Time for props to take their share of the glory
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OVERMATCHED teams usually find themselves facing the music without having to listen to any. It was different for Lyon, who schlepped all the way to Pretoria for a Champions Cup tie they didn't much fancy and were beaten up both physically, by the Bulls, and aurally, by a stadium DJ who cranked up the decibels at every scrum, some of which took so long to complete, he could have played an entire Wagner opera and still had time for an encore.
So with sharps, flats, crotchets and quavers in mind, how about a variation on a theme? Last week, those of us inhabiting this corner of the paper were banging our drums in support of the set-piece as it comes under renewed threat from members of the governing class who, after more than a century of fiddling with the laws of Rugby Union, appear to have decided that Rugby League had it right all along.
And this week? Let's sing the praises of the props – or rather, compose a lament in recognition of the fact that none of them, neither of the loosehead persuasion nor of the tighthead variety, are ever awarded so much as a pot in which to relieve themselves, let alone anything resembling a “best in show” trophy. The thought occurs following news of Tommaso Menoncello, the excellent Italian centre, and his anointment as Six Nations Player of the Championship – the third in his position to top the polling after Gordon D'Arcy of Ireland, who won the inaugural award exactly two decades ago, and his more celebrated countryman Brian O'Driscoll, who pocketed it on three occasions, the last of them in 2009.
We are honour-bound to congratulate Menoncello on his achievement: along with a handful of others in the Azzurri back division, he has forced a change in the conversational weather surrounding the structure of the sport's most successful annual tournament. But it is now a decade since a prop forward was even nominated as “player of the championship” – the low-slung mass of Irish muscle known as Cian Healy was the last of his breed to make the cut, back in 2014 – and without putting too fine a point on it, this puts the whole venture smack in the middle of Jokesville. For want of a worse word, it's a scandal.
Lest we forget the age-old truism, the forwards decide who wins a game of union and the backs decide the margin. Are we seriously arguing that between 2015 and 2017, when the “shortlists” were long enough to include a dozen candidates, none of Mako Vunipola, Dan Cole, Willem Nel, Tadhg Furlong or Uini Atonio were sufficiently influential to justify a place on a 12-man roster?
Some pruning has taken place of late, with candidates cut back to a small handful, but both Furlong and Atonio have only grown in stature (in a figurative sense when it comes to the latter, if not a literal one). Throw in the slightly younger generation – the Andrew Porters and Cyril Bailles and Zander Fagersons – and you begin to wonder what it is the nomination panels think they're watching when ranking the runners and riders.
If we cast our net a little wider, we find ourselves in World Rugby land, which is never a good place to be.
The non-governing governing body has been handing out “World Rugby Player of the Year” gongs since 2001, when Bill McLaren was still commentating and forward passes were still frowned upon by the match officials. How many props have been nominated for the glittering prize in all that time. Answer: zero. That's right: a big fat zero.
Takes some believing, doesn't it? Even by the standards of the NGBB, where credulity is never knowingly unstretched, this is quite an effort. If the Front Row Union fares slightly better than the National Union of Mineworkers did under Margaret Thatcher – the first winner of the award was a hooker, Keith Wood of Ireland, and there have been nominations for a small number of other No.2s, from Steve Thompson of England and Dane Coles of New Zealand to Malcolm Marx of South Africa and Josh Taufete'e of…er… the United States – the prop contin gent has been ignored like a farty smell at Evensong.
Os du Randt and Tendai Mtawarira and Frans Malherbe; Carl Hayman and Tony Woodcock; Tom Smith and Phil Vickery; Gethin Jenkins, Adam Jones and the astonishing Marcos Ayerza? Were these individuals, operating at the peak of their powers, really not good enough to be shortlisted?
Strange to relate, a second claim of positional discrimination can be served on the NGGB. No centre has ever won the big title. Richie McCaw and Dan Carter each rattled up a hattrick, but there has been no tangible recognition of Tana Umaga or Conrad Smith or Ma'a Nonu, let alone Matt Giteau or Felipe Contepomi or the aforementioned O'Driscoll.
But some of the above were at least nominated. Props? Nowhere to be seen. Without being too conspiratorial about it – there are quite enough conspiracy theories flying around already, without your columnist chipping in – might there be a secret agenda on the table?
