First thing’s first, I want to make one thing very clear.
By description, I’m not what you’d call a Rugby Union fan. I don’t support a club side, I tend to avoid the domestic side of the game and, frankly, the game doesn’t excite me in the way it does the countless thousands who live for line-outs and fiercely contested scrums.
However, I am a sports fan, which means the World Cup has drawn my eye over the last few weeks, especially the games concerning the home nations.
The England games, in particular, I have watched with interest.
Now, I’m no Sir Clive, but I do have a good grasp on the game, despite my lack of enthusiasm towards it. Generally, I know what the crack is, and I also knew – going into the Wales game at Twickenham – that England were one of the favourites to lift that wonderfully golden trophy that a schoolboy once picked up and ran with, or something…
Needless to say, when the 80 minutes were up, I felt a little bemused.
A loss to the Welsh was not in the script, of that I was sure. But there it was, emblazoned across the scoreboard at the home of English rugby. Chris Robshaw had opted to kick for the corner, and the rest, as they say, was history.
But then, as I dwelled on what I had just witnessed and began checking social media for verification of the loss, my bemusement grew ten-fold.
Granted, Robshaw took plenty of bullets in the media crossfire, as was expected, but no other names were coming up as I scoured the web for the reaction of the British press.
Except one.
This is where I make a little confession.
I’m not strictly a Rugby Union fan, as I’ve already stated, but I do have a life-long affinity with the ‘other code’ of rugby that is played. The little brother, as it were.
Growing up in one of the many former mining towns that dot the West Yorkshire landscape, I have been brought up on Rugby League. It’s a sport that many are aware of, but few actually take notice. This is a crying shame, as League is one of the most exhilarating spectator sports in the world when at its best, but that’s an article for another day.
Sam Burgess is not just a good Rugby League player. Hell, he’s not just a great one. Over the two years preceding his move to Bath and the 15-man game, Burgess was probably the very best in the world.
I had the pleasure of seeing him first hand, at his peak, when he went toe-to-toe with Sonny Bill Williams and the might of the New Zealand Kiwis. The game was a World Cup semi-final, played at Wembley, and England’s number 13 that day was utterly, utterly dominant.
A year on from that game, which England regrettably lost, in true English fashion, Burgess climbed to the summit of the Rugby League mountain.
Wearing the red and myrtle of the South Sydney Rabbitohs, the towering forward led his side to an NRL Grand Final victory, in his final outing before his switch to Union. He was awarded the prestigious Clive Churchill Medal for his part in the game, and deservedly so.
Oh, and did I mention he played almost the entire 80 minutes with a fractured cheekbone that was sustained in the first set of the game?
To put it into simple terms, Sam Burgess is a sporting icon in the Southern Hemisphere (and Rugby League’s English heartland, which is effectively St. Helens to Hull – and everything in between) but there he was, on my laptop, everywhere I looked, getting hammered by journalist after journalist.
I couldn’t help thinking, why?
I admit, after watching the game in its entirety, Burgess has work to do if he is to match his League exploits in the world of the three-point drop goal, but was the bashing really necessary? To say he played below-average would be harsh.
I decided to let it slide.
England had lost to Wales. Tensions were high. World Cup hopes were hanging by a thread.
It would blow over before long…
So I waited, until Australia came to town, seeking to end England’s hopes of a dream World Cup victory on home turf.
Of course, the Wallabies did just that, and I was eager to gauge the response from the media.
The early indications were good, as the press began waxing lyrically over the performance of the brilliant Australia side that had just ripped the English apart.
Then, incredibly, it happened again.
In the days following the resounding loss, the knives came out. After the worst possible campaign, this was widely expected, but the choice of target was equally predictable.
Once again, it appeared Sam Burgess – or rather, the selection of Sam Burgess – was at fault for England’s failings.
Here’s my take on the situation. It’s awfully simple, but it uses logic that seems to have passed clean over the heads of many a journalist over the last couple of weeks:
When England took on Wales, Sam Burgess started at centre, and was taken off with just under 15 minutes to play. At this point in the game, England had a substantial lead, which was subsequently lost. Go figure.Against the Aussies, Burgess played the opposite role. He came on with just over ten minutes to go, with the game all-but-over. Yes, he was fortunate to not receive a yellow card after dishing out a high shot, but this had zero impact on the result, England’s most disappointing loss in years.Brad Barritt was Burgess’ opposite centre against Wales. The man was nigh on non-existent, despite his far superior experience and reputation. Where’s the outcry over his selection?
I’ve been reflecting on this matter for days now, and I’ve come to this conclusion.
Many will call me pathetic for writing this, and I will likely be accused of blindly shielding one of my heroes from criticism. But that’s not the case. I genuinely believe that Sam Burgess has been doomed to fail ever since he arrived back in the UK and signed his lucrative contract with Bath.
There appears to be a target on his head, which he will never be able to shake off.
The nation has just witnessed a great sporting failure. With all the expectation, a group stage exit is embarrassing, so the media has had to come up with something to take the sting out of it.
Boy, haven’t they done a good job?
England have failed the country, and it’s all because some Rugby League outcast was given a free ticket to the big time. If he hadn’t been selected, and we’d stuck with what we know, we’d be sailing into the finals.
That’s what the media have written. That’s how they’ve swung it.
Sam Burgess might have become the biggest scapegoat in English sporting history.
