Australians

[elhombrecito]

If you don't think so, you soon will! Read this article I found....

England's siege mentality

By Wayne Smith, Rugby Union Editor

October 31, 2003

Such is the global media interest in the World Cup that eventually even total non-entities get to be interviewed.

And so it was that just before the tournament started, I found myself staring into the unblinking eye of an English television camera, while off to one side stood an interviewer whose own eyes, I noted with growing alarm, were full of mischief and menace.

Then came his opening question: "Why do you Australians hate us so?"

As gentle introductory lines go, it was somewhere up there with Steve Harmison bouncing Matt Hayden with the opening delivery of an Ashes series. Granted, it was softened somewhat by a disarming smile, but for the first time I gained an insight into the general English mind-set coming into this tournament.

Here was Australia, rolling out the red carpet to the world, desperately trying to top the unrepeatable bonhomie of the Sydney Olympics; and here was England rappelling down from Blackhawk helicopters, automatic weapons at the ready, safeties on, as wary and defensive as an SAS team storming one of Saddam's palaces.

"G'day," we said, beaming up brightly at them. "My, there's a lot of you. Still, many hands make light work, eh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" came the snarled reply. "Are you insinuating that we kill the ball at the breakdown whenever you Aussies look like scoring a try?"

"No, no," we rushed to reassure them. "Here, you look tired from your long journey. Sit down and have a cup of tea and a lamington."

"We're not tired. We're the fittest team in the competition. Fittest team that's ever been, I'll have you know. And we know all about your lamingtons, too. Don't think we're as stupid as the All Blacks, do you, falling for your old poisoned lamington trick?"

"Um, that wasn't us," we ventured. "It was the South Africans."

"The South Africans! Listen matey, if I hear one more Australian accusing Lewis Moody of being offside when he charged down Louis Koen's kick, I swear I'm going to open fire. Just keep your damn accusations to yourself."

"Errr, right. Oh good, here's your truck and trailer for all your kit ..."

"That's your last warning!" exploded the camouflaged Englishman, flicking the safety to "off". "You and your Saint John Bloody Eales pointing the finger at us, simply because you're not good enough to stop our rolling maul.

"Don't you truck-and-trailer me, fella. Neil Back is attached all the time, I tell you, even when he's got both hands on the ball."

"He's bound to be, bound to be," we said placatingly, trying to take some of the tension out of the air. "Look, let's just get you guys loaded up as quickly as we can so you can be on your way. In fact, we'll get an extra man in to give you a hand ..."

"Extra man!" screamed the English commander, so violently that his beret slid off, revealing a balding head. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Men, form a firing squad. At least you Aussies can be grateful that we execute properly, not like that pathetic Wallaby backline of yours that Eddie keeps talking up, always pushing passes and dropping balls. But before I give the order, there's something I want you to know ... I've studied the tape and at no stage was Dan Luger on the field at the same time as Mike Tindall.

"Right, men. Ready, aim ..."

"Belay that order!" shouted a voice, a young voice but one nonetheless ringing with authority.

The English troops stood, mouths agape, weapons still pointed menacingly at the Australians as Prince Harry, a hayseed protruding from the corner of his mouth, strode on to the scene, his boots covered in thick red Queensland dust.

"I'm not going to have some hot-head executing innocent Australians," Prince Harry said imperiously. "Whew," said we, wiping our brows.

"Just the journalists!" added the prince. "Oh, and the butlers."

The butlers were missing, mercifully, all off ironing their masters' newspapers - a nice touch of irony not fully appreciated by the throng of press-men looking down the barrels of English guns.

And so it was that the Australian media was taught a brutal lesson it never forget - never mess with the English rugby team.

As for myself, coward that I am, I'm going to let others do the talking for me and simply record faithfully their quotes. With that in mind, I conducted an informal vox pop of former Wallabies this week, asking Tim Horan, Chris Handy, Toutai Kefu, Andrew Slack, Paul McLean and even Saint John Bloody Eales which teams they thought would make it through to the World Cup final.

I'm relieved to say they all tipped England to advance - except McLean, who recklessly went for France. I'm hoping he can be spared, McLean.

It can't have been easy, having to put up with a biased media out to get you, day in, day out. It's got to drive a man crazy in the end.

Hasn't it, Clive?