Anyone remember the Spirit of Rugby? You know the one, big chap, liked a drink and positively swelled with pride when he represented his village, city or country.

He could often be found in the clubhouse after a game, one arm on the bar, the other round his opponent. Smashing bloke, he was, he'd talk to anyone.

I haven't seen him around for quite a while though. As I recall he was last seen about ten years ago sleeping rough on a Parisian street, I'm not sure what happened to him after that.

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He probably sloped off mumbling something about professionalism and the game he cherished never being the same again. Recent events have proved him right, both on the macro and micro levels.

Firstly the bigger picture. David Moffett, outgoing chief executive of the Welsh Rugby Union, has predicted the death of the elite game in the Celtic nations.

In five years, he says, the best clubs in Wales, Scotland and Ireland won't exist having been raped and pillaged - his words not mine - into extinction by the Anglo-Gallic avarice.

Imagine that, Wales without Cardiff and Newport and Irish provinces returned to the internecine rivalries played without the nation's top players.

And Scotland? Actually I can't think of anything happening to club rugby north of the border that wouldn't be better than the tripe stew currently served up.

Up there it's the old joke about an earthquake hitting . . . (insert place name) and causing millions of pounds worth of improvements. Moffett's gloomy prognosis is based on the fact that the English and French clubs are greedily consuming all the best players from these three countries.

"Look at the make-up of the teams in the Heineken Cup from France and England," he asks. "How many local players do they have?"

The fact that he doesn't tell us is perhaps the most eloquent answer.

But let's not assume the Welsh sides are complicit in the situation. In their last European match with Calvisano Cardiff fielded a New Zealander and an Australian in their backline.

Further down the rugby pyramid the situation is just as bad, In their last Premiership fixture - a win against Northampton - Worcester fielded just six Englishmen in their starting line-up.

The practice is starting to drift as far down as National Two. Barking visited Moseley last Saturday, for we shall call them thus for want of a more eclectic name, to reveal the team-sheet of Scrabble players' dreams.

Kafatolu, Ah-Ling, Minaar, Liebenburg and Denisiuk. Imagine any one of those on a triple word score. Game over.

The visitors' three-quarter line comprised an Italian fullback, Samoan and Tongan wings, a South African at centre, one at stand-off and another at scrum-half. There was one Englishman - Anthony Skurr - via Wakefield and Wasps.

The situation in the pack was only marginally better. Two of their front row were born in Pretoria, they had a Pole in the second row and a Frenchman on the flank.

All in all there were three Essex boys. More than enough to start a fight but far too few to sustain a team playing in front of crowds of less than 500.

Not a great place to grow up then? Not if you want to play for your hometown team and to me that was the major joy in playing.

We weren't very good but we were mates. We might have been rubbish, in fact we were, but we won for the village, lost for the village and scrapped for the village. That is the spirit of rugby. And where is he now? Certainly not in Barking.