3rd February 2011. If you don't know what I'm referring to by the title of this post, then you have to have been living on the Planet Zanussi for the last couple of weeks. This coming Saturday, in the third match of the 6 Nations rugby, England welcome France to Twickenham. To say this is an eagerly awaited match would be to seriously understate the case. It's provided the back page sports writers with something they can get their teeth into as well - especially in the wake of comments by France's coach - Marc Lièvremont.
France took the Grand Slam last year (ie, they beat England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales & Italy) and are so far unbeaten in this year's competition. It's fair to say though that they haven't hit the heights of which they are capable. They also suffered a morale-shattering defeat by Australia in November. On the other hand, a resurgent England - at last playing with pace, power, inventiveness and yes, promise, under Martin Johnson's leadership - now look like genuine contenders.
France took the Grand Slam last year (ie, they beat England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales & Italy) and are so far unbeaten in this year's competition. It's fair to say though that they haven't hit the heights of which they are capable. They also suffered a morale-shattering defeat by Australia in November. On the other hand, a resurgent England - at last playing with pace, power, inventiveness and yes, promise, under Martin Johnson's leadership - now look like genuine contenders.
Key men? France will be relying on the dynamic Basque Imanol Harinordoquy to drive their attack whereas England will be looking to provide the exuberant Chris Ashton with some ball he can run on to.
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| Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.. .. dive like a sack of spuds! |
Both teams are going to be pumped up for this match and there are some very powerful players on both sides. As an example of what we might expect, here's a compilation of what's now known as "big hits":
We've been invited to watch the match with A & V, our French friends in Biarritz so, win or lose, I'll have to behave myself! These matches are always special - I just hope that as a spectacle it doesn't disappoint us. If you're asking me who's going to win, I'd have to say England. And I'm tempted to say by a clear margin.
"How many's that then..?"
By 15 points. (sticking my neck right out!)
Special pre-match bonus.. here's a reminder of an immense encounter between France & England in the 1991 World Cup quarter final in Paris. The French were playing in front of their President and were convinced that they were going to win. One of the highlights of a brutal game was this try-saving piledriver of a tackle by Mickey Skinner on Marc Cecillon that stopped the rampaging giant Frenchman in his tracks and drove him back 5 yards..
I found this match report on the web:
Just as truly great players are often known simply by their first name – Gareth, Gerald, Jonah – some historic incidents are instantly recalled by the briefest of headline descriptions. Ask any England rugby fan this week about 'The Tackle' and they will immediately smack fist into palm and go all dewy-eyed about Mick Skinner's extraordinary 'hit' on Marc Cecillon in the 1991 World Cup quarter-final. It was a tackle par excellence, a game-changing moment and a symbolic moment of pure drama that belonged to the theatre. It involved two immensely powerful men, including one – Cecillon – whose life was to take a remarkable and tragic turn when he left centre stage and tried to live a normal life. Skinner shouldn't even have been there, according to some, having been controversially brought in ahead of Dean Richards, who had started for England at No8 in the pool matches.
Skinner was the Geordie lad-about-town who paraded in garish waistcoats, wore his hair unfashionably long and spoke dismissively of the 'girls' in the backs. He was 'large' – to use his favourite Geordie expression – in just about every conceivable way and roistered his way around the London and England rugby scene for a few years, enjoying the fruits of the amateur game.
He pitched up at the 1987 World Cup as a replacement under the impression, not altogether incorrect, that he was attending an end-of-season piss-up, but 1991 England had got serious under Geoff Cooke and the talented Skinner had knuckled down. Underneath the joking prankster was a smart man — a highly prized computer consultant assigned to the Metropolitan Police — a considerable athlete and raging patriot to boot. Cooke believed he could add a certain dynamism to the England back row that could just help take them to a World Cup title.
So fast forward to Paris and the Parc des Princes on Oct 19, 1991. England are playing France in the World Cup quarter-final and all kinds of mayhem and madness are confidently predicted. The commentators weren't wrong, they just underestimated it.
The French were on a mission and not just because they believed they could win the World Cup. Seven months earlier they had pitched up at Twickenham for a Grand Slam decider and scored three sumptuous tries – including that contender as 'greatest try ever' by Philippe Saint-Andre courtesy of Serge Blanco and Didier Camberabero – only to be denied by England's mighty pack, the boot of Simon Hodgkinson and, in French eyes, some dodgy refereeing. Revenge and retribution were on the menu as well as a World Cup semi-final place.
England knew that and, with their mean-machine pack, planned on getting their retaliation in first. Their early assault on the revered Blanco as he gathered a high ball and was thrown around like a rag doll still makes the hairs on your neck stand up and it set the tone for a brutally physical game. France possessed an ugly, brutish pack at the time and England matched them all the way.
And so it came to pass in the second half, with the score poised at 10-10 going into the final quarter, France were pressing for the try that would probably have opened the floodgates. A scrum-five was awarded and France were rock steady on their put-in, setting it up perfectly for Cecillon, a 6ft 4in rock from Bourgoin who eyed the line with relish.
Skinner read the situation perfectly and, more importantly, timed his bone-shattering tackle to the micro-second as Cecillon momentarily gathered himself before surging for glory. But there was more. It wasn't just that Skinner merely stopped Cecillon, he then proceeded to drive him back fully five yards, dismissing the Frenchman from his very presence. Oh boy, did the 20,000 travelling England fans like that. The siege had been lifted, from that moment you knew with certainty that nothing was going to stop England.
Skinner was on a high and the French nonplussed. The maverick Eric Champ – old mad eyes himself - clearly wanted to punch him into the next parish but, in a rare moment of discipline, opted for a strange staring competition as the two went head to head, literally. Skinner won that little stand-off as well and England went on to win 19-10. After the game the French completely lost it and coach Daniel Dubroca attacked New Zealand referee David Bishop in the tunnel. Dubroca resigned soon after. Their bluff had been called at every juncture but Skinner and his tackle was the catalyst.
Having come to serious rugby late, Skinner's international career ended on a high the following season when he played in all of England's Grand Slam games and scored a try in the decider against Wales. As well as his computer consultancy, he signed for The Sun as their rugby columnist; after his Paris heroics they had dubbed him 'Mick the Munch' and produced a video of the game's greatest tackles. In his mellow middle-age Skinner remains a rugby nut and is a massive supporter of the Wooden Spoon Society, the RFU's charitable trust for the game.
My last memory of Skinner as a player was watching him captain a scratch Blackheath XV at Loughbrough University in his declining years and handing out a masterclass to the young Tony Diprose opposite. Skinner then continued the teach-in at the university bar where he bought the impoverished students ale all night and happily passed on every last nugget of wisdom he had gleaned during his career. A top rugby man.
By all accounts Cecillon, a former France captain, was also a top bloke, a hard-core rugby enthusiast, though less flamboyant than Skinner, who was known for his calmness at all times. Rugby was his life, completely and utterly, and when age caught up with him and he retired in 1995 he struggled to cope, became depressed and started drinking too much.
It was then that his life came off the rails. In August 2004, after drinking all afternoon at a barbecue — police tests later revealed him to be five times over the legal limit — he grew moody when his wife, Chantal, refused to leave with him. Cecillon disappeared for a short while, then returned with a gun. He shot Chantal dead, pumping five bullets into her head and chest. There were more than 60 witnesses and it took 12 party-goers to subdue Cecillon and tie him into a chair until the police arrived to arrest him.
"Chantal, Chantal. Where are you? I need you," Cecillon cried from his cell until he finally sobered up the following day.
At his trial, which transfixed the nation, he broke down in tears as he begged forgiveness: "I ask for pardon from my wife Chantal. I loved her. Pardon from my daughters Angelique and Celine. Pardon from my mother-in-law Marinette... I never thought I'd do it." He was sentenced to 20 years in prison.
A real tragedy for Cecillon, his family and for French rugby.
Just as truly great players are often known simply by their first name – Gareth, Gerald, Jonah – some historic incidents are instantly recalled by the briefest of headline descriptions. Ask any England rugby fan this week about 'The Tackle' and they will immediately smack fist into palm and go all dewy-eyed about Mick Skinner's extraordinary 'hit' on Marc Cecillon in the 1991 World Cup quarter-final. It was a tackle par excellence, a game-changing moment and a symbolic moment of pure drama that belonged to the theatre. It involved two immensely powerful men, including one – Cecillon – whose life was to take a remarkable and tragic turn when he left centre stage and tried to live a normal life. Skinner shouldn't even have been there, according to some, having been controversially brought in ahead of Dean Richards, who had started for England at No8 in the pool matches.
Skinner was the Geordie lad-about-town who paraded in garish waistcoats, wore his hair unfashionably long and spoke dismissively of the 'girls' in the backs. He was 'large' – to use his favourite Geordie expression – in just about every conceivable way and roistered his way around the London and England rugby scene for a few years, enjoying the fruits of the amateur game.
He pitched up at the 1987 World Cup as a replacement under the impression, not altogether incorrect, that he was attending an end-of-season piss-up, but 1991 England had got serious under Geoff Cooke and the talented Skinner had knuckled down. Underneath the joking prankster was a smart man — a highly prized computer consultant assigned to the Metropolitan Police — a considerable athlete and raging patriot to boot. Cooke believed he could add a certain dynamism to the England back row that could just help take them to a World Cup title.
So fast forward to Paris and the Parc des Princes on Oct 19, 1991. England are playing France in the World Cup quarter-final and all kinds of mayhem and madness are confidently predicted. The commentators weren't wrong, they just underestimated it.
The French were on a mission and not just because they believed they could win the World Cup. Seven months earlier they had pitched up at Twickenham for a Grand Slam decider and scored three sumptuous tries – including that contender as 'greatest try ever' by Philippe Saint-Andre courtesy of Serge Blanco and Didier Camberabero – only to be denied by England's mighty pack, the boot of Simon Hodgkinson and, in French eyes, some dodgy refereeing. Revenge and retribution were on the menu as well as a World Cup semi-final place.
England knew that and, with their mean-machine pack, planned on getting their retaliation in first. Their early assault on the revered Blanco as he gathered a high ball and was thrown around like a rag doll still makes the hairs on your neck stand up and it set the tone for a brutally physical game. France possessed an ugly, brutish pack at the time and England matched them all the way.
And so it came to pass in the second half, with the score poised at 10-10 going into the final quarter, France were pressing for the try that would probably have opened the floodgates. A scrum-five was awarded and France were rock steady on their put-in, setting it up perfectly for Cecillon, a 6ft 4in rock from Bourgoin who eyed the line with relish.
Skinner read the situation perfectly and, more importantly, timed his bone-shattering tackle to the micro-second as Cecillon momentarily gathered himself before surging for glory. But there was more. It wasn't just that Skinner merely stopped Cecillon, he then proceeded to drive him back fully five yards, dismissing the Frenchman from his very presence. Oh boy, did the 20,000 travelling England fans like that. The siege had been lifted, from that moment you knew with certainty that nothing was going to stop England.
Skinner was on a high and the French nonplussed. The maverick Eric Champ – old mad eyes himself - clearly wanted to punch him into the next parish but, in a rare moment of discipline, opted for a strange staring competition as the two went head to head, literally. Skinner won that little stand-off as well and England went on to win 19-10. After the game the French completely lost it and coach Daniel Dubroca attacked New Zealand referee David Bishop in the tunnel. Dubroca resigned soon after. Their bluff had been called at every juncture but Skinner and his tackle was the catalyst.
Having come to serious rugby late, Skinner's international career ended on a high the following season when he played in all of England's Grand Slam games and scored a try in the decider against Wales. As well as his computer consultancy, he signed for The Sun as their rugby columnist; after his Paris heroics they had dubbed him 'Mick the Munch' and produced a video of the game's greatest tackles. In his mellow middle-age Skinner remains a rugby nut and is a massive supporter of the Wooden Spoon Society, the RFU's charitable trust for the game.
My last memory of Skinner as a player was watching him captain a scratch Blackheath XV at Loughbrough University in his declining years and handing out a masterclass to the young Tony Diprose opposite. Skinner then continued the teach-in at the university bar where he bought the impoverished students ale all night and happily passed on every last nugget of wisdom he had gleaned during his career. A top rugby man.
By all accounts Cecillon, a former France captain, was also a top bloke, a hard-core rugby enthusiast, though less flamboyant than Skinner, who was known for his calmness at all times. Rugby was his life, completely and utterly, and when age caught up with him and he retired in 1995 he struggled to cope, became depressed and started drinking too much.
It was then that his life came off the rails. In August 2004, after drinking all afternoon at a barbecue — police tests later revealed him to be five times over the legal limit — he grew moody when his wife, Chantal, refused to leave with him. Cecillon disappeared for a short while, then returned with a gun. He shot Chantal dead, pumping five bullets into her head and chest. There were more than 60 witnesses and it took 12 party-goers to subdue Cecillon and tie him into a chair until the police arrived to arrest him.
"Chantal, Chantal. Where are you? I need you," Cecillon cried from his cell until he finally sobered up the following day.
At his trial, which transfixed the nation, he broke down in tears as he begged forgiveness: "I ask for pardon from my wife Chantal. I loved her. Pardon from my daughters Angelique and Celine. Pardon from my mother-in-law Marinette... I never thought I'd do it." He was sentenced to 20 years in prison.
A real tragedy for Cecillon, his family and for French rugby.
What wouldn't I give to see someone in a white England jersey score a try like this one from Billy Whizz - aka Jason Robinson:
Now breathe deeply, think happy thoughts and r e l a x..
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