As part of a new series for this blog, I will be watching and writing about a new sport every fortnight.
This week I watched rugby. And you only need to be on the platform at Vauxhall Station for a moment to work out who else is on their way to Twickenham to watch England take on Australia in the Autumn Series.
Sporting quarter-zips, schoffels or mullets, they swarmed the Southwestern carriages heading to the outskirts of London to witness what should be, as a man opposite me brazenly announced, “a cracking day for a bit of rugby.”
Hazy IPA-fuelled groans filled the air as the intermittent train service is stopped in the middle of Barnes, a purgatory between regular working and family life and ‘HQ’, English rugby’s headquarters. Pre-match predictions ramble on with the Wallabies’ patchy form dissected by those more interested in how Steve Borthwick’s side’s can exploit their southern hemisphere rivals, than how many bright green cans can be sunk by the time we get to Richmond.
I can be pretty safely put into the category of a rugby ‘casual’. I love the World Cup, I watch the Six Nations when it is on and try to keep up with the sport’s ever-changing rules through various newspaper articles. So, heading to the Allianz Stadium, the one in Twickenham, not the home of Saracens, or where Bayern Munich play football, I was not quite sure what to expect.
There does seem to be a bit more excitement around English rugby than in recent years and when George Ford kicked for the corner instead hitting a simple three through the posts just a few minutes in, it felt like England wanted to put on a show.
Yet, the early buzz around the ground fizzled out pretty quickly and, bar a few renditions of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, the occasion became to feel all very routine for the Red Roses. Australia were not particularly strong and even when Harry Potter produced some namely magic, intercepting and racing the length of the pitch to score, they were still 10-7 down and appeared out of ideas.
The gulf in talent between the sides only widened when Borthwick rang the changes and injected a bit of much needed spark into the game through the introduction of Luke Cowan-Dickie, Will Stuart, Ellis Genge, Tom Curry and Henry Pollock.
Within seven minutes, Pollock, the new poster boy, powered over the line after picking up a nice Tom Roebuck flick to put the game beyond the Wallabies. At just 20-year-old, the back row has already established himself as the sport’s new master of the dark arts and has the talent to match his cocky swagger.
In a look that he admitted he stole directly from Chelsea’s Alejandro Garnacho, Pollock’s shock of dyed-blonde hair is impossible to miss, especially as it sprouts above a black headband. Pollock, inevitably, was at the heart of the action when he finally emerged from the bench. A try and an 82nd-minute yellow card to cap off an eventful half-hour summed up much of what the youngster can bring England, and the sport as a whole.
Pollock averages a try every 20 minutes in the white shirt and he has more than a few celebrations up his sleeve. He is a natural entertainer and whether he is shushing the crowd, throwing up a three-pointer or scratching his chin in celebration, Pollock is bound to get more people watching the sport. His antics are likely to rile up oppositions, and even some more traditional England fans, but in an age of social media the hype around Pollock will only grow.
Every great team has had a star which gets the crowd up on their feet and, until Pollock was introduced, England felt rather mechanical. People will watch France and Scotland play just to watch the likes of Antoine Dupont and Finn Russell strut their stuff. Perhaps, with his ability to play as a forward and even potentially as a winger, Pollock could be that man for England.
Tougher tests lie in wait this autumn, with Fiji, New Zealand and Argentina set to take on Borthwick’s men in November. If Pollock’s confidence continues to grow, his showboating keeps making waves and his place in the starting 15 becomes assured, maybe a new audience will start to line up alongside the quarter-zips, schoffels and mullets at Vauxhall Station.
Similar Posts
Jack McRae writes... 