to fear, but, neither do they have a whistle to fear, as their strategy looks more and more similar to that of the attackers, and they can just fain an attempt to slowly roll away, as the ref shouts, “Roll away!”
The point of all this, is that this has meant a completely different game of rugby is being played.
A generation of over-gymed and bitterly ill-tempered robots have been raised up. They scream and shout when things don’t go their way at the ruck, and their greatest asset is their strength.
The old sin of ‘dying with the ball’ no longer exists. Pattern has largely replaced flair. The game looks more and more like Rugby League, and the old aggressive camaraderie of the game has transformed into the precocious tempers of professional and wealthy hitmen.
I have been speaking in generalisations of course. But I firmly believe that this weekend we watched a completely different game to the one that was played ten years ago. Better or worse? You decide.
By Chris Waldburger
