Actions, not cruel words, will win this sporting battle

IS it just me, or does this hatred of the English thing go a bit too far.

Now, I know it’s in all of us, especially when we go abroad (I once had to be rescued from a Bulgarian bar at 4am after I was found facing down 30 English soccer supporters, roaring on about 800 years of oppression as the barman belted out U2’s Sunday, Bloody Sunday on the stereo). Cringe.

But that incident notwithstanding, I am not a fan of Wolfe Tones-style fireside republicanism and think the abuse the British are constantly subjected to does stray over the top.

Let’s face it, pound for pound, Britain represents history’s greatest nation. They were the ultimate colonial power, developed the world’s most potent language, they gave us Shakespeare and the Beatles, played a significant role in winning two world wars and, essentially, invented popular sport. I mean, what country with a history like that would not be a little arrogant?

Yet, they are almost universally despised by every other nation and it is particularly prevalent in the world of sport.

During last winter’s Ashes tour to Australia, an Aussie columnist wrote the following after England had predictably capitulated in the third test. “If a Brit gets pommie-bashed in a forest,” he wrote, “and there is nobody there to hear it, does anybody care?”

Ahead of Sunday’s winner-takes-all Grand Slam clash in Dublin, we have seen the country drenched in anti-English sentiment.

Indeed, the current side, under Clive Woodward seems to attract more vitriol than any of its predecessors.

A couple of years ago, giant South African prop Ollie ‘approach the bench’ Le Roux launched the following tirade.

“I really don’t like the English. I don’t respect them like I do Australia or New Zealand. When you beat them they are full of excuses and when they win, they act like world-beaters.”

This was followed last autumn by Andrew Mehrtens’ heat-seeking salvo after a scratch All Blacks side had lost narrowly at Twickenham.

“England get a decent win about once every four years at Twickenham,” he raged. “They are pricks to lose to,” the Kiwi added subtly.

Then this season, in the build-up to the England-France clash at the same venue (the supposed Six Nations decider), we had an astonishing burst from the gifted Gallic number eight Imanol Harinordqy.

The youngster embarked on a lengthy rant, summed up by the following sentence.

“I despise them as much as they despise everybody else, they are so chauvinistic and arrogant,” he said.

But pride of place at the Pom-bashing pulpit goes to legendary Welsh outhalf Phil Bennett.

In the late 1970s, with Welsh industry on its knees as its coal and steel bedrock went into decline, the king of the jink refused to sidestep the hard issues when he gave the following pre-match oration, screaming: “Look what these bastards have done to Wales. They’ve taken our coal, our water, our steel. They buy our houses and only live in them for a fortnight every 12 months.

“What have they given us? Absolutely nothing. We’ve been exploited, raped, controlled and punished by the English, and that’s who you are playing today.”

Phew.

That’s a lot to lay at the feet of the 15 unfortunates who togged out in white that afternoon. Similarly, we cannot blame Clive Woodward’s men for our many years of imperial subjugation nor any non-rugby slight, perceived or otherwise, that occurred over the years.

Hatred only makes you lose your focus.

Ireland, on and off the pitch, needs to be calm on Sunday. Let’s keep things in perspective.

All that being said, I hope we kick the living shite out of them.

C’mon Ireland.