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The True Romance of the Rugby World Cup

15th October, 2015
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Ireland's Sean O'Brien should lead the Lions into battle with New Zealand. (AP Photo/Alastair Grant)
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15th October, 2015
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This has been a romantic World Cup. More romantic than 1991, when David Campese cast his spell and the unfancied Western Samoa surged to the quarters.

More romantic than the national sigh of relief that swept England when Jonny Wilkinson potted his drop goal in 2003. It may even rival the historic 1995 Cup for romance, particularly if we get a final with a try scored this time.

It is a romantic Rugby World Cup because the little guys have stuck it to the big guys, because glorious uncertainty has reigned. It has been romantic because the game has been played, for the most part, in the grand manner, with the ball sweeping majestically up, down and across the field.

It has been romantic because Japan beat South Africa, because Georgia beat Tonga, because Samoa and Canada came within Paul Carozza’s nose of toppling Scotland and Italy. It has been romantic because of Namibia, outmuscled, outrun and outgunned, but continuing to hurl themselves with might and main into the fray.

It has been romantic because a team like Argentina has emerged as something quite different to what it was in past decades. Where once the Pumas competed with the grunt of their feared bajada scrum and the boot of Hugo Porta, here they have scored more points than any other team in the pool stages, with a brand of 15-man rugby well suited to the pampas.

It has been romantic because even less accomplished and less successful teams have played similarly, tries flowing from every corner of the field, and if Canada and Fiji and Tonga failed to go home with as many wins as they’d have liked, they left with some spectacular notches on the highlights reel.

And of course, from my parochial Australian perspective, it’s been romantic, firstly because of the magnificent slaying of the old enemy in white, but even more so because of the stunning victory over Wales. I remember Michael Lynagh’s last throw of the dice at Lansdowne Road in ’91.

I remember Stephen Larkham’s drop goal in ’99. I remember John Eales’s penalty in the 2000 Bledisloe and Toutai Kefu’s last-gasp try a year later and Campese’s no-look pass and Justin Harrison’s lineout steal and Stirling Mortlock’s intercept and young George Gregan’s miraculous tackle on Jeff Wilson.

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All unforgettable, but none more unforgettable than an oft-derided Wallabies team, one man down, then two men down, defending their line for 12 minutes straight against flying Welsh backs, rampaging Welsh forwards, brutal lineout drives and heaving scrums. It was simply impossible for Australia to not concede a try, but somehow, a Wallabies body got in the way every time. It was heroic, as romantic as rugby gets, and for a game won 15-6 with no tries, astounding.

So let us hope the romance continues in the quarter-finals and beyond. What, one may ask, would be the most romantic conclusion for this World Cup to reach?

Let us begin by stating the obvious. Objectively, the best outcome is for Australia to win. But I admit to personal bias here, and in the universal sense, a third Wallabies World Cup would not be the most romantic of all. So let’s proceed on the hypothetical assumption that God is displeased with His creation and that Australia does not win.

And indeed, it would be a win for lovers of romance were the flower of Scotland to knock Australia off in the quarters. The Scots have been skilful and bold in the tournament, and are led by a hero in the classic mould in Greig Laidlaw, who could win a nailbiter with hand or foot. The little brother of the Home Nations would write a magnificent saga if they vanquished Australia, and even more so if they pushed on further.

It surely goes without saying that the most romantic result in the France-New Zealand match is for the All Blacks to go home. Yes I realise a victorious farewell for Dan Carter and Richie McCaw would be fitting, and I realise that the French have dumped the Kiwis, to widespread shock, out of two World Cups previously, so that song may be getting a little repetitive.

But the All Blacks need to face up to the fact that they are simply too good for their success to ever be truly romantic, particularly against the effortlessly romantic Bleus, who have been so close and yet so far before, losing three finals, and who would surely delight romantics everywhere with triumph in 2015.

The French have already been beaten, though, by the Irish, and if one can imagine the drinking and singing that will echo up and down the Emerald Isle if Ireland goes all the way, one can see what romance there may be in a green conquest. If Ireland are not underdogs of Scottish magnitude, they are still exceedingly unlikely world champions, and the sheer poetry of Irish victory is worth consideration.

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Unfortunately for Irish romantics, they play Argentina in the quarters, and even the land of Yeats could not compare to the romance of the aforementioned Pumas taking their place atop the world. Most rugby nations struggle to bring public attention to the game in the face of more popular national pastimes, but surely no team has had such an uphill battle as the Pumas, fighting to establish the game of Porta in the land of Maradona.

An Argentine Cup would be an underdog story of marvellous, heart-swelling Latin romance, especially given the thrilling way they’ve been playing. If they win, maybe the rugby public will even agree to start calling them the Jaguars, according to what’s on their badge, rather than the Pumas.

Like the All Blacks, South Africa must fail in the World Cup for romance to rise victorious. They had their one grand moment in 1995, but like their fellow southern hemisphere superpowers, they’ve already won two Rugby World Cups, and in their two finals have not scored a single try. There’s a sweet romance in South Africa losing at pretty much any time, at pretty much any sport, and this is no exception.

For the Springboks to be displaced by Wales would be extra romantic, because the land of coal mines, rich baritones and cheese on toast is a titan of the game, laid low and now rebuilt. If there had been a World Cup in the ’70s, Wales would probably have won at least one with their almost unfeasibly talented side of that era.

From there to the humiliations of the early ’90s was a long fall, and it’s been a long rise back to where they are now – if not at the very top of the ladder, at least capable of putting up a good fight for a rung. A Welsh World Cup would be unexpected and entirely fitting at the same time. And they have a romantic advantage over their fellow outsiders by actually being a country where rugby is the number one game: if they win this thing, the valleys will be ringing with drunken harmonies for months, if not years.

So we can probably agree that the optimal romantic path for this World Cup to take will see Wales, France, Argentina and Scotland win this weekend. This will be followed by Wales knocking over France in a cliffhanger, and a brave but overmatched Scotland going down to the flamboyant Argentines.

And then, Wales versus Argentina. Just imagine. The rugby-mad sons of the dragon versus the plucky gauchos whose entire country believes are playing the wrong sport. What is the most romantic outcome of that dream match-up?

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I’m not sure… but god it’d be good to see it happen. I can’t wait.

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