Alan Watkins: Violence level diminishes game's entertainment value

After the Munster v Wasps semi-final in the Heineken European Cup last season, I wrote in this column that rugby union was now a tougher game than rugby league. By this I did not mean to be provocative. I honestly believed that what I was writing was true; otherwise I would not have written it.

After the Munster v Wasps semi-final in the Heineken European Cup last season, I wrote in this column that rugby union was now a tougher game than rugby league. By this I did not mean to be provocative. I honestly believed that what I was writing was true; otherwise I would not have written it.

But it caused what I thought was disproportionate indignation in our friends from the north. The secretary of the all-party rugby league group of MPs, David Hinchliffe, wrote an article in rebuttal. I can only wonder that I was not required to pay a visit to Wakefield, which Mr Hinchliffe represents in the Labour interests to make a personal apology for the insult, if insult it was.

I do not want to reopen the controversy, which was good fun while it lasted. I would only note that Lawrence Dallaglio said recently that the match in question was one of the toughest in which he had ever been involved, more so than most internationals. Since then I have watched three matches, among others, which emphasised the point I was originally trying to make: in the European final, Wasps v Toulouse, and, in the Zurich Premiership this season, Leicester v Bath and Bath v Wasps.

The point which they confirm is not so much that union is now tougher than league, if, indeed, it is. There is not the slightest purpose in having a competition in machismo between the two codes. The point is, rather, that the level of violence in rugby union has increased, is increasing and ought to be diminished. It ought to be diminished, not for humanitarian reasons - though these certainly come into the matter, and are not to be despised - but, rather, because it is depreciating the game as an entertaining spectacle.

One piece of evidence for the increased level of violence lies in the injury lists. We all know that injuries are and always have been part of the game. In Wales, probably in other countries as well, a player was excused club duty on the Saturday before his first international in case he should be injured and miss his cap thereby. This courtesy has now, it seems, been dispensed with.

Again, there were certain apparently robust players, such as Terry Holmes, who were forever being injured; whereas others, such as Gareth Edwards, seemed to go on and on without mishap. Edwards, incidentally, was one of the first modern players to use weight-training, which had been regarded as a perversion liable to do positive harm.

His successors seemed to do little else in life. When they are not on the training pitch, they are in the gym. That is why they are as fast, strong and heavy as they are. It is common form now for a scrum-half to weigh 14st.

Not only do increased size and fitness fail to protect against injury. More than this: they contribute to it. The most spectacular advances in medical science cannot dispense with the laws of elementary physics. If two very heavy men who can run very fast collide with each other, they are, however muscular they may be, going to cause more damage that two medium-sized men who cannot move so quickly.

In addition, the loosening of the rules about protective clothing, and the consequential wearing of as much protection as is consistent with mobility, have increased the risk of being injured. There is nothing surprising about this. It is what one would expect. It is like the bouncer in cricket. Before helmets came in, bouncers were rare, and were dealt with firmly though not always consistently by the umpires. Today bouncers are commonplace; just as injuries are now more frequent in rugby.

Thus Wasps have played their recent matches without eight members of their first-choice team. Andy Robinson, the new England head coach, has to contend not only with retirements but also with injuries, some of them, such as that of Phil Vickery, seemingly long-term. And there is always Jonny Wilkinson. Wilkinson's shoulder has already gained the national status once accorded to Compton's knee.

For the benefit of younger readers, I should perhaps explain that Denis Compton was a great England batsman whose knee gave him perpetual trouble at the end of his career. He was also a football wing for Arsenal and England. At least he did not acquire his injury through the ferocious tackling which Wilkinson says he enjoys (and there is no need to doubt his word) but is one of the principal causes both of his own troubles and those of the whole game of rugby today.