Having sat back and let Maxime Machenaud run the show in the semi against Leicester, what would Dan Carter do in the final? The great New Zealander has hardly ever been intimidated by the grand occasion – his performance last October in the World Cup big one was sublime – and this was a chance to shine, perhaps for the last time. It was too alluring to do anything but bring out the best in him again, wasn’t it?
There was by way of an alternative scenario a recent history with his knee and rumours that he had a niggle in a hamstring, too. Nor did he did look too happy on one of his ankles. Machenaud started taking the kicks and Johan Goosen had the second go. Dan was nowhere to be seen, perhaps because in the 13th minute he clashed heads with Brad Barritt. From top to toe, Carter was struggling.
Besides his personal welfare, there was clearly a hiccup in the strategy when Machenaud exited, shaking his head carefully. He failed the concussion assessment and eight minutes after banging his head, Carter had Mike Phillips as his partner. The Welshman is never uninteresting but he is from a different mould than the thoughtful and low-slung Frenchman.
Just to make Carter’s day thoroughly miserable, it began to rain. Not the cold rain of winter over the Canterbury plain but a summer downpour in Lyon, with the huge drops of a French monsoon. It didn’t last long but even Carter spilled the ball. When he gave way to Rémi Talès two minutes into the second half, it was no surprise. This was to be no grand adieu; just the slightly strained, rueful smile of a veteran struggling to overcome odds stacked against him.
Could Owen Farrell fill the role of match-winner? He had the advantage of playing behind a pack that was tightknit and ferocious, their fire complemented by the intelligence and coolness of Richard Wigglesworth at scrum-half. Maro Itoje and Will Fraser stepped out of the ensemble to perform individual acts of theft at the breakdown and Billy Vunipola put in any number of tackles that reduced the chances of this game ever breaking out into something more flowing. The rain was the only thing that would flow in Lyon.
In these conditions Farrell played his part almost to perfection. He kicked high for Chris Ashton and Chris Wyles to chase, he prodded little kicks behind the Racing defenders for Brad Barritt and Duncan Taylor to pursue. He even hit the post he was aiming for, thinking a rebound generally favoured the attacking side. On this occasion the deflection probably worked against Ashton, but it was still a probe of wonderful deftness.
What wasn’t so skilful was the old trademark tackle on Chris Masoe, the day’s one true star on the Racing team, a venerable New Zealander who ran and wrestled to the very last drop in his 36-year-old body. Nigel Owens reviewed the tackle and awarded a penalty against Farrell. In a season when he has received harsher sanctions for his technique, it was a let-off.
Farrell obviously will concede to no view that he should go lower into the tackle. His job is to stand tall and prevent the pass out of the tackle. It is a courageous view and to go high on Masoe spoke volumes about devotion to the cause. In more clinical debriefings the question may be asked again about the pros and cons of the Farrell tackling style, but it cost Saracens nothing on this day.
Far from it, because this day became his day. Farrell’s day, when he accounted for every point on his team’s side of the board. He kicked his penalties from first to seventh, calmly, without fuss.
It was not exactly the seal of perfection on a game of beauty. Saracens went about their work in almost retro style, fighting for each other and putting the needs of the hour way before any expression of flamboyance. It tends to be the way when a side has been to a final and lost – that they tighten their vision and increase the tightness of their squeeze on opponents who have never been in this position before. This European final was all new to Racing 92.
To have a chance they needed the player who had been through all this before to steer them through. They needed Carter at his best. Or for they needed the double act of Carter and Machenaud to ask questions of Saracens.
There were no questions other than the courage and indomitability of Masoe. Saracens lapped that up, drawing the lone wolf into their trap. It was the age-old way – nothing fancy dreamt up for the big day; rather a return to old values. Playing in the rain can be brilliant when you all know what you’re doing.
Saracens are the first English winners for nearly a decade. Their success matches the grand slam of the England team in the Six Nations. England have returned to form across the board. With a sparkle during the winter and with icy resolution on a summer’s day.
Both styles confirm that a revolution is firmly under way. It comes a little later than anticipated – 13 years after England won the World Cup, but it is real and it is comprehensive. Saracens of England are on top of the continent, and just for once Carter could only sit and watch.
