So apparently, we won the rugby against Fiji on Saturday. 35-11, I believe. But there, I’m afraid, my knowledge of rugby stops. And so does my interest, if I’m honest, unless pizza and beer and a room full of friends is included. Sorry, call me unpatriotic (I don’t mind – that’s not even accurate) but I’m really not too bothered about it – fancy-schmancy TV ad campaigns notwithstanding.
I think I might be harbouring some deep unspoken resentment of the game thanks to my being forced to play it at school. I’m actually quite sporty, but rugby just wasn’t my bag. Too beefy to be a back and too small to be a tight-head prop (which is where I played). And I had very sensitive ears that hurt a bit when they got pressed too hard up against the other chap’s breeze block of a head. I really was a rather delicate artsy flower.
So there I was, aged 14. A muddy playing field, rain lashing down and water oozing in through the bottom of my inherited rugby boots. I didn't want to be there. But that's school for you. You WILL play rugby, Morrison. I got mullered most of the time and eventually had to retire from my illustrious career when I broke my ring finger. Being a budding clarinettist and all-round musician with a slightly gentle disposition, I thought that was enough of a warning to give up and stick to more artistic pursuits (and tennis) instead.
That being said, I still have my old school rugby shirt and occasionally, when nobody's looking, I wear it around the house. I absolutely love it: it's very thick, warm and has that sort of rugged beauty that old rugby kit should have: it's battered, torn in one or two places; just how it should be.
Why am I taking a stroll down Memory Lane towards my own 22? Not solely to mix my metaphors, no. Here's the thing: it's struck me how it's evolved into a slightly different game to what it was even a few years back. Does anyone else get flashes of Dolph Lundgren in Universal Soldier? These guys are all massive – freaks of nature – in the best sense; beasts who look like they could withstand missiles being fired into them. If they were to utter anything, they'd probably grunt, “That tickles.”
Real men versus poster boys
A few years back, I'm not sure that was the case. Take poster boy Danny Cipriani. Incredible talent aside, I can't be the only person who noticed that he and a handful of others used to jog model-like onto the field with blow-dried hair, squeezed into what essentially looked like muscle tops. And, heaven preserve us, they had shoulder pads. Perhaps there is still a smidgen of padding now, but nowhere near what it used to be.
Not that I pretend to understand American football, but I always had a silent pride in the fact that the yanks come on to the pitch with shoulder pads the size of California and visor-off motorcycle helmets when, by contrast, the only thing separating our lads from a crushed collarbone was a bit of cotton. Rugby is a man's game, played by real men (and, therefore, not by me).
Thankfully, though, there seems to have been a shift. The slick tops (which admittedly were introduced to stop a load of shirt yanking nonsense) have been replaced and now look a lot more fit for purpose, to use a corporate phrase; they don't look like the just-stepped-out-of-the-salon “oooh, aren't I pretty?” tops of a few years back.
250,000 Miles of Design Perfection
But here are a few facts you might not know about this latest kit. For instance, in the past 10 months alone, six new kits have been released. The latest incantation – the one England wore against Fiji on Saturday – had been through 220 hours of testing and racked up an astonishing 250,000 air miles in perfecting the design, which includes a 3D embossed rose. Such is the technology these days that the kit also includes ball-deadening grip placement which has been adjusted to suit the position in which the wearer is playing. In spite of this, though, it’s still the lightest kit that has ever been manufactured.
The objection, though, is that the RFU is seeking to extort money from fans by bringing out half a dozen kits in such a short space of time, with prices ranging from £55 to £120 – the most expensive one being a commemorative special edition shirt. I have a solution for that, though, and it’s not exactly rocket science: don’t buy it.
I discovered that RFU chief executive, Ian Ritchie, agrees: “People will buy them if they want to buy them. If nobody wants to buy the one at £120, that is the call of the consumer. Nobody is forcing anybody to buy it, but we think it is a very special shirt. All the funds from it go back into the game.”
What does skipper Chris Robshaw (of Lucozade mask fame, if you’re even less of a rugby fan than me) think of it all?
“It’s truly an honour to have the World Cup shirt on. Over the last three-and-a-half, four years there’s been a lot spoken about the tournament. Of course a lot of rugby is judged on the World Cup and those are the games that people remember. To be part of one in England puts us in an extremely privileged position.”
Goodo. I’m not going to argue with him. He’s massive.
Ashley is a copywriter, editor and blogger
