From champs to chumps, in three short years

This blog, of course, is chiefly concerned with the goings-on of the footballing world; but very occasionally, it will branch out to discuss one or two of the author's other sporting passions. For just as the fortunes of England's football team frequently provide a mixture of hope and torment, so do those of the nation's cricket and rugby union sides: and it is to the latter that we turn today. For following Saturday afternoon's humiliation at the hands of Argentina, English rugby now finds itself at comfortably its lowest ebb since before the revolution instigated by Geoff Cooke, and which would ultimately lead to World Cup glory in Sydney three years ago, kicked in during the months following England's inept elimination from the inauguaral World Cup in 1987.

Predictably, one man has been singled out as being responsible for the national team's astonishing fall from grace: head coach, Andy Robinson. Robinson, it must be acknowledged, has long borne the appearance of a man out of his depth, and promoted well beyond his station: during his time at the helm, there has never been a sense that he really knew how to reinvigorate the world champions, and take them in a new direction. Moreover, there must even be some degree of doubt as to his true coaching credentials: for although he led Bath to a glorious, one-off triumph away to Brive in the 1998 Heineken Cup final, their results during most of the rest of his time in charge were distinctly underwhelming.

But it would be woefully unfair, and entirely insufficient, simply to lay the blame for England's pathetic state wholly upon Robinson's woebegone shoulders: the causes lie far deeper, and the seeds of his side's downfall were sown before he even took over. The red rose's triumph in Australia was down in no small part to the policy of Robinson's predecessor, Sir Clive Woodward: namely, to continually select a settled, experienced side, and allow it to gain in confidence and authority by gorging itself on one victory after another. As a result, the players developed a tremendous sense of familiarity in one another: something which was never better demonstrated than during the pre-planned 'Zigzag' line-out move which led to Jonny Wilkinson's decisive drop goal in the dying moments of the final.

But Woodward's strategy also effectively barred the door to new players emerging and becoming integrated in the team. Given the desperate, yearning need for England to at last break through their historical barriers, and end the suffocating strangehold of the southern hemisphere over the game, his approach was entirely understandable: he would be judged solely on the World Cup. Had his team failed there, it would hardly have been an excuse for him to take solace in having introduced new talent; just as it wasn't one either for John Mitchell of New Zealand, or Bernard Laporte of France, both of whose sides were comprehensively exposed by far more seasoned opponents at the semi-final stage.

But international rugby is such an unforgiving environment that, for any team to remain at or near the top, it must continually embrace new blood and refresh its approach. The 1995-7 All Blacks and 1997-8 Springboks both swept all before them with similarly settled teams to that which England enjoyed between 2001 and 2003: but in doing so, they became wholly reliant on a group of uniquely talented, experienced players. So when New Zealand's John Hart and South Africa's Nick Mallett were forced to replace individuals who either retired, were injured, or simply lost form, the consequences were calamitous: with the 1998 All Blacks and 1999 Springboks among the worst sides ever to represent their two proud, rich rugby nations. And Woodward's England, comfortably the oldest team ever to win the World Cup, predictably encountered precisely the same problem: when Martin Johnson, Neil Back and Jason Leonard retired, and Wilkinson and Richard Hill were injured, their replacements simply hadn't been readied for such a demanding stage.

To make matters worse, England's attacking approach had become steadily narrower and more conservative after reaching its zenith when Australia were humbled in Melbourne in June 2003: indeed, that they were nonetheless able to grasp the Cup having already commenced the long descent back to earth is not only an immense tribute to how accomplished the team had become, but also the state of fear and deference which had been established in opponents. That England, in spite of their notorious reputation for peaking between World Cups, rather than during them, could have developed such an aura that Australia were plainly proud of having pushed them so close on their own soil in the final was a total vindication of Woodward's insistence upon taking on the southern hemisphere as often as possible: and it would hardly be surprising if, with their opponents having won an incredible eleven such encounters in a row by the time they stepped out in Sydney, and four out of four against Australia, the expectation somewhere in the back of the Wallabies' minds was that all things being equal, it was about to become twelve on the spin too.

To some extent, England's triumph had, for all its undoubted magnificence, been something close to a brilliantly-executed con trick: with opponents fooled into believing in Woodward's team's inevitable omnipotence. But somewhere along the line, the attacking brio with which the coach had revolutionised his side's whole approach in the late 1990s and earlier part of this decade had been lost: and he himself had clearly run out of ideas. Having reached the peak, Woodward should have followed Johnson, Back and (before much longer) Leonard into retirement: instead, mistakenly, he held on. And while his rivals, most notably New Zealand's newly-appointed coach, Graham Henry, rapidly absorbed the lessons provided by the World Cup, and immediately set about putting them into practice, the newly annointed Sir Clive seemed, if anything, to become still more stubbornly wedded to his stereotyped conservatism: failing to introduce new players, and insisting on the same, tired old routines in training as his team fell into palpable decline.

First the team's long unbeaten record at Twickenham was lost, against Ireland; then, in a disastrous tour of the southern hemisphere during the summer, an exhausted set of players suddenly discovered how quickly they had fallen behind. Woodward seemed to try exactly the same thing as he had successfully done a year earlier: to take the All Blacks on up front with a forward-based game, before attempting a more all-court approach against the Wallabies; but his players were tired, and the world game had already moved on. England were thrashed in all three matches: and before long, their much-decorated coach would be gone.

But the problem was that precious time had already been wasted: for any new coach needs to be appointed at the start of a four-year cycle, not least because, should he prove demonstrably not up to the task, there is still the chance to dispense with his services after, say, two years before reviving under someone else. Thus Australia were able to recover from the bewildering ineptitude of Greg Smith's miserable period in charge between 1995 and 1997 by recruiting the brilliant, and still curiously underrated Rod Macqueen, who had a full two years in which to develop his hugely impressive 1999 World Cup winners. The Rugby Football Union would not be afforded any such luxury in the case of Robinson: for just as it would be premature in the extreme to wield the axe after only a year in charge, by the time two years had elapsed, it would already be dangerously close to the next global jamboree in France, with far too little time available for any successor to have a realistic hope of putting together a team capable of successfully defending the world crown.

As a result, Robinson's period in charge has been characterised by dithering indecision, not just by the coach himself, but those who appointed him too: never being clear whether to boldly rip up an old side and start anew, or follow Woodward's lead in prioritising the result over the performance. So the exciting Henry Paul was selected to face the Wallabies in November 2004, only to have his confidence shattered by being hauled off, extraordinarily, after just 24 minutes; and the Newcastle tyro, Mathew Tait, was given his debut in the cauldron of Cardiff's Millennium Stadium in February 2005, only to be scapegoated and dropped following the inept performance of his team: much to the understandable fury of his club coach, Rob Andrew. Similarly, heroes from the World Cup such as Jason Robinson, Mike Tindall and Ben Cohen have been at times persisted with, at others dropped, even when for much of the time their lack of form and confidence has been a constant.

Remarkably, even Lawrence Dallaglio was brought back into the fold last season: even though it represented an obvious look back, and was bound to undermine the position and authority of England's new captain, Martin Corry. Given such profoundly incoherent leadership from their coach, it should scarcely be surprising that his side have played so poorly for much of his spell at the helm: with the breathtaking ineptitude of their display against an equally shocking French side in March 2005 somehow surpassed when the two teams met again in this year's Six Nations, England falling to their heaviest defeat in Paris for thirty-four years.

But it must also be acknowledged that throughout, Robinson has been forced to endure a chaotic state of off-field affairs which would have sorely tested even a combination of Woodward, Henry and Bob Dwyer in their prime. In the years before the World Cup, Woodward had enjoyed an unprecedented degree of time with his players: some twenty-two training days in total, on top of the week leading up to each international. Given the narrowness of his side's triumph, he wanted this period increased to twenty-four days: but their clubs felt differently, successfully insisting on just sixteen days being allowed. This precipitated Woodward's resignation, and has hamstrung Robinson too: not least because the ferocious nature of English club rugby has resulted in injury after injury to key players.

The club versus country dispute, so familiar to followers of football in this country, reached its nadir when the RFU was taken to court over its highly provocative and utterly needless decision to, at short notice, organise a fourth international this autumn to coincide with the opening of Twickenham's new south stand. As a result, Robinson, assuming he remains in charge, will not be able to select his best players for both the remaining games of the autumn series against South Africa; for under the Elite Player Agreement which so incurred his predecessor's wrath, players can only be selected for a maximum of three internationals during the autumn. Given, if a player is involved for less than half a match, it is not considered to count towards the total, perhaps we may even witness the farcical situation of individuals hauled off after 39 minutes: but in any case, it is hardly a background in which any international coach can be expected to prosper.

With Andrew, formerly the RFU's most vociferous critic, appointed in the summer as its elite performance director (and in effect, Robinson's boss), there are some encouraging signs of peace breaking out: but nevertheless, the fact that Twickenham should have deemed yet another international to be necessary, and indeed, that Premiership rugby ludicrously continues while top players are away on England duty (a bizarre situation which effectively punishes those clubs which have either signed or developed the most accomplished individuals), is simply a demonstration of the greed which continues to undermine the English game - with the needs of the players shamefully treated as the lowest priority of all.

There is one further line of defence for Robinson to hold up to his many critics: put simply, England are enduring a particularly fallow period in terms of the availability of world-class, game-breaking players. Like all sports, rugby is cyclical: and just as Woodward, for all his qualities of leadership, vision and genius, could not possibly have succeeded without the mountainous talents of players such as Johnson, Wilkinson, Dallaglio, Back and Hill, it is almost impossible to see how his successor can be expected to emulate his achievements with a far more inferior group of players. Corry, for instance, is a wholehearted leader who gives everything to the cause: but this observer can scarcely recall a more limited player becoming England captain during the past two decades.

But it must still be seriously questioned whether Robinson has made the best of a bad job: and concluded, regrettably, that he has not. The 2005 Six Nations revealed such an array of problems within the team that Robinson should, surely, have drawn a line, given up the next World Cup as a hopeless cause, and thrown his weight fully behind a new generation of players looking to build for 2011: instead, fallibly, he stumbled on, not knowing whether to stick or to twist. And when this year's International Championship proved, if anything, even worse, the RFU, caught like a rabbit in the headlights by the proximity of the fast-approaching World Cup, took the easy way out by firing Robinson's defensive coach, Phil Larder, and kicking coach, Dave Alred, rather than the man himself.

A coach who stayed too long, and failed to plan for the future; a shambling, incompetent successor; an indecisive, greedy union; a brutally demanding domestic game; a dearth of world-class players. All of this has led to where England now find themselves: and never mind retaining the World Cup, the real question on current form is whether they will even qualify from their group next autumn. Mindbogglingly, reports this morning suggest the RFU will resist the urge to dismiss Robinson, which if so, would be unadulterated folly: not least because two games against a bedraggled, weakened Springbok team may yet lead to a perception of false paradise, with the coach subsequently retained through the Six Nations, by which point it will be far too late to make a change.

Whether by merely reshuffling the England coaching staff, with Andrew given the job, or by boldly looking overseas to Mallett, Warren Gatland or Eddie Jones, it is now imperative that Robinson's contract is terminated: and even more so that the RFU and the clubs find a way to stop killing the goose which laid the golden egg. Otherwise, it may prove many years indeed before England return to the summit which took so much effort to reach, and led to such public rejoicing on that increasingly distant November morning.