A little more of the fire was doused. Far from being a Six Nations Championship that grows towards a raging conclusion, this looks like being one of those that will be won by the least extinguished. The World Cup takes its toll on the northern season that must rumble on until May, and this was proof that the European rugby soul in late February remains a little heavy.
It was not for want of trying. If there were plaudits they were won by defenders, which is hardly an indication of jaded desire. Taulupe Faletau put in another prodigious performance, as did Gethin Jenkins who came on for the last quarter and made it his personal mission – and from the front row no less – to overtake the No8’s tally of tackles. You cannot make a tackle and bounce back to your feet looking for another if you are not fully devoted to the cause.
Guilhem Guirado, hooker, captain and leader of France’s charge, however lost their own cause on the night, typified an equally determined commitment on the other side. Everybody was willing, but this was still an ordeal. In the eternal quest to emulate the standards set by the New Zealand All Blacks, the question was asked over and over: if such and such an opportunity had been presented to the ABs, would they have scored. The answer every time had to be a rueful yes.
Turnovers led to little. Breaks did not develop into tries. Passes out of the tackle turned into spilled gifts. There was a lack of composure that allowed the defenders to regroup and prevent points. Even George North’s try – from a turnover gift from Jefferson Poirot – made the point. North is in rude health and form at the moment, eating up the yards, but as he cruised past Maxime Mermoz and considered his finish, his clinical senses deserted him.
To pick up or kick? He opted to kick but he missed the ball, giving Jules Plisson, who hadn’t exactly given up on the chase but who patently knew he was not going to win the race against the wing, the chance as a defender to resume control of the situation. Instead of falling on the ball – that most basic of means, taught from the earliest days, to subdue the wretched bounce of the oval ball – Plisson tried to kick it too, and did make contact of a sort. Unfortunately for him, he succeeded only in finding North, who, this time, picked up quite expertly off his toes and finished. A try at last, but the defence should have won.
Liam Williams was superb under the high ball, but it begged the question that if the full-back was claiming everything coming at him out of the clear night sky – the breakdown of the roof should have been a sign that this was going to be a mechanically imperfect occasion – why continue to kick to him? France tried to pass the ball to their slight wing, Djibril Camara, but not to the altogether chunkier Virimi Vakatawa. It fell to the underused wing to go looking for the ball infield and he became a ninth forward, more drawn to rucks than his station on the outside.
Where does it all go from here? Presumably, France will not be dissuaded from trying to maul their way to the line, the admirable Guirado eventually being rewarded with his late try. But it came too late and only after six or seven earlier drives had been resisted by Wales. Defences ruled here and the spectacle suffered as the ball disappeared into the dark heart of another maul going nowhere.
Risks have to be taken, because the process of making difficult decisions – to pass or not to pass – can only be improved by the experience of watching the ball go astray. Warren Gatland suggested before the championship began that a lost game full of enterprise may be better than a closely-fought grinding victory. This was somewhere between the two, never fully enterprising and never completely stagnant. It was a half-way game and all the more frustrating for it.
Wales remain unbeaten and go to Twickenham for the title-decider, pending England’s result against Ireland on Saturday. Given the long history between the two contenders and given what happened during the World Cup, it is extremely unlikely that the pivotal game will ignite the flame of invention. Two teams will pummel each other to exhaustion. It is the way it has always been, but when the awkward question is asked – would the All Blacks do it this way? – the answer is unwaveringly no, they wouldn’t. And the embers cool.
