When does a tipple turn into too much?

I walk into the cauldron of fire cheered on by the small but enthusiastic crowd. This is the moment I have prepared for in training all week. Everything boils down to this one gladiatorial event.

There can be no hesitation or self-doubt. There will be no second chances. Glory awaits. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.

I glance back at my team mates. I see the mix of fear and anticipation in their eyes. No one wants to let down their mate standing alongside them. After all, it’s more than just pride at stake. This stuff really matters to each and every one competing.

A hush comes over the crowd. The players take their respective positions and eyeball their opponents. I search out my opposite. He shoots me a look of contempt and taunts me with unabashed delight.

In that moment, I realise I’m wringing my hands. My reddening face only serves to egg him on further in his verbal attacks. I must find a way to control my nerves.

The shrill blast of the referee’s whistle. The contest begins and the nerves disappear. The training takes over. I set about my work with grim determination.

The crowd breaks its silence. ‘Get into it,’ one tersely calls out. ‘You’ve got this. You own him,’ declares another.

I drain the last contents of the jug and invert it on top of my head. The outside centre launches into his work. My job is complete. Mission accomplished. My team is off to the perfect start.

Alcohol and rugby went hand in hand for me. Sometimes literally. That’s how social the rugby got at times. They went together like bacon and eggs. Either one could quite happily exist on its own, but when combined they made the perfect matrimony.

It’s still a familiar tale to many of those who still play the game at the amateur level. Social rugby can be a euphemism for social binge drinking. Rugby is seen by many as the greatest sport for building camaraderie and having a drink together is just an extension of building those strong bonds.

Gone are the days in the professional era, however, when rugby tours saw legendary drinking sessions occur on tour. Alcohol impedes recovery and players cannot afford to place their bodies under additional strain.

Of course there are high profile cases such as Zac Guildford showing some players are incapable of restricting themselves to a few quiets. Yet these cases are just as few and far between as their complete opposite .

Teetotalers such as Johnny Wilkinson or those who abstain for religious reasons such as Sonny Bill Williams and Michael Jones are equally the exception not the norm. The overwhelming majority of players still like to unwind by going out and by going out they take that to mean drinking alcohol.

The problem comes to a head when alcohol makes the headlines. Much was made of England’s sortie in Queenstown in the 2011 World Cup but England’s poor results were the real driving force behind that particular media campaign.

Contrast that with Israel Dagg and Cory Jane who got off comparatively lightly with their late-night shenanigans in the lead-up to the semi-final. The victors get to write their own history.

There was much surprise when Aaron Cruden made the headlines for not making the meet-up to make the flight for Argentina. Alcohol had never been a problem for him before and he was certainly not the only player out on the town that previous night. As it turned out, the flight was delayed but Cruden did not escape punishment and didn’t make the final two matches in the Rugby Championship nor indeed the last Bledisloe match. Now fate has dealt him an even harsher hand with injury ruining his chances of making the World Cup.

Rugby just happens to be played in many Anglo-Saxon countries. These countries often have irresponsible attitudes to drinking. Eating is cheating, for example, is not an expression used in every country where alcohol is consumed.

Many would balk at the definition of the World Health Organisation that any male drinking more than six beers is taking part in a binge-drinking session.

Rugby is considered a hard, physical game and engrained in the culture of many rugby Test nations is that drinking alcohol is further proof of your masculinity. Work hard allows you the luxury to play and drink hard. Drinking to control, therefore, could be perceived as putting at risk your reputation.

I read with curiosity that Sam Warburton was not a popular choice with many British fans for the Lions captaincy as he had willingly imposed a ban on alcohol in the 2011 World Cup after reaching the knockout phase. This did not really affect him as he hardly ever drinks alcohol, but his attitude was that too much hard work went into a campaign for that to be taken away by an ill-advised heavy drinking session.

The implication was that he was not a good leader for a tour because fans felt that he did not know how to connect with players and the best way of doing that was having a few drinks with the players. Having a laugh off the field is important as taking things seriously on the field but that is hard to do if you’re not drinking.

The problem is, there is a lot of down-time when it comes to touring or indeed when a team is in camp at home. You don’t want your players to have their nerves shot before game time nor do you want them operating at a furious intensity all week. You have to time that release of pent-up energy.

Yet just as limits are placed on what types of food players can eat, how reasonable is it to expect players to impose limits on the amount of alcohol they consume? These are grown adults but a lot is expected of them as professional athletes.

Results drive public perceptions and if they find out a player has over-indulged and they or the team put in a bad performance, then people start baying for blood.

The question is how much does alcohol impact on a player’s performance? If the answer is more than we are willing to concede, is enough done to curb professional players’ natural or cultural instincts to consume alcohol?