Behold the King writeth!

If only “righting” our rugby ship was this straightforward.

Credit to Foster and Cane. They have done such a good job, they nearly brought me back to Twitter. So close, like the winning try scorer getting tackled in the corner, I am only posting this on the blog.

When twenty-seven different posts would’ve been required, even the wordy I, decided that total was one Gehenna of a thread, and so took this lesser option.

I wrote the corpus of this piece after the 2nd Test versus Ireland, but decided to give them the 3rd. However, this has also been ruminating for much longer. It is tIme to let it go.

This cannot go on!

This may be described as a long read. I don’t know your reading limit. But if you’ve known me for some time, I am good for it. Also been more than a few years between offerings.

Before I really begin, it would only be chivalrously sporting to offer a Full-Credit-Fitzpatrick to Ireland. The afterglow will live long I am sure. Enjoy.

However, don’t take the following personally, but this piece isn’t on you. It is about the rugby team that beats under Aotearoa’s sporting chest.

Let us begin.

We should have never arrived at this juncture. The writing had been on the wall for a very long time, and well before 2019.

It was clear when viewing through his head coaching time with the Chiefs, Foster wasn’t the man to lead the national team moving forward.

There is no doubt Ian Foster is a top bloke, cares deeply for the Black jersey, and has technical nous. He provided it and proved it for an extended stretch under Hansen. But equally the same, when he has not stayed in that lane, and strayed, things haven’t gone swimmingly.

These roles are very different in practice, and time and again, underscored Foster’s best coaching position, the assistant.

The head coach is less technician, more life coach. Less nuts and bolts, more vision casting and big picture. Less specific to the field, more comprehensive throughout all of life.

The All Blacks were stale under the Hansen reign by 2019, and it was time to bring a different edge through a proven style of Razor.

Rennie would’ve even been a better bet than his Chiefs predecessor. He proved when taking over from Fozzy that Dave was the head coach with championship qualities. By the time the NZRU started their own process, he’d already effectively jumped the ditch. He knew the fix was in.

This sorry mess is on the NZRU.

Reappointing Henry after the 07 debacle made sense in that moment, especially after four more years, Byron, would lift the curse at the Garden.

But that was a wholly different time and place. The rugby calculus had changed after 2019. We didn’t need conservative continuity, but more like something radical.

The ruthlessness so symptomatic of McCaw’s previous reign was rejected for the rubber stamp, for the play it again, Sam, charade.

And Cane has had a solid backrow trade, but has since waned, and is now realistically, at best, the fourth opensider in NZ after Papali’i, Ardie, and Blackadder—where that could be even stretching it.

Our mix is wrong, our balance now missing, our edge mostly lost, our legacy getting stuffed.
Leadership is about making the hard decisions, which maybe, no one else is willing to take at the time, because you see beyond the noise of the moment, and view the right destination on the horizon.

Again, this sorry mess is on the NZRU.

They allowed the PR campaign from current players, a previous coach, and a pretty impressive longer track record, amongst other groupthink, to sway objectivity. Where they had been ruthless, they became gutless, and we are now rudderless.

New Zealand’s talent and depth still much the same, but today’s playing trajectory lacks clarity, ingenuity, verve, or edge. There is little Joie de Vivre and a sense the players will sacrifice for the coach. They play with no telos, and when media talk of the week is silent, the on-the-field performance has mostly confirmed this.

Do not be fooled into thinking this would be satiated by a third test win at home versus Ireland. Spoiler alert: you should already know it didn’t happen.  And when a knockout death match in France is just round the corner in a Quarter, this is not about today’s singular sporting battle, but tomorrow’s rugby war.

Unless hard decisions are made, 23 is shaping as the Everest of our recent decent. Have we seen any sign a side under Foster’s lead can locate an altitude reflective of a RWC come knockout time?!

Of course, we are not there yet, Papa Smurf. The present regime can still theoretically claim William Webb Ellis will take another stroll down south if given the required time.

However, even at this later than ideal stage, that is a far riskier proposition than swiftly appointing Razor, with Leon Mac and Jase Ryan wingmen, keeping Joe Schmidt in the selection boot, if at all possible—and for the record, Ardie Savea is my leader-of-men captain.

The time is nigh for the NZRU to do the opposite of the previous decision and be brave—looking squarely in the face of fear and failure—knowing our history is more than a superficial passing phase, and we can return very quickly to the glory days.

Ask a Manchester United fan what it feels like once the man at the top becomes wrong, and this faulty code in the DNA keeps on repeating that same spawn.

I’ll admit, my years inside the fish bowl can easily make one cynical about the process. Therefore, one expects some donkey kong resistance to the bleeding obvious. If they’re adamant to the bitter end, don’t patronise us with sorry after the fact. I think we all know it’s not on purpose.

Instead, play like your words are actions on the field of dreams, and prove you’re willing to do whatever it takes, when it most matters come test time.

Time to live the myth and be the Men in Black again instead of some hype machine only delivering off the field of play.

McCawesomeness—I had to drop that term of endearment again somewhere!

These words are motivated by a long time sporting love that was passed on by my dad. It’s in our genes. It courses through our mortal frame. Faithful are the wounds of a friend, a wise Solomon once said, which means this is about the All Blacks on the field flourishing future.

Enough from me. For now. Hopefully Wednesday shows the type of vision we all need to see.

And maybe I will tweet again.

Maybe.

iamjonnyking—still the bloviating Shakespeare of Rugby