The centre did not hold in Dublin. And if things did not exactly fall apart, there was enough creaking in England’s midfield to make a man wonder whether the wonderful second-half performance in Wales was nothing but a dream.
In the first few weeks of the Six Nations, Jonathan Joseph swerved and accelerated his way into every English rugby headline, while George Ford was crowned King of Tens. Then he came face to face with the cold-eyed, incumbent king of the fly halves, Jonathan Sexton.
The spark was missing as Ireland tore into England. The calm authority gave way to a scrambling and, too often, retreating midfield, while, between the Bath boys, Luther Burrell lacked that element of explosiveness that Stuart Lancaster seeks. By the final whistle, the enigma that has been the English midfield for nigh on a decade appeared as unsolvable as ever.
Surely only injuries have kept the trio together for a shot at redemption against Scotland tomorrow. The England manager has much faith in the leadership skills of Owen Farrell and Brad Barritt and an almost religious faith in the man they simply call Manu.
Scotland should not be the trial that Dublin turned into. These are 80 precious minutes in which the midfield has an opportunity to play their way back into the head coach’s affections. If it fails to reignite against a team who arrive in London looking to dispel an awful losing effort against Italy, it will not be a case of who, but when, as far as changes of personnel in the England midfield are concerned.
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As for the press, we were hasty to praise Ford, Burrell and Joseph and equally ready to express not so much condemnation as serious concerns a fortnight ago; we are in such a hurry to find our heroes that they pay the price for disappointing us with an almost kneejerk reaction to below-par performances. To try to put some perspective on England’s midfield, allow me to digress and take you back to 1993 when I was part of an appalling English performance in Dublin.
Recalled to the team one game earlier, I was determined to play flat, on the gain line, to unleash our back line.
But Ireland had one of their old stereotypical days when the forwards foraged on the front foot and any ball we received was slow, inaccurate, awful ball for poor old Dewi Morris and yours truly. But we tried to play, me reckless to the point of madness. In doing so we played our way into what was almost a state of English rugby anarchy.
That is what happens when a team are injudicious in how they use whatever possession they have. There were moments when one could not but admire Ford’s aggressive approach to the game as much as his fine footwork, but deep down a voice was calling “drop deeper”.
In 1993 it was a poor set piece that was the launch pad for some pretty average decision-making. A few weeks ago, the ponderous pace of possession from the breakdown should have forced England on to the back foot and a kicking game, away from the hounds slavering away in the Irish midfield. The essence of the English effort was inexperience. There is only one way around that problem. Maybe it is just as well that all available options are unavailable at present. This unit deserve another couple of games to prove that they have the capacity to accumulate the knowledge that comes with the ugly experiences that all internationals must go through.
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Ford and Joseph have not suddenly been exposed as fakes. These are players who can add that edge that England have lacked for so long in midfield. It may have taken Farrell’s rusty form and Barritt’s injury for the club combination to come together, but their positives massively outweigh the negatives and, if Ireland was an awkward afternoon, Scotland should be a much smoother one.
The greater worry is the enforcer, Burrell, there to add brute force to soft touch. Whereas Ford and Joseph have played well for their club all season, the Northampton Saints player has seen his form rise and fall. If England want to realise their attacking dream, the Bath blend is the best they have and Ireland can be seen as an immature aberration. But the skills need the steel alongside. And the steel needs to be a lot sharper than Burrell was in Dublin and has often been in the club arena.
Barritt may not be the sort to slash open an opposing midfield, but he has solidity, defensive expertise and that word Lancaster so loves, “leadership”. He will be a contender when finally fit. Billy Twelvetrees is the manager’s ideal; the big inside centre, with presence as a ball-carrier, a kicking and a passing game. Yet the dream rarely converts to reality. When Manu Tuilagi makes his way back to the fray, the Gloucester man will be the first to go — unless Burrell fails to stomp his way through the Scotland and France defences.
“When” or “if” — there’s the rub with Manu. The Leicester Tiger is no guarantee for fitness or form, but he has that exceptional factor that can make the most rational of men pray for his return. Tomorrow, Lancaster doesn’t need a miracle, rather proof of a nasty lesson well learnt.