Another extraordinary episode in the ongoing saga between these two, it was ferocious in its commitment but decided by a stroke of precision, breadth of imagination and sheer pace, the smoking ruins of the collisions bypassed for a crucial, divine second that clinched the game for England. Wales had been superb, by far their best performance since the World Cup, their reliably stroppy distaste for visiting Englishmen inspiring them to heights reminiscent of their proudest moments against this lot in this stadium. That it was in vain will hurt horrifically, that the killer blow was delivered by stealth rather than any failing in courage of no consolation at all.
Elliot Daly’s brilliant try with five minutes to go was one to grace any occasion, further evidence that this England team have truly mastered the winning knack, even in adversity and in spite of their own misfiring. Not that they were misfiring, exactly. Certainly, this was considerable improvement on their performance against France. But they did not have to be very far off their best to look as if they were in trouble, because Wales were back up to theirs. For well over an hour, they had England on the rack, the contest between the packs something to behold indeed.
Then blink, and they had been undone. A loose clearance by Jonathan Davies and the latest calamity to befall Alex Cuthbert unravelling their best efforts. But what a contest it had been up till then.
We imagined Wales would be the ones to erupt into the game. Wound up all week by Eddie Jones and his mischievous ways, they would surely ramp up the pressure, roof or no roof to increase the millibars. As it was, England were the ones to seize the initiative, wave after wave of them careering into the Welsh, as directed by George Ford, who teased the defence from behind a white curtain.
Much had been made of the advantage in experience of the Welsh back row, but instead the English tyros made up for any shortfall in experience with considerable physicality, pounding away to such an extent that a triple century of caps in Wales’s corresponding department would have been of only so much use. Wales held fast until the end of the first quarter. A ferocious hit by Sam Warburton on Nathan Hughes barely a metre out was to no avail, as Ford sent the ball wide, where England became the first to find passage to the line.
And only then did Wales win an opportunity to unleash their peculiar version of hell. It came from a kick. A less talked-about area where England lacked experience was Daly’s selection out of position on the wing. Cuthbert, much maligned of late, was whistled up at the last minute for George North. Under his challenge, Daly missed the box kick of the superb Rhys Webb, and Dan Biggar was chipping and chasing deep into England’s 22. And so the siege began.
The Wales captain, Alun Wyn Jones, went through his counterpart, Dylan Hartley, to set up Webb for an unsuccessful tilt at the line. Hartley was sought out again, this time by Rob Evans, who went clean past him, to spark the next passage of pressure. That one foundered on a spill by Jones, but when Webb charged down Ben Youngs to set up an attacking Wales scrum, the fury gave way for a moment to clear-eyed precision, a dummy run by Scott Williams parting the English midfield for namesake Liam to knife through to the posts.
It was a score to earn Wales the lead at the break and all the momentum. The fury was with them now, the experience starting to tell as Warburton ran through the gamut of arts of the back row, pinching a ball here, highlighting an illegal opponent there. His deputies, Justin Tipuric and Ross Moriarty, the latter hardly a man of experience, were equally magnificent. When Moriarty was replaced by another of great experience, Taulupe Faletau, there seemed no respite.
Some of the defence in the second half was astonishing, first from England, who held out against one sustained attack for the concession of only three points, then by Wales whose resolve was extraordinary in the final quarter as England hammered to within inches. Resolve again mixed with wit, for that particular storm was lifted by an extraordinary intercept by Biggar, just as England seemed certain to score. He nipped in under the nose of Jamie George to steal the pass that might have broken Wales earlier. Another chip and chase by Biggar had Wales at the other end, when another feat of astonishing defence, this courtesy of Daly’s outlandish pace, saved England from conceding the fatal blow themselves.
In a match of such ferocity, it was poignant that the deciding intervention should be one that bypassed the carnage, Wales’s heroes outflanked by England’s two ball-players in midfield and that pace again of Daly. Cuthbert’s misery continues, his pace just not where it was when he carved up England himself at this very stadium four years ago. He could get nowhere near Daly and Biggar as they hared after that chip and chase 10 minutes earlier, and now the misfortune fell to him to be confronted by Daly with a precious corridor of space. He did at least manage to lay a finger on his opposite man, but it was forlorn, nowhere enough, and his pain must go on. So, too, must Wales’s.
