The Roar
The Roar

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A beginner's guide to the rugby scrumhalf

The Queensland Reds are not unlike the Johnny Walker variety: headache inducing. (AAP Image/Dan Peled)
Expert
12th April, 2015
62
1771 Reads

In rugby, the ball has to be taken from giant coal-mining beasts and given to back-line ballerinas. The job is done by elves.

Over the years, the word ‘elves’ evolved (due to Queensland and Dunedin accents) to “alves.” Then, because they feed the scrum, they were dubbed scrum-alves. The British added the “h” because they like to correct colonials who improved British sport to stay in charge.

Thus, the scrumhalf.

Scrumhalves say more words than anyone else during a rugby match. Their mouth-to-body proportion and their word-per-second stats compare favourably with the Sharks’ card-per-match rate. In addition to their spoken utterances, most No. 9s have a vast array of non-verbal gestures, sulking expressions, and assistant referee signals.

Some countries like to ignite their game plan through the elves. South Africa, for instance do this. Fourie du Preez and Joost van der Westhuizen are generals, not mere water carriers who spiral a ball from pack to backs. Wales likes big guys at No 9. The Roar uses Brett McKay, who chirps and chats and notes and banters like he is an Australian Ben Youngs, with a better tan and mousse.

What are the major ways scrumhalves communicate on the field?

1. The exasperated arm gesture
Du Preez is the best at this. Constantly annoyed at the ruck, he shrugs and then raises both arms when the pill is not immediately forthcoming, and makes sure the referee sees this pose.

Mike Phillips does the same thing, but accompanies it with biting questions: “Is he allowed to do that?” But the words aren’t as important as the arms. The key to this method is to only use the arms when there is truly an issue.

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Rory Kockott uses the arm-raising on every single ruck, so that 120 times a game, the referee sees this move and discounts it. The Rory Who Cried Wolf did however develop serious bicep guns from this extra exercise. The theory behind this practice is that even if the referee is only persuaded 1 per cent of the time, it’s worth it.

2. The scrum cop
These rugby gymnasts lurk around the gaping mouth of the holy scrum and yap. They point at shoulders and binding. They are like tour guides for the overwhelmed referee: “He’s too high! Look at Hooper–he’s not bound! Early hit, ref! Not straight! Dominant! All day, ref! Bismarck popped! Look at Crockett! Look at Crockett! Look at Crockett, maaaayyytte!”

The irony is that no scrumhalf ever started in the front row, and therefore have no idea what shoulder is supposed to fit where, and although Ben Youngs has a hooker for a brother, the lack of knowledge does not stop them from being the gendarmes of the scrum.

They try to arrogate space, in front of the referee, to shield his view of their prop. Rhys Webb is one of the burlier No 9s in world rugby, and he actually places his foot in front of the opposing scrumhalf feeding the ball into the scrum. Both the feeder and the defender scrumhalf keep up a constant stream of scrum observations, as the mighty packs grapple.

Will Genia is the best at this skill, and has plenty of practice in explaining away a collapsed scrum. He is in effect his pack’s lawyer.

3. A face of pain
Genia features again in this area. He can adopt a facial expression reminiscent of your youngest daughter begging silently for something very expensive and girly. On your daughter, it is endearing and effective. On Genia, it repels the officials, and might even prejudice them against the Reds and Wallabies.

Nic White follows this theory, as does Nick Phipps. It is an Australian gambit. To look as if what is happening in the ruck causes them emotional pain or constipation. The flaw in this method is that the referee is often not looking directly into the scrumhalf’s eyes, but instead at David Pocock or Micheal Hooper’s jiujitsu at the breakdown.

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4. Flourishes
Some scrumhalves cannot just do a textbook crouch, cleanly lift the ball, and in one smooth motion, deliver a timely, accurate pass to the ballcarrier or kicker. Watch Conor Murray, who is either the second best or the best No 9 on the planet.

He adds style points. He finishes with his hands in an exaggerated flourish. He skips. He feeds the ball with idiosyncratic gestures. He box kicks with his head down further than needed. He is the prima donna scrumhalf and he does it well. Aaron Smith sometimes does these things when he is bored by being “just the best.”

5. The hesitation
Ruan Pienaar has made a long international career using the pause. Genia developed a pause button, too. Morgan Parra grew out of his. See Pienaar at a ruck or even a lineout and you will see a man who thinks everything takes a little longer than it does. He likes to look at every runner, before he chooses one.

Referees like this. It slows the game down, reveals the offside line vividly and makes decision-making easier.

6. The grab
When a penalty is awarded, the team who won the penalty almost always tries to rip the ball away from the player on the offending team who is keeping it, to spoil a quick tap. 99 per cent of the time, the ripper is the scrumhalf.

He is always thinking of quick taps, because the 1 per cent of the time they work, as opposed to five metre lineout mauls, are a scrumhalf’s time to shine. So, the scrumhalf attacks the cynical opponent holding the ball, pulling at him, tugging at the ball, and shouting to the referee to alert him to this action before pleading for an additional penalty or even a card.

These are safe scenarios for the scrumhalf handbag event. He is dwarfed by Eben Etzebeth or Courtenay Lawes or Brodie Retallick, but there is no possible way a just-penalised and retreating player will punch the scrumhalf while he holding the ball to prevent a quick tap.

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So, the scrumhalf gets to pretend he intimidated Etzebeth or Lawes or Retallick.

What other forms of No 9 communication have you seen?

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