By the men on the St James’ omnibus
November 20 2006

Although the following article is the work of one author, it is partly based on conversations in the bus club before and after Saturday’s game.

Something’s rotten in the garden

 

In his latest programme notes, Paul Grayson recounted the story of a supporter who had approached him after the recent loss at The Stoop. Apparently, the supporter told Grayse that had he had another shirt to wear, he would have thrown away his Saints jersey after witnessing the side’s performance against Harlequins.

 

Grayse went on to wonder whether rugby was becoming more like soccer, with supporters treating the jersey as a mere fashion statement, to be discarded when the team starts losing.

 

I didn’t see the article until after Saturday’s game, by which time I had made a promise to myself: I wouldn’t pull on a Saints shirt again until I believed that the guys who are paid to wear it actually looked like they were bothered whether they would be wearing it again the next weekend. I’m not worried about results – I’ve been a Saints’ fan for too long to get upset by defeat. I’m talking about pride in the club, pride in the jersey.

 

I don’t know who the disgruntled fan in Twickenham was, but he was apparently committed enough to the cause to have made the trip south, and to express his disappointment to Grayse afterwards. And speaking for myself, I have been a regular attendee at the Gardens since I moved to the town nearly 11 years ago, and a season ticket holder for seven years.

 

Grayse, I’m afraid, has probably missed the point. It is exactly because I don’t treat the jersey as a fashion item that I’ve decided to temporarily stop wearing it.

 

Now, I’m not accusing anyone of not wanting to win. To get anywhere near playing for a professional rugby club takes years of dedication and hard work, and part of that is obviously a strong desire to win, to beat the opposition and be better than the guys competing for your position. What I’m talking about is the ferocious desire not to let your mates down, to make every tackle, not to cough up the ball, to make those extra couple of yards. The kind of passion and commitment shown by the men wearing the Ireland jersey on Sunday. The kind of passion and commitment which, with one or two notable exceptions, seemed to be but a distant memory at Franklin’s Gardens on Saturday.

 

So is it a coaching problem? A couple of weeks ago Grayse was quoted as saying: “You can’t coach desire.” That may be true, but surely a good leader of men can instil desire. And if your coach can’t instil desire in a player, then you’ve either got the wrong coach or the wrong player. Or perhaps the situation is indicative of a wider malaise at the Saints.

 

I was going to finish that last sentence with the word club, but I’m not sure that word applies at the Gardens any longer. Certainly not the way it used to. Since the summer, I’ve had the niggling doubt that my status has changed from that of member and valued supporter of a club to that of customer of a business, to be marketed to and whose value is measured by the contents of my wallet rather than loyalty and commitment. Over the past few weeks I’ve heard similar opinions expressed more and more frequently, by friends and even complete strangers with whom I’ve fallen into conversation post match.

 

And if loyal supporters stop believing they’re special, that they belong to something extraordinary and contemplate binning their club shirt, then are some of the playing squad starting to think the same way, are they starting to feel that they are simply employees?

 

Most of us have had days at work when we just can’t be bothered, and go about our job in a half-arsed sort of way, simply looking forward to home time. Are some of the players feeling the same way? And if so, why?

 

Having read what I’ve written so far, what comes next might be a bit of a surprise. I don’t believe the problem is at the very top. Grayse (and Budge, but he’s off so I’ll leave him out of it) is an out-and-out Saintsman. He’s probably got a bit to learn about coaching – he is, after all, still fairly new to the job, but I firmly believe he will grow into the role. On Saturday we saw the side come out full of fire – partly because of Uncle Geoff’s Mobbs Match speech, perhaps, but probably mainly thanks to the week’s training and pre-match geeing up by the coaches.

 

They came out, scored a very quick try, and put loads of pressure on Saracens. Then a couple of missed kicks and a couple of refereeing decisions going against them led to a pair of tries for the opposition. And the heads went down. Confidence and composure became confusion and chaos. Imagination seemed to disappear as a vague sense of panic seeped through the team.

 

After half time and, no doubt, a reading of the riot act, out the guys came again, and looked like they’d steadied themselves and would work their way back into the game. But as their efforts came to nought, and Saracens got the bonus-point try, down went those heads again, and the game was lost.

 

What we appear to lack is the leaders on the pitch. Not just someone to wear the captain’s arm band and communicate between ref and team, but someone with the ‘follow me’ attitude. Where are this team’s Lams, Rodbers, Pagels? Where is this generation’s Blowers or Dawson? When things aren’t going our way, where is the man who will lead by example, will gather the team about him and reassure his men that all is not lost, that they are good enough to win, and that win will start with the next phase of play and continue to the final whistle?

 

When we’re 10 points down with 10 minutes to go, who is there on the pitch to remind the players that the men who wear the black, green and gold never give up, don’t roll over for anyone, that these colours do not run?

 

No, Grayse, for most of the supporters I know the jersey isn’t a fashion statement, it’s a statement of intent, a mission statement if you will. It says to the supporters ‘I am Northampton and I am proud.’ Does it say the same to everyone in your squad? Maybe it does, but until I start to see that displayed on the pitch, my shirt’s staying in the cupboard.