So, some way still to go. Scotland came south, heralded, rightly, as the best side to do so this century. They return nursing the concession of 61 points, more than Scotland have suffered in this fixture in any century. They summoned the spirit to score 21 of their own and played to the bitter end despite the fearsome pounding they had suffered for 80 minutes, which had bent their back line, in particular, into a hideous contortion, greater toll suffered on the injury front than even in Paris a couple of rounds earlier.
They bounced back from that in some style to keep themselves in contention for the title, but, more significantly, in the thoughts of the rugby world as a coming force again. Victory over Wales, like that over Ireland in round one, was as invigorating a fillip to their confidence as any they have managed to effect in recent years, but the bounce back here was harsh and the pain of it will linger. What it does to that confidence will be something to watch not only in next weekend’s match – the mercifully milder prospect of a home fixture against Italy – but also when Gregor Townsend assumes the reins from Vern Cotter this summer and beyond.
A defeat in Cotter’s last game next weekend would be a disastrous end to what has been such a positive Six Nations for Scotland. A win, if sufficiently decisive, might yet leave the net effect of this Six Nations on Scotland’s development in credit. That we’re even contemplating such a meter as in the balance should speak for how harrowing an experience this was. The concern for Scotland has always been physicality. Rugby is so much easier when each of the legion collisions yields your team a yard or two – and, conversely, so difficult when you are constantly giving them up. England cut up Scotland’s midfield every which way, it is true, their brilliant eruptions blinding Scotland in crucial instants, but the drip, drip of collision was constantly eroding their belief throughout.
Speculation had it that England were on edge as that unbeaten record approached. No, it turns out they were angry – angry with themselves for their wobbly form and that 40 minutes of incoherence in the face of the Italian fox, but also with the big, bad world outside who, they no doubt told themselves, were questioning their worth, just as more prizes were within reach.
Instead, it was Scotland who arrived in London with a twinkle in their eye and confidence in their form. The whispers outside their camp were ones of optimism that, at last, after all those years, they might step out at Twickenham with some hope at least of victory.
It was a disastrous dynamic for them. England would not be satisfied with mere victory, as became apparent the moment they burst into the match. If injuries were to disrupt Scotland, their first inconvenience was the yellow card shown to Fraser Brown in the second minute. Some felt it could have been red, but that would have been a travesty. It was an honest tackle on Eliot Daly but the centres of gravity were aligned such that Brown flipped Daly on to his back, nearly his head. Yellow was a relief.
But the relief was short-lived. If England’s physicality was manifestly too much for an injury-struck squad, it is an unconvincing explanation for the way England knifed so cleanly through their midfield straight from set-piece possession. Jonathan Joseph, like England, answering gathering murmurs about form in imperious fashion, scored the first two of his hat-trick in just such a way, and went through again when he laid on England’s third for Anthony Watson. George Ford and Owen Farrell bewildered Scotland’s midfield with their interchangeability and timing. Alex Dunbar, so uncompromising this championship, was completely undone, as was Huw Jones, even if the latter’s prowess in attack was as notable a positive as any Scotland took away.
But the battering Scotland suffered elsewhere was prolonged and intense. Finn Russell, so brilliant against Wales, was an obvious target, and England wasted no time hitting him. He could make little impression with the compromised possession he received, and the heavy hitters – Joe Launchbury, James Haskell et al – made a mess of him. Then, when their horrible luck with injuries continued, the storm was perfect. Stuart Hogg was off in the 18th minute, Mark Bennett, his replacement, followed four minutes later, and Tommy Seymour was gone early in the second half. Even if such disruption should not have allowed the first breach of Scotland’s midfield, the way Joseph picked his way through the rest smacked of a final line of defence in chaos.
England, though, were in such a mood that Scotland, even at their best, could have done little to stop the carnage. Their pack, to a man, were brutally manhandled, not one of them bettering their opposite number. In rugby, all else will follow from that.
What follows for Scotlandwill be watched with familiar anxiety by those north of the border. Surely, they will win against Italy. It is established that they are quite the force at home, but they remain vulnerable on the road, particularly against physical teams. Until that is addressed, a graduation from the merely promising will remain elusive.
