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The Roar

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'There is no other position where the Wallabies have as much vulnerability - or as much promise'

26th April, 2023
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26th April, 2023
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Rugby is a game of massed pressure. Pressure applied and absorbed.

See the winners of the biggest tournaments: who stood tall under the hot lights.

No, it was not just speed or talent or brute strength. Winners were more fortified.

In a city, water pressure is mostly a war on gravity: relative height between supply and user.

Pump water from tall reservoirs down big pipes so no one user drops pressure on others.

Pipes shrink closer to end use. Rugby applies pressure in much the same way.

Rugby’s lineout is an iconic scene. See the height of a two-metre man lifting a two-metre man, snaring the ball at its seven-metre apex, pausing as if to enjoy the view, and descending safely, securing possession. We marvel at the sheer height. Only divers compete at these levels.

Our locks are visually compelling; proper giants.

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We ask them to form a row. To join as the pack engages. To mesh on the second shove. To unite and maul, whether steering or swimming. To latch at a ruck. To combine as a pillar or a post. They bind closely and have heads between prop and hooker; their hands grab a sack.

In this yoked, interlocked state, they secure the ball countless times a game. Yes, rugby has towers. Twin towers. Lest we forget, rugby’s World Cups are supremely attritional tournaments. We can tell the tale just by focusing on the locks.

In 1991, John Eales led Australia to the Promised Land, besting Wade Dooley, the Blackpool Tower (two metres tall).

Australian captain John Eales (C) and his teammates celebrate after winning the 1999 Rugby Union World Cup final against France. Australia won the final 35 to 12. (Photo by Franck Seguin/Corbis/VCG via Getty Images)

Australian captain John Eales (C) and his teammates celebrate after winning the 1999 Rugby Union World Cup final against France. Australia won the final 35 to 12. (Photo by Franck Seguin/Corbis/VCG via Getty Images)

In 1995, Kobus Wiese was a man mountain up against long Ian Jones.

In 1999, captain Eales and lineout master David Giffin handled inspirational Fabien Pelous, who went on to gain 118 caps, and skilled operator Abdelatif Benazzi.

In 2003, Martin Johnson and Ben Kay were just that shade better than Nathan Sharpe and Justin Harrison on the day.

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In 2007, blood brothers Victor Matfield and Bakkies Botha put Kay and the excellent (and massive) Simon Shaw in the shadows.

Outgoing Reds coach Brad Thorn and young Sam Whitelock put in a hell of a shift to withstand the challenge of grizzled Lionel Nallet and pork-fed Pascal Pape in 2011.

In 2015, it was an older Whitelock with boyish Brodie Retallick who just about handled the excellent Aussie duo Rob Simmons and Scott Fardy.

By using a bomb squad in 2019, South Africa attrited England by using all of Eben Etzebeth, Lood de Jager, Franco Mostert, RG Snyman, and du Toit to form a bloody castle.

Eben Etzebeth

Eben Etzebeth of South Africa (Photo by Craig Mercer/MB Media/Getty Images)

Lock forwards, the largest units in the team, form thirteen percent of the starting fifteen (or increasingly twenty percent as Pieter-Steph du Toit, Tadgh Bierne, Scott Barrett, Charles Ollivon, and Marcos Kremer “flank” as lighter locks) and with 6-2 benches, almost a quarter.

Give teams a ninth substitute? Most would gerrymander another lock, often injured because of how high they fly.

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A fortification. A tower of strength. A tower is a tall structure, taller than wide, that can support itself. They are not really buildings (like a tighthead prop sort of is) because they are not enjoyably habitable. In fact, many of the best locks, like Paul O’Connell, Botha or Etzebeth, are not properly civilized on the pitch (but we should add, exceptionally calm in normal life).

Towers are more about visibility or communications than livability. In his very long prime, Alun Wyn Jones is one who saw the game and spoke of it exceptionally, even if lately he seems as if he may have witnessed Jericho’s towers or Babylon’s ziggurats.

Ultimately, towers do not stand alone. Four towers formed the frame of castles: enclosed with walls, as we see in prisons and military posts. The combinations, the well-joined masonry (Botha and Matfield; Retallick and Whitelock) are key to towers working well.

But the towers are tall. Locks were always tall; in their time. Hall of Famer Frik du Preez played far larger than his 1.89 m frame would suggest. He (and the superb Lucien Mias) was shorter than star Irish hooker Dan Sheehan, but could catch the cross bar flat footed. Kiwi great Colin Meads​ was a mere 1.92 m, as were top locks Sir Bill Beaumont, Brian Lochore, and Willie John McBride.

As time went on and humans grew taller in general, locks grew too, from Gordon Brown to Ian Jones to Martin Johnson, until it was normal for locks to be two metres tall (Victor Matfield​​, Dan Vickerman, Nathan Sharpe​​, and John Eales would not stick out as much today as they did back in the day) but remained lean.

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A representative list of locks from the top teams today includes the tallest towers:

Rory Arnold 2.08 m
Richie Gray ​​2.08 m
Lood de Jager​​ 2.06 m
Nick Frost 2.06 m
RG Snyman ​​2.06 m
Brodie Retallick ​​2.04 m
Eben Etzebeth ​​2.03 m
James Ryan ​​ 2.03 m
Adam Beard ​​ 2.03 m
Will Skelton 2.03 m
Thibaud Flament ​2.03 m
Will Rowlands ​​2.03 m
Sam Whitelock ​​2.02 m
Paul Willemse ​​ 2.01 m
Tomas Lavanini ​​2.01 m
Franco Mostert​​ 2.00 m

Sub-two metre locks must now bring something else:

Alun Wyn Jones​​ is one of the best lock leaders to ever run on a pitch. Tadgh Beirne​​ lost none of his pilfering skills with the switch to lock. Ex-swimmer Paul O’Connell​’s explosive starts off the ground made him easy to lift at lineout and restart. Scott Barrett​​ and Jonny Gray​​ outwork most foes. Brad Thorn could bench press two locks. Maro Itoje​​’s extraordinary wingspan gives him three extra inches and his thirst for disruption can change a game. Flank-sized Guido Petti​​ can probably touch a branch higher than almost any other lock.

Far more crucial than sheer size, it is the relentless union of the two largest players on a top team which elevates their sides. Then, stopping power is magnified, the pack is difficult to push back, and rucks become exceptionally scary places for the opposition, even when wholly legal.

Going into this year’s World Cup, there is no other area in which the Wallabies have as much guesswork, as much vulnerability and yet promise, than at lock. Their certain opponents and hopeful matchups seem a bit more certain of their lock stocks.

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Michael Cheika has three locks on track: Matias Alemanno, Guido Petti and Tomas Lavanini are extremely athletic and agile, work their socks off and make lineouts daunting for their foes. If they remain on the pitch (Lavanini is molten), they may finally give the Pumas the territory they desperately need to pull more than one or two upsets.

France has three as well: pacy Cameron Woki, upskilled Thibaud Flament, and mountainous Paul Willemse. As with all locks, the key is health: can Fabien Galthie count on all three?

Ireland has a clever second row in Tadhg Beirne and James Ryan, who may sweat more than any other lockmates, and still have the driest hands. Backing them up are Ulsterman Iain Henderson and the promising Ryan Baird. All are asked to play to the breakdown, and clean beyond it without being pinged (a skill unto itself). In a seven-match marathon against the biggest boys, there is still a slight Bull-induced and La Rochelle-reinforced concern about power.

The All Blacks and the Springboks are both hoping their old firms of Retallick and Whitelock (the most capped locking duo ever), who seem to be in the right place most of the time, and counterruck and carry kings Etzebeth and de Jager (chasing forty joint Bok appearances) can make it three World Cup semifinals in a row. The crown of best duo in the era is very much up for grabs between these four men who faced off dozens of times (Etzebeth has played the old foe an agonising 17 times) but either one could also be sent packing in the quarterfinals.

If any of the starters falter, the Boks have better lock depth. Scott Barrett, Patrick Tuipulotu and Tupou Vaa’i have not played as well (yet) in the Test arena when it mattered as lock-flank Pieter-Steph du Toit, berserker RG Snyman and tireless Franco Mostert.

Australia has fascinating conundrums in the second row. To get to a semifinal, the Wallabies seem to have the ammunition to conquer the Welsh and English engine rooms. The Pumas locks pose a real threat but one could see an Arnold and Will Skelton with a workhorse type (Nick Frost or Matt Philip or Izack Rodda, or two of them) shoring it up enough to get into the big dance.

Yet, at the business end of the tournament, Eddie Jones will lack a fully established pairing from these candidates to clean out after a Rob Valetini run or Pete Samu burst, or claim an English kickoff, or refuse to let James Slipper buckle at a crucial scrum:

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Richie Arnold​​ 2.08 m
Rory Arnold ​​2.08 m
Nick Frost​​​ 2.06 m
Will Skelton​​ 2.03 m
Trevor Hosea​​ 2.03 m
Izack Rodda​​ 2.02 m
Cadeyrn Neville ​​2.02 m
Matt Philip ​​ 2.01 m
Darcy Swain ​​2.00 m
Ryan Smith​​ 1.99 m
Jed Holloway ​​ 1.95 m

It is difficult to look past the four tallest locks (Frost has backed up his excellent 2022 with five or six lineout wins a game and intelligent cleaning), with the hardest workers (Rodda, Philip) appealing. Swain’s disciplinary record and Holloway’s Petti-esque stature (without the hops) would seem to make them pure choices in a Golden Age of Locks, whilst Neville still seems like a poor man’s Simmons.

If you want a tower, get proper towers: an Arnold or two, Frost, Skelton, and Rodda or Philip.

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