Kieran Read and Nigel Owens. Photo / Photosport
COMMENT:
Things have taken a turn for the serious this week, with concerns from people ranging from Crusaders coach Scott Robertson to Herald colleague Dylan Cleaver over how referees are policing the scrum.
Cleaver is correct when he says the issue is teams who use the scrum not as a chance to attack with an uncluttered field but as a good way to get a penalty. That way lies boredom and lost fans.
At the risk of going Stephen Jones on the subject, a New Zealand professional coach who recently returned here from a stint at a club in England was astounded at what he was told in a meeting with the head of England's referees. The official would not be budged from belief that if front rows collapsed but the ball was at the back of the scrum, ready to be passed to the backs, play must not carry on.
Instead the English official insisted the scrum should be reset, or a penalty awarded. Never mind that the game bogs down. Allowing some common sense to free up the ball and keep things moving was apparently the first step to anarchy.
Although it isn't a surprise, the naming of seven Northern Hemisphere referees out of the 12 for the World Cup (including Frenchmen Romain Poite and Jérôme Garcès, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber from the infamous 2017 third test, series-robbing decision to not penalise the Lions for offside late in the game) should be concerning to anyone who wants to see more running and passing, and less scrummaging.
The idea that some referees don't really know what's happening when a scrum is set has forever been an article of faith among front rowers.
Today, there's probably only a little truth in that. Once, it was the whole truth.
One of the best referees New Zealand had, Paddy O'Brien, controlled his first provincial game in 1988, and by the end of 1996, he had refereed six test matches. (Before O'Brien's first Ranfurly Shield game in 1993, between Auckland and Horowhenua, Auckland and All Blacks hooker Sean Fitzpatrick kindly said to him, "if you need any help, just ask".)
But it was only in 1997 that O'Brien says he found out what really happens in a scrum.
In his 2004 biography, written by Bob Howitt, O'Brien told how, at a Sanzar seminar in Perth in 1997, he was in a group of referees addressed by Steve Hansen, at that stage the forwards coach for Canterbury.
"Until then," Howitt writes, "Paddy admits that, probably like many other referees, he was hugely ignorant of what was happening in the darker recesses of the front row."
Under pressure, just as referees are now, to "sort out the shambles at the scrum", O'Brien said that many times, he "pinged a front rower without having the vaguest idea of what had happened".
O'Brien took on board how Hansen defined the loosehead prop as being like a plane taking off, basically heading up. The opposing tighthead prop should be dead square, providing a solid shoulder for the loosehead to butt on to.
From then on, O'Brien developed the habit of speaking to the front rowers in the sheds, telling them what he wanted, and making sure they knew the agreement was non-negotiable once the game started.
That procedure is now part of how all professional referees in New Zealand operate. It's standard practice for them to see the front rowers and their reserves before a game, and to talk through what the ref expects when the scrumming starts.
In New Zealand provincial and Super Rugby, refs have regular meetings with scrum coaches, including the man considered the best in the field, All Blacks scrum coach Mike Cron.
The problem, a provincial referee told me this week, is that once a ref has gone through the "crouch, bind, set" routine, the scrum is entirely in the hands of the players. Only two opposing props really know if one is dipping his shoulder, or holding back on the push to screw or unbalance the scrum. "They don't," the referee wryly noted, "call it the dark art of the scrum for nothing. Our best referees say that if it appears on reflection 80 per cent of the scrum calls are right, that's a good refereeing effort."
If we're being honest, we regard the ref as having had a good game if our team won and a lousy game if we lost.
There isn't a lot of consolation for teams and coaches when referees admit they've had a bad game, but I have a sneaking admiration for those who admit they have.
In 2014 in Sydney, the Crusaders lost the Super Rugby final against the Waratahs when South African ref Craig Joubert awarded a penalty against Richie McCaw in the 79th minute, which Bernard Foley kicked to give his team a 33-32 victory.
The next day, Crusaders coach Todd Blackadder got a phone call from Joubert, who said he'd looked at a video and wanted to apologise for his incorrect call, which cost the Crusaders the title. "What can you say?" Blackadder told me two years later, the result from that night in Sydney still burning. "All I could do was go, 'thanks for the call'."
Given that most of us don't have a lifetime to spend studying every arcane rule in the game, and that some aspects, like players on defence being behind the last foot at a ruck, are split-second judgements made on the run, the best anyone can hope for, especially with the World Cup looming, is the refs who control the big games will be those with a personality the players can relate to.
My favourite New Zealand referee, who was probably too outspoken to have been called on for more than the one test he was in charge of back in 1973, was former All Black Frank McMullen. Frank was a guy with a big streak of bloke in him, and a good sense of fun.
When he was refereeing, you could almost guarantee the game would be lively. I once saw him ref a club game in Auckland while conducting a running debate with a halfback, who was constantly claiming opposing players were offside. "You're talking crap," Frank would cheerfully reply.
Internationally, Nigel Owens today stands head and shoulders above others for the empathy he so easily establishes with players.
In the 2015 World Cup final, as Dan Carter was about to line up a 48-metre penalty in the 74th minute, Owens said, "you've only got 60 seconds now, so don't take too long." When a weary Carter muttered he was "****ing tired", Owens quipped, "don't swear, you're on telly."
At the big show in 2019, let's hope Owens gets the crucial games involving the All Blacks.
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