Rugby Football.
The recent invasion of England by the all-conquering New Zealanders—who
established the wonderful record of thirty-one victories out of
thirty-two matches played—has arrested the attention of a great many
people who hitherto have taken little or no interest in Rugby football.
The game as played by these men from over the sea was Rugby football in
its most attractive form, and those who were privileged to see their
victories over Middlesex or Blackheath, could not fail to be delighted
with their skill, nor could they possibly deny the fascinating charm of
the game when properly played. But with their departure interest in
Rugby is likely to flag, and we are faced with the question, “Why is
Rugby football not more popular; how is it that a very large section of
the community take no interest in football at all, whilst another large
section prefer the charms of Association?”
From the point of view of the player, it is easy to see that the game is
not quite suited to every one. Though Rugby is often wrongly considered
a rougher game than Association football, it certainly lays a premium on
strength and size, whilst there are few things—except perhaps
rowing—which make a greater claim on a man’s stamina and endurance. It
is, therefore, a game which requires certain natural qualifications and
a certain amount of training; hence a large number are excluded from
active participation. In Wellington, one single town in New Zealand,
over twelve thousand men play Rugby football every Saturday afternoon
during the season; it is the national game “down under,” and spectators
flock in their thousands to see the matches, but in England a man has so
many interests, the open-air life is not so general and the weather
conditions not so good.
Perhaps the greatest disadvantage under which Rugby football labours is
the fact that it is a winter pastime, and therefore often played in
miserable weather. A greasy ball and slippery turf are sufficiently
trying to the players; from a spectator’s point of view the game is
entirely spoilt, whilst the accommodation provided for the onlookers is
frequently most inadequate. At the best of times a covered stand is a
cold and draughty place, but it is better than the open field; yet with
Rugby clubs the covered stand is often conspicuous by its absence.
Moreover, the approaches to so many football grounds are so bad that
many people are deterred from patronising the matches; crowded trains
followed by a long drive or walk is very damping to the enthusiasm.
Then again, a football match can never be a social function like a
cricket match; it therefore loses a great deal of feminine patronage.
Except for the small minority, who really understand the game, football
is regarded by ladies as a brutal trial of strength, and they fail to
see the attraction of grovelling in the mud; but if there was a little
tea-party at half-time it would put quite a different complexion on the
game. It must also be borne in mind that three of our greatest public
schools play a game peculiar to themselves, whilst Charterhouse, Repton,
Malvern, Westminster, Radley, Bradfield, Shrewsbury and other big
schools play only Association. This means that a very large section of
the English youth take absolutely no interest in Rugby at all, though
they may—if they go to the Varsity—occasionally watch a Rugby match in
the same way that the cricketer patronises the river during Eight’s
week.
But the unpopularity of Rugby football as a spectacle is largely due to
the apparent complexity of the rules, which makes it very difficult for
the uninitiated to follow the game. It is largely due to this that
Association has a greater hold on the affections of the people, whilst
the game is not stopped by the continual blowing of the referee’s
whistle. An elderly gentleman who, needless to say, does not often
attend a football match, was heard, the other day, at the Crystal
Palace, to exclaim, “There’s that referee interfering again; how
exasperating!” This was probably the feeling of a great many who were
watching Rugby football for the first time, and they must have carried
away the opinion that the whole game consisted in a succession of
scrummages and a vast expenditure of useless energy. It is, however,
difficult to see what could take the place of the scrummage, which is
formed whenever the ball is thrown forward or knocked on, or when the
ball is not thrown in straight out of touch, or for any other
unintentional breach of the rules. It must be remembered that the
scrummage was the essential feature of the game some twenty years ago,
when the formation was ten forwards, two half-backs, two quarters and a
full-back. In those days little passing was seen, and the ball was
seldom heeled out of the scrummage. It is interesting to note how the
game has been changed. Fifteen years ago, nine forwards, two half-backs,
three three-quarters and a full-back was the rule, till the Welshmen—who
are generally the pioneers of any progressive movement in Rugby
football—evolved the system of eight forwards and four three-quarters.
This year we see the scrummage still further diminished, the New
Zealanders playing only seven forwards with a winger—who was nothing
else than a half-back—one half-back, two five-eights, three
three-quarters and a full-back, whilst the Welsh team has adopted
practically the same disposition, playing only seven forwards, three
half-backs, four three-quarters and a full-back.
Thus in the course of about twenty years the proportion of forwards to
outsides has been reduced from ten forwards and five outsides to seven
forwards and eight outsides. It is, therefore, not difficult to see
which way the wind is blowing, and there is food for speculation as to
what will eventually become of the scrum. The abolition of the
“dead-ball” rule and the necessity of playing the ball immediately you
are tackled has done much to make the game faster, but it is a matter of
doubt whether the game will be improved, from the players’ point of
view—which is, after all, the primary consideration—by the reduction of
the forwards to a mere heeling machine. Undoubtedly Rugby football, as
it has been played in the past, is frequently most uninteresting to
watch; the delight of getting the ball in the scrummage and of heeling
it out cleanly, or a well-executed wheel when the forwards break away
with the ball at their feet has little fascination for the spectators,
whilst the satisfaction of grappling an opponent or stopping a rush by
falling on the ball must appear very crude and barbarous compared to the
admirable finesse of Association football. The tendency at present is to
bring more skill into the game; the heavy, lumbering forward has given
way to a quicker and more active type, whilst every effort is made to
execute that brilliant hand-to-hand passing which is so attractive and
generally so effective. Yet there is a danger that the increased number
of outsides may lead to overcrowding and to “too many cooks spoiling the
broth,” and we frequently see a centre three-quarter boring his wing
into touch, or the ball being passed along in a stereotyped fashion,
when an individual dash for the line would spell ruin to the opposition.
The brilliant individual run through a crowd of opponents excites the
admiration of the spectators just as much as a perfect round of passing,
and, provided it is not attempted too often, is very deadly in its
effectiveness.
In conclusion, it may be said that the unpopularity of Rugby football as
a spectacle chiefly results from the difficulty of getting to the
matches, the lack of accommodation for the spectators, the apparent
complexity of the rules, the somewhat peculiar manner of scoring, by
which a try counts three points, a goal from a try five points (in which
case the try does not count), a dropped goal four points, and a penalty
goal three points, and, lastly, the “exasperating interference” of the
referee, with the continual scrummages which result therefrom. A
suggestion, which has the support of several great players, is that the
numbers should be reduced to thirteen a side instead of fifteen, with
the formation of six forwards, two half-backs, four three-quarters and a
full-back, or even twelve a side with only three three-quarters. At
present the game is killed by the number of the players, whilst the
packing of seven or eight forwards in the scrum is very difficult. With
six forwards the packing is simple, even for a scratch team, whilst the
fewer players and greater space would lead to more open play and
brilliant running. We might then see one team winning by thirty points
to twenty-seven, and no one could deny that this would be highly
interesting and exciting from the spectators’ point of view. Finally,
more attention should be paid to handling the ball. The majority of
present-day forwards seldom handle a football during the week except in
matches, and not always then; hence it is not surprising that many
passes go astray, but it should be considered just as heinous a crime to
pass forward, or to fail to take a pass, as to miss a catch at cricket,
or to knock the tail-feathers out of a pheasant. It should be regarded
as equally heinous to pass when you have a good chance of going through
yourself, or to hold on to the ball when you ought to pass.
But Rugby football makes it its boast—a boast of which it is justly
proud—that the player is the first consideration. The Rugby Union has
always set its face against the evils of professionalism and the
commendable and unflinching attitude which it has taken up has been
reflected in the players, who somewhat foolishly have taken up an
attitude of “_noli me tangere_” towards the spectators, and have
resented anything in the form of interference. Anything like playing to
the gallery has been righteously condemned, and the player who takes
more than ordinary care of himself is often scoffed at. But what is
worth doing is worth doing well, and players are now waking up to the
fact that Rugby football can no longer be played properly in the
happy-go-lucky way, but requires great physical fitness and very skilful
use of both hands and feet. Moreover, it is patent to everybody that for
a game to last, however good it may be, it must be popular. One often
hears the remark, “We don’t want the spectators, and they have no right
to dictate to us; if we choose to keep the ball in the scrummage, why
shouldn’t we do so,” but if we do not want the spectators, we should
like their sons to be brought up to play one of the finest games in the
world. The enthusiasm in Wales for Rugby football is unbounded, as a
recent incident at Cardiff serves to show. When the Barbarians were
playing Cardiff before some ten thousand spectators (the day before
there had been something like forty thousand spectators, when the home
club were playing the New Zealanders), there was an interval of about
five minutes at half-time, which was turned to account by some tiny
little boys, none of whom could have been more than ten years old. They
seized the football, and were instantly in the throes of an exciting
game, which culminated in one little fellow dodging through several
opponents and dropping a goal, amidst the applause of the crowd. If,
however, you fail to interest the parent, you may fail to interest the
offspring. There is no reason why the game should not be made more
interesting to both the players and the spectators. It is unfortunate
that so many people only go to watch the big games, International and
Trial matches, which are seldom productive of good or interesting
football, being for the most part struggles between scratch teams.
Wales, alone of the four countries, places anything like a combination
of players in the field, and hence the apparent superiority of the
Welshmen. Rugby football should not be judged by the form shown in
International matches. The New Zealanders showed us what Rugby football
could be like, even with a wet ball and a sodden ground, when played by
a strong combination of brilliant individuals filled with a burning
enthusiasm. The whole question resolves itself into this: Make the game
interesting, and it will be popular; if it is popular, that enthusiasm
will be aroused, without which nothing can succeed.