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.