The Oval World: A Global History of Rugby
The Oval World: A Global History of Rugby
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椭圆形世界:橄榄球的全球史
DOI:
10.1080/09523367.2015.1120006
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发表时间:
2015
期刊:
影响因子:
--
通讯作者:
Adrian A. Smith
中科院分区:
文献类型:
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作者:
Adrian A. Smith
George Orwell–as an Old Etonian not an instinctive rugby fan–believed,‘a bomb under the west car park at Twickenham on an international day would end fascism in England for a generation.’There are those moments, when the toxicity of the Range Rovers’ emissions equals the views of their owners, that anyone born north of the Thames, let alone the Trent, would nod their heads in agreement. An earlier scourge of the bourgeoisie famously insisted that history repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce. Dying only days after his adopted country secured its first Triple Crown, Karl Marx clearly had a presentiment of successive cross-code failures since 1995, the epochal moment that rugby’s century-long civil war between the two rival rugby codes,‘rugby league’and ‘rugby union’at last came to an end. Over one hundred years, two very different sports evolved: for good or ill the 15-man ‘union’version is far more complex than its 13-man ‘league’counterpart; crucially, in league anyone tackled instinctively holds on to the ball, whereas a union player is hardwired to release once brought to ground. Australia’s Wallabies and New Zealand’s All Blacks recognize how long it takes for even the most talented rugby league player to attain international class in a previously alien sport. Encouraged by one, possibly two, exceptions (both wingers), an impatient England team sees only serial failure. League star Sam Burgess’s recent season-long sojourn in rugby union is a story of our times, with big-money transfers, media hype fuelling absurd expectations of World Cup glory, tried and tested squad members sacrificed to accommodate the arriviste, conflict of interests between club and country, prejudices reinforced among fans of each code, and above all, an iconic player humbled in an unnecessary baptism of fire. The purported salary of£ 500,000 paid by Bath Rugby’s millionaire patron, and the£ 700,000 it cost Russell Crowe to bring Burgess back to South Sydney, highlights just how detached elite rugby–in both codes–is from its grassroots, whether that be la vallée Garonne or the M62 corridor. Each sport’s high earners have more in common across the great divide than they do with those who play their respective codes purely for pleasure. For much of their shared history, the two forms of rugby constituted pyramids, with the best players primarily distinguishable from the also rans by virtue of talent. That of course remains the case today, but now potential is from an early age linked to physique, such that elite players are demonstrably different from their non-professional counterparts: the rewards of remoulding one’s body to play a fast, high-impact game are substantial, albeit modest when compared to many professional footballers; but the physical, and for some emotional, cost is ratcheted up season by season.