You Never Lose Control of the Dog

I hope Atticus won't mind me telling this story. He's a very good dog.

Atticus' adopted parents were getting married and he was the obvious choice to be the ring bearer. He and I were hiking buddies and good mates, so I was suitably honoured to be asked to sit at the back with him during the ceremony and release him at the moment critique.

The plan was that his Dad would call him, Atticus would respond and head up the aisle, the rings would be collected and.. you get the picture. Unfortunately that's not quite what happened. The plan was almost a flawless one, but what hadn't been factored in were the microphones and speakers being used to amplify proceedings. The call was picked up at the altar, but projected out from a speaker away to our left. Atticus being a very good dog and a sheep dog by nature took off in the direction of the command.

Now, if we were in a church this probably wouldn't have been an issue, but as we were on some rolling lawns on a farm in the Elgin Valley, surrounded by grand beds of lush clivias, it was absolutely a problem. Attie bolted, across the lawns and leaping into the plants with me and half of the wedding party in hot pursuit.

In the ensuing chaos, Atticus was eventually brought to heel, but as we prepared to get back to the important stuff I noticed that the ring was missing from his collar. The ribbon had been tied, not for a sprint across the lawns and frolic through the fields, but for a short walk down the aisle to be untied by hands trembling with excitement.

If you can keep your head when all about you 
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you

I zoned out the escalating panic and focused my mind back on what had just happened. I plotted where Atticus had streaked across the lawn and fixed it in my mind, walked over and entered the plant beds. Estimating where I thought his first leap would have landed, I bent over and there, partially obscured, was the diamond ring.

The wedding re-commenced, it was was a grand occasion and as we went to celebrate next to the pool, I was feeling mildly chuffed with myself for if not 'saving the day' at least averting a bit of a disaster.

That was until the father of the groom, a sheep farmer from New Zealand, approached me. I'd been looking forward to meeting him and as I shook his hand and introduced myself he said to me, in a deep, gnarled New Zealand drawl, "You lost control of the dog."

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I was a bit taken aback, stammered something by way of an excuse alluding to the extenuating circumstances, but he cut me off.

"You NEVER lose control of the dog."

With that he turned and walked off. Class dismissed.

I realised there's a massive difference in expectations between a sheep farmer with working dogs from the South Island of New Zealand and a Capetonian with two Terriers who sleep in his bed and never listen to a word he says unless he's holding a piece of cheese in his hand.

Atticus & Alphonso

This story came to mind when it started looking like we'd be facing our fierce rivals in the World Cup final. Atticus and his parents now live in New Zealand and I wondered who he will be supporting on Saturday night. I also thought about our school rugby tour to New Zealand back in 2000 and values of the rugby people we met traversing those islands. I remember our bus driver - former Waikato and Western Province hard man Duane Monkley's father - telling us ahead of our first game of the tour not to be surprised if we got ourselves in the wrong place and received a rucking. "It's the way we do it in New Zealand".

We kicked off against Hamilton Boys High and I promptly managed to get myself in the wrong place and received the promised shoeing. Even though I'd been warned, I took umbrage and set off in search of one of them lying on the ball or the wrong side to settle the score. I didn't have to wait long and I got stuck in with both feet. About half way through I felt the prone player grab my boot and I braced myself expecting things to kick off. He just got up off the floor, looked who my leg was attached to, made eye contact and said to me, "Aww maaaate well played eh! You got me a good one!" ruffling my hair a little on the way past and chuckling to himself. "A real good 'un! I deserved that." Fittingly for where I was, I felt sheepish.

I'm not someone who is calling for rugby to go back to the old ways, for rucking to be brought back and to try and reverse the tide of making the game safer and more inclusive. But what has been nagging at me, though, is that - to push the analogy right to breaking point - is the thought that World Rugby has lost control of the dog.

While I assume they are standing there with champagne in hand patting themselves on the back for a great World Cup the fact is that they are letting the dogs sleep in their beds instead of getting them to do their jobs properly.

I thought my brother put it well when he asked this earlier this week:

The best thing about Rugby Union, in my eyes, is that it is a sport with an ethos, a culture, a code. Which is about more than just winning or losing. It is a tough sport that rewards courage and determination as much as skill and flair. Fair play and respect run deep.

World Rugby has created a monster by failing to stamp out the undesirable things creeping into the game. Players influencing referees, TV producers and crowds trying to do the same, play acting, simulation, cheering after each decision, feigning injuries to stop play. The list just grows.

We're also getting a highly sterile product. They feel it is easier not to show the paying public a replay than it is to make the right decision. To mute the TMO rather than let us hear what is going on. Selective coverage and misinformation is becoming the norm. How long are fans going to suck it up?

The disciplinary process is another area in total shambles. Jonny Sexton swore at and abused referees in the wake of the Heineken Cup final, a final he didn't even play. His punishment? A three match ban that also coincidentally covered all Ireland's warm-up games. Rassie Erasmus got a year for a leaked video. Likewise Owen Farrell - repeat offender - was allowed grace from another red card offence to appear in the World Cup. They claim to be ridding rugby of head contact but the Springboks have had Grant Williams knocked out cold and Makazole Mapimpi's World Cup ended by head shots and not even a yellow card to be seen for either incident. Juan Cruz Mallia was subsequently banned for two weeks, but the decision was mitigated on referee Andrew Brace's input. The referee who saw nothing wrong with it in the first place. They hide behind citing commissions and legalese in place of common sense and fairness.

Last week I battled to find a disciplinary for Antoine Dupont for his comments about the referees and this week the way they've handled the Bongi Mbonambi - Tom Curry incident has been worse than pathetic. They let an accusation that didn't even end up in a charge rumble for most of the week. A week where the focus should have been on the final and the teams taking part in the showcase event.

They are arbitrary, reactionary and seemingly without a clue on how to manage the sport. If I can channel my inner New Zealand farmer I'd tell them they can start by getting the dog back on the lead and getting respect and discipline back in Rugby Union where it belongs. youNEVAlohscontrawllofthedaarrrwggg