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Efficiency versus obduracy. Sometimes stubbornness wins. Often, it reveals cracks in a smooth machine which functioned perfectly in the lab.
Gracious guru of rugby and many other things, Nick Bishop, welcomed me to Neath yesterday. We sat in the corner of the bar at the Castle Hotel and had an afternoon beer and gab. Some people are just easy to talk with; Nick is a sly raconteur with a lovely turn of phrase and an essential calmness to him.
You can listen to a half hour of our hour chat on The Roar Rugby Podcast. I was supposed to grab a five minute audio. But how can you hurry a chat by the fire with the genial professor of rugby in an affable inn where rugby was formally instituted in Wales, the country that loves rugby most?
Listen to the chat between The Roar experts Harry and Nick in the player below or follow on your podcast platform of choice.
Both of us believed Wales would make France work for the win. As I put it, it would be close at 60 minutes and then weight would do its work. Nick thought the cumulative effect of French power would overcome stubborn Welsh resistance.
I was off by ten. For 70 minutes, the last 70 minutes, on Friday night in Cardiff, the new and gleaming French attack was stymied. The problem for Wales was the first ten.
Three points in 70 minutes: that’s all a quieted Antoine Dupont (into an early exit) and subdued Romain Ntamack (who was less musketeer and more of a legionnaire) could produce against a defence anchored by immortal Josh Navidi, well aged Jon Davies and bowlegged Liam Williams.
All around me, French fans were expecting a blowout. After ten minutes, with fullback Melvyn Jaminet and wing Gavin Villiere turning a poor Welsh kick into a field-spreading attack and a try, whilst concussed Wales scrumhalf Tomas Williams staggered back into the defensive line, evading medics.
Athletic flanker Anthony Jalonch galloped in, after a smart line by Jonathan Danty made a two-on-one and the massive French contingent at the Principalities were jumping and singing.
It seemed like mastermind Fabian Galthie, who had purloined Wales’ best coach to duly shut down the home side’s attack, was going to have a stress free night.
But in any sport, if a team is overly dependent (Dupont-dent?) on one facet or player to make it go, a weakness glares.
Squeeze the player of the year, put him in the ruck, assign Navidi to give him a PCR after every lineout, and after a while, even France is happy to score 13 points and get the hell out of Cardiff.
Up 10-3 after 10:00 a former Clermont juniors scrumhalf hugged me and told me: “The Boks will not repeat.” I made him buy me a Strongbow. He explained to me that Julien Marchand is the new Malcolm Marx and Paul Willemse is the improved Eben Etzebeth.
What happened next is a classic Welsh tale.
The wee dragon has a taste for frog meat. Oh, and Taulupe Faletau is some sort of wizard with a potion allowing him to see gaps unseen.
Wales did what a stubborn people do in the face of an invasion by superior forces: Alex Cuthbert went on a raid up the right flank. Faletau was suddenly behind enemy lines and gobbled up Jaminet, who shrunk every minute of the match after his early glory.
Wales’ Ross Moriarty (front, second left) looks dejected after the Guinness Six Nations match at the Principality Stadium, Cardiff. (Photo by David Davies/PA Images via Getty Images)
Only 6-10 down after that foray, Wales won a ruck deep inside the French 22 and did a Bok: Kieran Hardy lofted a high kick to test young Jaminet. Williams did get to it, knocking it on, but the point was: Wales would kick like donkeys and tackle like mules.
Then the French lineout wobbled, depending as it does on locks lifting flanks, whilst Wales had a tall lock lifting another tall lock.
Cuthbert went close again after a clever Hardy grubber, but the bounce favoured the French defender who was turned about.
A spiral 50-22 by Biggar led to a penalty making it 9-10. The only riposte before the half was a hopeless Jaminet drop goal attempt.
Just after halftime, Williams was crunched, and Jaminet converted the ensuing penalty. It was 13-9 and the score never changed, although it was Wales who looked more likely to score a try, with a Biggar cross kick to Faletau and inside flip to Jon Davies just failing. Hang on to that and it was a certain try.
With 20 minutes to go, my Clermont pal told me: “Jaminet is even worse than your Willie. We are going nowhere. C’est tous.” He had French commentary in his ears, and told me they were condemning the failed drop goals (Ntamack tried one late) and lack of cutting edge.
In a way, I know how the frustrated French feel about attempts to rush through Welsh systems.
Wales lulls you. Slows your blood. Loitering, lollygagging, lazing, lilting, and just inventing reasons to stay, to abide; the Welsh way.
My hangover train to Paddington was set for 8:41. I woke, and saw my phone had never charged with the cord I bought from a guy in the Parade as I staggered to the hotel at 2 am with a group of my new best friends. Ignoring their wise warnings about unofficial phone chargers, I now faced a crucial choice.
Board the train with the last gasp of phone power or take two minutes to buy an official Apple setup in the station shop.
But the chargers had a special lock, and I was behind a man who wanted three steak-and-kidney pies and warmer please, yes just a little warmer, and then the lady couldn’t find the key and then I was running with my chargers, but you must have your ticket on your phone to enter and I had to convince an elderly woman to let me go through with her and then interpret Welsh on the screen and make just the wrong platform choice and realise it and try to run from 3 to 2 by going down the stairs but stuck behind a large lad who had something wrong with his foot and his parents gingerly stepping down the steps like gargoyles who had just been freed from a gothic cathedral and given the gift of movement.
I got to platform 2 just in time to push the button on the closed door of the train to London and all the porters shouting at me to step back. Too late. But it was 8:40. No matter. Late.
France had the same problem.
After the Jelonch try, just like my successful pub crawl after a beautiful chat in Neath and my first visit to the glory of the stadium and hearing of the anthem in person, the French failed to factor the effect of Welsh resistance, also cumulative in effect.
Will Rowlands is not a household name, but he and Adam Beard can wreck your lineout plans. Faletau, Navidi and big Seb Davies (spelled by belligerent Ross Moriarty, who was monstering his coach on the touch line before he was allowed into the battle) were actually a match for the vaunted French loose trio (Greg Alldritt had been my Player of the Six Nations until last night).
Nobody chases harder than Josh Adams. Nobody spoils more plans than Liam Williams, with a voice that cuts through the songs of 62,000 fans. He is the train conductor, telling you “too late.”
The Welsh deny. They are the tennis player who takes all the pace out of the match, whose serve is slow and slice is dicey.
The French do not want to play all the rugby; they are fifth in the tournament for passing and carrying and metres. But Wales made them do the work. And then made the work hard. And never gave in. The jubilance of waterboy William Servat and cool dude Galthie afterwards was evident, and says everything you need to know about the Welsh.
Biggar is not spoken of with much affection, even by the Welsh. But the boy can stifle a game. His wobbling or spiraling kicks will haunt Jaminet. If there is one glaring weakness in the French
The French are still in the hunt for the perfect tournament.
But every team who has to face the French, from England to the Southern Hemisphere giants, has a template now. Swap Cheslin Kolbe, Lukhanyo Am, Handre Pollard, and a Bok pack in for their Welsh counterparts and you can see the pattern for a semifinal.
There is a tiny little crack in French armour: wrestle them, silence their nine, and test their back three. But you must still take every chance.
Brave fight, oh Wales. I’ll return. With more phone chargers.
Join The Roar rugby editor Christy Doran, former Wallaby Matt Toomua and a cast of regular and special guests as they look at the biggest issues in the game on The Roar Rugby Podcast. If you’re looking for great odds on the next game check out Aussie bookmaker PlayUp. Chances are you’re about to lose. Set a deposit limit.