It’s never wise to make knee-jerk generalisations about the sort of people who play professional football, compared to their rugby counterparts.
It’s long been a contention in this quarter that for every rugby roughneck who finds himself in trouble in pubs and nightclubs, there’s a footballer like Jody Craddock who goes home to his family and paints for a pastime, a Darren Moore or Linvoy Primus who do marvellous work for the socially disadvantaged in this country and overseas.
Not every rugby player is an officer and a gentleman and not every footy man is a Craig Bellamy.
But it’s impossible to defend the morals of modern football compared to rugby after the events this weekend at Croke Park and the Millennium Stadium.
The gap between responsibilities accepted readily and spurned churlishly was enormous.
Take England’s rugby coach, Brian Ashton, reflecting on his team’s memorable thrashing by Ireland: "We were stuffed — beaten all over the field’.
Now Arsene Wenger, reflecting on the disgraceful brawl in Cardiff, sparked off by the petulance of his players: "With the FA there is always a good chance something will happen, so I am worried about the FA’s response."
Or Jose Mourinho’s weasel words: "What happened is not my responsibility or Arsene Wenger’s responsibility." Who’s at fault, then, for the worst bout of indiscipline in any major Cup Final in English football history — the man on the public address system?
What galls is that all three team representatives are intelligent men. Wenger and Mourinho both have university degrees, while Ashton is a former teacher. Yet it was Ashton who showed the class and decency to take public responsibility while the other two flailed around, looking for scapegoats.
Wenger attempts to shift pressure onto the FA, instead of owing up to a failure to control his players, one of whom had to be dragged away from the referee, who had an impeccable game and enforced the ultimate sanctions when there was no option.
Mourinho mutters darkly that it’s a pity some of Arsenal’s players lost their heads while ignoring the readiness of some of his players to wade in. This mindless cult of ‘we’re all in it together, lads’, even when they are palpably wrong to mix it.
It would not have occurred to either manager that their churlish mind games and carping at each other over the past two years had contributed to the malaise between both sets of players.
Ah, the players. We had Frank Lampard, once Footballer of the Year, saying that the brawl at least proved that all the players wanted to win the Carling Cup. The inference being that it was the media’s fault for downgrading the competition.
Then this priceless observation from Wayne Bridge: "I don’t care what else happened in the game, we got the three points." Not strictly true, dimwit. A Cup was at stake, not points.
And to top it all, the Arsenal end of the stadium was almost deserted when Chelsea were presented with the trophy, a quarter of an hour after that sickening brawl. Sportsmanship is now clearly derided in modern football by the fans, who should know better than some of the pillocks who play for them.
And why were the three who were sent off allowed to come out again and receive their medals? Once you’re off, that’s your lot — and you should be dreading a managerial rollocking, not taking applause from the crowd.
In contrast, Croke Park on Saturday night was an unforgettable sporting occasion. Passion on the field was laced with good manners from over 80,000 supporters and indiscipline from any player was properly punished.
Serial offender Danny Grewcock was rightly sin-binned for a time and in his absence, Ireland scored another 14 points.
Anyone with a name like mine can bang on about the long memories of the Irish and perceived injustices at the hands of the English from centuries ago. They’ve been handed down through the generations. For too long. Thankfully, there was none of that on Saturday night.
The media build-up had got it wrong. The atrocities performed by the British Army at Croke Park 87 years ago had been mercifully shelved in the collective memory and the moving, respectful, reception given to the English players as they took the field was remarkable.
Or not so remarkable, when you consider that the rugby rivalry between the Irish and English has always been intense, yet dignified down the years.
So, in retrospect, it wasn’t that surprising that God Save The Queen was acknowledged with tolerance and decency in the home of Gaelic football before the lads kicked seven bells out of the English.
That’s what sport should be about. Intense commitment, character, tigerish intensity and honesty. The realisation that somebody has to lose and that you’ll do your utmost to ensure it’s not you. But if it is, no excuses — have a pint and say sorry about that wild haymaker.
And did you clock those punches thrown by massive men on the field at Croke Park, compared to the swinging handbags at Cardiff?
Croke Park was a vindication of sport. It was, begging the pardon of the politically correct, intensely manly. Cardiff will be remembered for a bunch of millionaire nancy-boys throwing their toys out of the cot. And the two managers saying ‘Not me, guv’.
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Aussie misery a joy to behold
The charms of this country in late spring remain irresistible — especially just before leaving for the Cricket World Cup in the Caribbean — but I would have settled for having five minutes via the Doctor Who Tardis in New Zealand last week.
It would have been bliss to take in the expressions of the Australian press corps and then read their justifications for two spectacular thrashings by the Kiwis.
No doubt the absence of captain Ricky Ponting and vice-captain Adam Gilchrist and the injuries to all-rounder Andrew Symonds and fast bowler Brett Lee would figure prominently in the list of excuses for their team failing to defend totals of over 330 in successive One-Day Internationals against their trans-Tasman rivals.
But when opponents ever mention their injury problems, they are laughed out of court by the Aussies. Whingers!
New Zealand and England are the ones who cop particular stick and now between them, they have beaten the Aussies five times in a row.
It can’t last, of course. I’m sad that a genuinely nice guy like Brett Lee is to miss the World Cup, but Ponting and Gilchrist will be back and Symonds is a quick healer.
I still think the Aussies will win the World Cup, but let’s enjoy their discomfiture for now. There’s been little of that this past decade.
