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The Roar all-time World XV draft: Part 4 - The great debate

2nd September, 2015
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Thierry Dusautoir gets a gig, but in which team. (Image. Tim Anger)
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2nd September, 2015
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The Roar’s first invitational all time World XV draft pitted gentlemanly Cane fan Diggercane, Bok-reforming Biltongbek, young Kiwi prodigy Ben Gibbon, relentless Aussie RobC, and the stormy Cape poet Harry Jones in a no-holds barred contest to pick their best teams from all eras.

It was conducted in any positional order, from a list of 125 players (once picked, that player was off the draft board for the others).

Read the rest of the series:
>> Part 1 – Introduction
>> Part 2 – The forwards
>> Part 3 – The backs

Here are the teams:

Digger’s Demons:
Topo Rodriguez (ARG and AUS) Dane Coles (NZL) Olo Brown (NZL) Martin Johnson(c) (ENG) Victor Matfield (RSA) Michael Jones (NZL) George Smith (AUS) Zinzan Brooke (NZL) Aaron Smith (NZ) Jonny Wilkinson (ENG) Rupeni Caucaunibuca (FIJI) Mike Gibson (IRE) Frank Bunce (NZ) Ben Tune (OZ) Christian Cullen (NZ). Coach: Sir Ian McGheechan.

Harry’s Harriers:
Marcos Ayerza (ARG), Raphael Ibanez (FR), Martin Castrogiavanni (IT), Eben Etzebeth (SA), Bakkies Botha (SA), Ian Kirkpatrick (NZ), Richie McCaw (c) (NZ), Duane Vermeulen (SA), Joost van der Westhuizen (SA), Henry Honiball (SA) Joe Roff (OZ) Philippe Sella (FR), Danie Gerber (SA), Julian Savea (NZ) Mils Muliaina (NZ). Coach: Jake White.

Rob’s Rhinos:
Joe Marler (ENG) Sean Fitzpatrick (NZ) Ewen McKenzie (AUS) John Eales (AUS) Brad Thorn (NZ) Jan Ellis (SA) David Pocock (AUS) Buck Shelford (c)(NZ) Gareth Evans (WAL) Mark Ella (AUS) Israel Folau (AUS) Tim Horan (AUS) Daniel Herbert (AUS) David Campese (SA) Matt Burke (AUS). Coach: Joe Schmidt.

Biltong’s Bulldogs:
Os du Randt (SA), Andrew Hore (NZ), Carl Heyman (NZ), Brodie Retallick (NZ), Danie Rossouw (SA), Thierry Dusautoir (FR), Juan Smith (SA), Keiran Read (c)(NZ) Fourie du Preez, Dan Carter, Bryan Habana, Ma’a Nonu, Jason Little, Joe Rococoko, Ben Smith. Coach: Kitch Christie.

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Ben’s Humbugs:
Jason Leonard (ENG), Bismarck Du Plessis (SA), Owen Franks (NZ), Paul O’Connell (IRE), Colin Meads (NZ), Jerry Collins (NZ), Schalk Burger (SA), Lawrence Dallaglio (Eng) 9. George Gregan, 10. Stephen Larkham, 11. Johan Lomu, 12. Brian O’Driscoll, 13. Tana Umaga (c), 14. Shane Williams, 15. Serge Blanco. Coach: Graham ‘Ted’ Henry.

In summary:

CollateAllPlayers

You can even vote for your favourite Roar all-time World XV below this article.

After a week of evaluating their draft selections, Diggercane, Harry Jones, Biltongbek, Ben Gibbon, and RobC met to brag, boast, banter, niggle, trashtalk, sledge, and compare.

The men were dressed in their team colours. Harry wore only his team jersey. Biltong’s jersey didn’t fit. Biltong bought a bottle of bourbon, which Diggercane commandeered. The Wellington hooker went silent.

TeamSummary

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It was Biltong who kicked us off with this opening statement, attacking his main opponent, the Harriers:

“My esteemed opponents. This will be a fun little tournament: four matches, four victories, and yes four humiliated teams. What can I say about the Harriers with their poet manager? He will wax lyrical to his team of mixed nationalities, but Bakkies and Eben will never agree on who is the enforcer, so Harry, you will win no lineout ball.

“Richie McCaw and Duane will fight to pilfer the same ball. Richie will fall over to the wrong side of the ruck and concede a penalty, because his cloak is not allowed in this tournament.

“Oh, and you do realise Richie will never play Jakeball? I would think Jake would find another contract before the four match series is over, and who will coach your team then?”

Harry had a hard time concentrating. He knew he should respond to these insults, but he was thinking of a sonnet about Spiro and Jake and midnight faxes; and what his new avatar he should use. Kayaks in the Atlas Mountains or camels in the Gobi? Also, he wondered if his Harrier jersey had the right tapering.

RobC took the floor. He is always cerebral; for him, the coaching brain trust is the key:

“My intrinsic focus is on unleashing fear in the opponents because studies by Singapore neurologists prove that fear makes cowards and cowards make good losers. My key architect of fear is coach Joe Schmidt.”

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Harry finally focused: “Does Joe Schmidt have a fear of heights? Because my players are very tall.”

RobC brushed Harry’s bad poetry aside:

“This unique World Draft round robin needs a modern mastermind. My opponents all seem like Heyneke Meyer: selecting relics and dinosaurs.

Kitch Christie? Just another stoic South African trying to bulldog submit his team into a 1990 kick and hunt method. Os Du Randt may comply, but this is not going to work on Dan Carter, Carl Hayman or Jason Little. Christie growl and shout and waste all that Kiwi and Wallaby talent with a prehistoric and outdated clone of Meyer’s current game plan.”

Guttural sounds – about 14 – came from Biltong’s corner, where he was chewing the leg of a table. Harry translated:

“He says you missed the part where he explained Kitch Christie is a thinking man. Yes he knows that for you Aussies that is a new experience. But Kitch is not Heyneke Meyer. He took the Springboks to a record 14 wins in succession. The man adapts, he is a gentleman. The only thing you should concern yourself with is to have enough medics on the field to cover all the injuries. And where’s the booze?”

Digger was halfway through the bourbon; so Biltong pried the bottle from him and handed him a beer, instead.

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The big old loosehead, a cornerstone of The Roar‘s rugby world, put a thick arm around RobC:

“Rob, I hate to break the news to you. Your Rhinos have a problem. Every time Matt Burke sees Os du Randt he is going to wet himself and throw a wild pass, Habana and Rococoko will simply run right at Campo. They won’t need to sidestep; Campo will do that for them. Like I said, nice fun little tournament.”

RobC, who audio-recorded his own melodious voice throughout the banter session, uttered more platitudes:

“Biltong, that’s so last century. On the modern rugby battlefield, a coach must be a mentor with precise training methods, astute analysis, and ruthless cunning. When you face my coach, you will not know whether you will be skewered, rumbled, rammed or trampled into submission. Schmidt is a smart bomb with maximum apps designed to castrate, obfuscate, and obliterate unthinking foes.”

Biltong kicked a chair. The chair broke and apologised to Biltong: “Joe Schmidt is so smart he is going to outwit himself.”

Up to this point, Ben had been working on a Rubik’s Cube, building a yo-yo and a miniature yacht, waxing a surfboard, and refurbishing a slide-rule.

Now, he rose to an impressive height, his face devoid of fear, his hand gestures slow and methodical:

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“Gentlemen, gentlemen let me lead with this, if these teams were ever to play in a tournament I want to play Digger’s team first. All good sides need a warm up game to get firing and the Demons look like a stroll in the park.

“In fairness, I don’t really mind if I play the Horrible Harriers first either. I would take great pleasure in watching Lomu trundle over Savea – ruining the mental fortitude of the team in the process.

“I like the selection of Bakkies and mini-Bakkies in the second-row too. Nothing like playing against 13 men for 70 minutes as a bit of a trial run. Surely together they will set a record for fastest red cards in a match?

“I want to like Rob’s Rhinos, I really do – but it is hard to like a fantasy backline full of average Wallabies. I also respect that you selected the least athletic forward pack possible! We all thought about picking a joke pack, but only you had the courage, Rob!”

The others stopped what they were doing. Digger put down a bottle and a glass. Biltong stopped flexing his forearms. RobC put his five tablets and smart phones aside. Harry ceased writing poetry about Steven Kitshoff’s bind on the ceiling with a KwaZulu spear.

Ben continued, his eyes glowing from some inner fire:

“On paper it looks like the Bulldogs are a force to be reckoned with. I will concede Biltong has the best front-row and that Carter is the best flyhalf.

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“Luckily for the Humbugs though, I have the anti-Carter, the scariest man on the planet, the man mountain himself – Bismarck Du Plessis. Carter’s contract doesn’t allow him to be in the same city as BDP so there is the backline lost. And Carter was the only chance you had, because the rest of the Bulldog backline makes no sense at all!”

And Ben sat down, amidst the wonders he had created, and tied his bow tie with one hand.

The older men looked at each other and shrugged. Then Digger raised one of his glasses again, stood tall, and spoke about his team’s superior traits, smarts, and virtues:

“Capturing a balance of the right skillsets was the main objective, but I also picked players who exhibit control, composure and discipline. Very importantly, they are all as cunning as the proverbial outhouse rat, none more so than my skipper, Martin Johnson.”

Harry chuckled: “Your locks will loathe each other. Getting Victor Matfield and Martin Johnson to work together is like Bibi Netanyahu marrying the mullah’s daughter. Good luck with that.”

Ever the classy one, Digger ignored Harry’s childish taunt and willingly admitted he had a size issue:

“My fellow selectors will rave on about my small side but in their haste to pick behemoths they are unbalanced and living in some dream state that they will simply dominate everyone physically.”

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Harry was having none of that:

“My competitive advantage starts with my loosehead Marcos Ayerza. When we play the little Demons, my Ayerza is up against the world’s shortest tighthead, Olo Brown. Olo is so short he was always laughing when he playing rugby because the grass tickled his balls. One time an All Black teammate asked Olo for a dollar and Olo said: “Sorry, I’m a little short.” His nickname was ‘Paragraph’ because he was too short for an essay.”

Digger laughed that off:

“No one will get under Olo Brown while Topo will make mincemeat of the opposing tightheads.”

Relentlessly, Harry dug in:

“Topo is even smaller than Olo. Topo-Olo would fit inside my tighthead Castrogiovanni’s stomach. Maybe Olo is really Ono. Topo-Ono is Yoko Ono’s cousin; the same size.”

Digger retorted:

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“What waffle. Look Harry, I have actual game plans to defeat each of my opponents. I am from New Zealand; where we think about rugby. We don’t have Camp Staalraads. I have assessed the tactics for your Harriers and the other teams and they are well represented by the four horseman of the apocalypse, Pestilence, War, Famine and Death:

“Pestilence is the Bulldogs. A strong team but having first pick caught him off guard. After selecting Carter he neglected the breakdown; he has no floor specialists.

“Physical brutes; his team is unbalanced and ponderous. I will flood the Bulldog rucks like locusts in a plague and take their ball at will, moving it two and three wide of the ruck, keeping them moving while the Bulldogs ball will be slow and static.

“The Bulldogs will be chasing shadows all night. Wilkinson will keep them in their own territory while my superior lineout will continue to disrupt the Bulldogs. The Bulldogs will be pestered into submission.”

Biltong laughed:

“Digger, Digger, Digger, my behemoths will swat your forwards around like the pestilence flies are, there will be no pilfering of my ruck ball, only survival instinct.

Kieran Read is not ponderous, Thierry Dusautoir will dance through your flies while Juan will simply steam roll them. And my back row in full flight is a thing of beauty. Yes, my locks are not speed merchants, but when you have Little, Habana, Rococoko and Ben Smith, they don’t need to be.”

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But Digger was drinking his third ale and waved Biltong’s defence aside:

“The Second Horseman: War. That’s the Humbugs, honestly. Ben has a powerful side with a loose trio almost as good as mine but has serious weakness in defence out wide. Also, who in their right mind believes Umaga and O’Driscoll would get along in the midfield? Their enmity would roll through the team. They will spend most of their time whinging at each other. The team would implode.

“My 9-10-12 axis would turn this team around, play a territory based game, frustrate the Humbugs and use my superior pace out wide to win the war.”

Ben had finished his woodworking marvels, and he dismissively chuckled at Digger’s plan: “Umaga and O’Driscoll won’t get along? The two are so happy to be playing together they have booked a room in Auckland together so they can have a catch up before the rest of the team gets there. Rumours are that Ted is knocking down the wall in between his second and third spare rooms so that the two can sleep in bunk-beds. And sure, neither of my wingers can kick, but if you want to lob it up to Lomu, be my guest there is nothing I like seeing more than Lomu bagging the first quintuple hat-trick ever.”

And Ben went back to his tasks.

Biltong put his feet up on the table and spat on the wall. The saliva formed the shape of a bulldog. Digger spat his beer out and switched back to bourbon, muttering something about a shrine to miraculous bulldogs in the Cook Islands.

Biltong announced: “I am sorry, Ben, you have other issues. Bismarck won’t understand a word spoken by his locks, and therefore miscommunication will ruin it all. With Lomu on the one wing and Shane Williams in the other, the decisions are simple, run at wee Shane, and kick over Lomu. Turn him, and he is dead like a fish out of water.”

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Digger drained the bourbon, looked for another beer, and exclaimed: “Behold the Third Horseman! Famine. Famine rides on Rhinos!”

He broke down RobC’s team: “A cunning strategy. Cerebral selector. Rob tried to distract us with pictures of his dinner while quietly snapped up Wallaby greats to influence and stroke the bias of the Roar readers. But he overdid it. He has too many one dimensional players.

“Outside of the great Eales, the Rhinos lineout will be easily controlled. Brown will buckle Marler like a paper plane. Fitzpatrick does not have the pace to cover on the wing. The Rhinos backline is a threat so we’ll starve this team of possession. The Rhinos will suffer a famine. We’ll block the Pocock.”

RobC smiled cunningly and explained: “Digger. Your coach is a relic of the amateur era who had a miserable time trying to beat southern hemisphere teams with Scotland. He didn’t do much better in the professional era with the Lions. His entire body of knowledge, thinking and tactics are suitable for retired Northern Hemisphere players, which is probably the reason you chose an English captain.

“Your talent will be wasted. The players themselves have more plays, better tactics and better training methods than McGeechan – and your Demons will be possessed, frustrated, disarrayed and fighting each other within a week of training.”

Digger was on the floor now. His seventh pilsner by his side, he spoke now of death.

“The fourth Horseman. Death. Death comes to the Harriers. Harry is our poet selector and resident Namibian fitness expert. He’s got formidable, uncompromising, ruthless and efficient forwards. That’s his weakness. The Harriers need to satisfy this blood lust.

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“Harry will write an ode about Vikings with no Kings and bad table manners. I see Mental Disintegration. His tight five has a lower average IQ than a primary school reading recovery class. His tight five are a disciplinary nightmare.

“That lack of discipline will be ruthlessly prodded and poked by my Demons until they spontaneously combust. The Harriers will be down to 13 men by halftime. Etzebeth will do one of his fake head butts, Bakkies will head butt Jake White, and Castrogiavanni will go on strike. McCaw will have the 2007 look on his face all over again. Harry’s tight five is death.”

And Digger went to sleep.

Harry stopped taking selfies of himself doing pull ups from the ceiling of the bar and tossed half a Steinlager on Digger: “Digger. Come on. You picked Dane Coles in an all time World XV. Dane Coles is young. He’s so young he never had a Myspace. He’s so young he still believes in unicorns. He wears boots that light up. Your loose trio is too nice. Smith, Jones and Brooke? That’s a nice accountancy firm. ‘After you? No, you first!’ Disaster. McCaw will rob them without his cloak.”

RobC: “Ben. No offence, mate, but your Genius Richies have three huge problems:

-your team sanctifies a player who captains the Harriers
-you have two ultra-controversial players; one who pulled another player’s leg out of his socket and another who drove an icon’s head into the turf
-Ted can’t coach a heterogeneous team, as we learnt in 2001.”

Biltong scratched his ear, which resembles broccoli and cauliflowers, and added: “Ben, my boy, your team name sounds like the sequel to a Harry Potter movie, you sure these blokes know they are going to play rugby?”

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Ben rolled his keen, Kiwi-born eyes.

Harry: “So let’s summarise. In the scrums, my only competition is the Bulldogs. In the lineouts, just Digger. And in general play, only the Rhinos. Biltong picked Bulldogs who don’t fetch. A dog who won’t fetch gets no dinner. So, I have the best pack. That’s how it works.”

Digger was snoring. Biltong had a few kilograms of biltong in his right cheek, which he was punching. Ben was measuring the degree of stupidity in the room.

But RobC was just warming up: “Whooah, Harry. The biggest set piece competition is within your team. Bakkies broke Ayerza’s collarbone not long ago. So your Argentinian prop’s first priority is to drop Mr Botha on the first lineout to end his season. Bakkies will be avoiding Ayerza like the Spanish flu.”

Harry found that very funny and tipped his hat.

But RobC was just getting started: “The Bulldogs, are very good. But so are all of the other teams. So what will make the difference in the end? Grit. The player with the most grit is Jan ‘Namib Desert Rock Eater’ Ellis. Compared to him, Dusatoir, Juan Smith, K. Read are swimsuit models. Brodie, when on the same paddock as Thorn, will not be able to stop his urge to shine his mentor’s boots. Zinzan will be polishing Shelford’s shoes too, as he had to wait for Buck to reach the ripe age of 33 before he could finally play eighthman.”

RobC, falling in love with his own voice, jumped on a table, found a pole, and dancing sinuously around it, sang: “The most staggering, are the backs. Everyone else’s backs either hurt each other, hate each other, or don’t speak each other’s languages. My Rhino backs are the only ones who can work instinctively like lightning and – score, score and score!”

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Harry: “Rob, Rob, Rob. Ayerza would monster Link. Let’s be honest, Link wasn’t the strongest prop. Link was so weak he made tea taste like coffee. Ewen is your weak link. Joe Marler’s faux-hawk would get tangled in Castro’s mop. He’d be neutralised. Sean Fitzpatrick is a great bloke, but he doesn’t have a body that suggests “gym.” More like “gin.”

RobC was irate: “None of that matters! Your coach, Jake, is the ultimate product of the ten man rugby that the entire modern southern hemisphere is driving out.”

Harry wasn’t listening. He kept going: “And Ben, Ayerza does actually own Owen. That’s why Owen is called Own Franks by the Buenos Aires announcer. Meanwhile, Jason Leonard’s problem is his hooker is Bismarck du Plessis and Bismarck du Plessis is still fighting the Boer War and Bismarck du Plessis will win that war. Divide and conquer. Biltong, Carl Hayman is a myth. He is the most overrated prop in history. He is the Susan Boyle of scrums.”

RobC yawned. “Guys, the Rhinos will turn the field into a torture chamber:

-for you outdated opponents,
-who will hand over victory
-by 20:00
-and pray for quick execution.

I will grimly grind you pretenders into the dirt, and take and post pictures.”

Harry. “How you speak in bullets, Rob? You have problem in your loose trio. Ellis and Pocock would definitely not see the world the same way. The first time Poey chained himself to a tree, Ellis would ‘free’ him with an axe. Meanwhile, Buck would steal both their girlfriends; that’s what he thought being a loosie was all about. Also, your scrummie, Gareth Edwards is not used to the new ball. It would be too perfect for him.”

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At this point, Digger woke up, and waved his Makers’ Mark: “Pestilence! Death! Famine!”

The other selectors carried him to the loo. As they helped him ralph up his brew, Ben told Harry: “Burger and Collins. Hardest Humbugs.”

Harry rolled his eyes: “Burger and Collins is a great pair on paper, but they would unintentionally knock each other out in the first 5:00.”

And Biltong roared a great roar, and tackled all of them into tomorrow, because today in South Africa is tomorrow in Roar-land.

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