Giteau: the best 12 in the world.

In a rugby epoch that is defined by managed brilliance, there is no place for a cowboy flyhalf. Gone are the days of Ella-ian improvisation. Defenses are too quick. Coaching staffs are too smart.

Test matches are a modern day war of attrition. On the test stage flyhalfs only excel when they can do two things:

1) limit their ego
2) buy in to the coaches system, and play within the structure of that system

Just look at the 10s who have directed traffic at a high level for there respective nations since rugby went professional in ’98. (Sure, SANZAR was formed in ‘96, but rugby truly turned professional with the appointment of Rod Macqueen in 1998. The Wallabies weren’t the best team in the world between ’98 and ’01, they were merely the most professional. I’m convinced of this.)

Andrew Mehrtens, David Humphrey, Percy Montgomery (when he filled in), Jonny “heart-breaker” Wilkinson, Ronan O’Gara, Frederick Michalak, and Stephen Jones. All guys who take/took great pride in managing the game, taking what the defense gives them, controlling field position, and helping those around them succeed. Their success cemented the ideology that a modern flyhalf must be wired to pass first, run second.

Nothing accredits this point more than the proverbial Lennon/McCartney paring of George Gregan and Steven Larkam. Larkam was far from a human highlight reel, a smart tougher-than-he-looks lanky fullback when he first broke onto the international scene, he seemed far from the offensive anchor the Wallabies were looking for. Fortunately, Macqueen recognized the importance of a flyhalf who read the game well, was technically sound, new his limits, and would rather set up a try than score it himself. In Larkam he found all of that, and more. Pairing him with a—then—ego-less and like minded Gregan was a greater move in the promotion of rugby in Australia than any desperate big-name signing the ARU have made or will make in the future.

(The worst: Spitting in the face of the next Matt Burke, Peter Hewatt.

The second worst: Crushing the confidence of a Larkam-esque Lauchlan Mackay.

The third worst: Foregoing the extra ten bucks to sew on sticky strips that actually match the Wallaby jersey.)

(Take note ARU: winning on a international level is your biggest priority. Short term investments like Matt Rogers, Lote Tuqiri, and Wendell “sore nose” Sailor, may bring a few extra thousand to the domestic derbies, but a dominate international team—no matter who is playing—will unite a nation and rejuvenate a sport. Just look at the Socceroos and what their success did for the A-League. Rugby’s biggest problem is that it has tried to compete on a domestic level by using the same formula the NRL has thrived on. Fast break action, lots of points, and big names. That won’t work with rugby, they are different games. The focus should be on their biggest edge—a relevant national team. You can be the best on a domestic level like the champions of the NRL are, but what does that mean? Being the best in the world—a competitive world—means something. And I have digressed)

The logical rebuttal to the last 500 words is simple: Dan Carter. It is inarguable that he is by far the most dominate player in world rugby right now. A strong, athletic, All-New Zealand (that doesn’t sound as good as All-American, but you get the idea) poster boy, with a off the charts rugby IQ, and the uncanny ability to find himself in the right place at the right time; carter is a one of a kind talent, I wont argue that.

(We need a name for the always-in-the-right-place-at-the-right-time trait that is immeasurable, yet so important to sports, especially rugby. I knew a coach who would constantly tell his players to ‘tag the play’. That could work, right? He had great ability to tag the play!)

However, what appears to be free spirited improvisation is actually well designed decision making. Carter is a product of a mythical work ethic, a complete understanding of the game (something he learnt from his time behind Mehrtens), and a great system (game plan) that incorporates great athletes. Concisely, his mastering of the fundamentals allows him to understand any given game situation and execute the game plan accordingly. Dan Carter is the Jimi Hendrix of world rugby; uniquely talented, overly self-critical, and obsessive compulsive when it comes to their craft. Like Carter, when Hendrix improvised or jammed, he was selectively displaying the product of years of fundamental practice, not just twiddling his fingers and hoping it made a good sound.

When you break down rugby, it is merely a collection of situations, each with several options for both the offensive and defensive players. For example, at any given time, you can: A. run, B. pass, or C. Kick. The ‘correct’ option is defined by the actions and positioning of the defense. The professionalisation of rugby, and the professionalisation of coaching further expanded those options to A1. Pass long, A2. Pass short, A3. Pass inside, A4. Dummy, and A5. Pass behind etc. A structured thought process was instilled in a new generation of players while game-planning to attack defenses which were deploying rush and umbrella formations designed to cut down on flyhalf’s time. The faster a player can make those decisions the more successful they will be; The players mentioned to this point excel not because they are great athletes but because they consistently make those decisions correctly and quickly.

Giteau does not.

A gifted athlete who plays beyond his size, unfortunately Giteau has failed follow the footsteps of the aforementioned Carter and transition from 12. to 10. On the surface this is puzzling as the two seem to be mirror images of one another; Both are regarded as the future of rugby in their respective nations, both did their super rugby apprenticeships behind great flyhalfs, both have experienced winning at the super rugby level, both illustrate the way the game has evolved, and both have had super hot girl friends. The only conceivable explicit difference is Carter is a better cards player. Nothing screams ‘lost bet’ more than Giteau’s crop circle haircuts of past.

Implicitly, it is a different story. Giteau is just not wired like Carter. Carter is a product of a high rugby IQ and a great structured approach to the defense that always puts him in the best position to succeed; Giteau is the opposite. He has succeeded predominantly on his superior athletic gifts, Ella-esque awareness, and pure instinct. He doesn’t approach a defense with the same structured thought process.

He merely wings it, twiddling his fingers if you will, backing his ego and hoping for the best. He epitomises the proverb ‘High Risk, High Reward’.

(And who can blame him for playing like a cowboy and backing his ego? The guy ran on for the Wallabies before he played a second of Super 12. He is the anti-Chris Whitaker.)

However, if the actions of Wall Street have taught us anything in recent months, it is that high-risk-high-reward approaches don’t pay off in the long run. He is the Jim Morrison of rugby (to continue the theme). Both found short term success from a free spirited approach, both rose to fame too quickly, both harbored a great sense of entitlement as a result, both improvised to their detriment, and both could have a early death in Paris (a test career death for Giteau at least).

Although his free spirited child-like approach to the game has proven to be his biggest asset, it also stands as his biggest weakness. For every time he has fleetly darted between tackles before artfully twisting his body and offloading to set up a try, there are a plethora of times he has drifted across field, been caught behind the advantage line, or pushed a pass. At the super rugby level these mistakes can be overcome; at the test level they can not. By every measure he is not a ten.

He is however, the perfect twelve.

Essentially, he is a center with the ball skills of a ten, the perfect hybrid of the two positions. Combine those physical assets with a style of play that is built to exploit broken play—this of course is the time a good twelve will find himself at first receiver—and you have a better fit then vegemite and toast. As a great five-eighth does on 4th tackle, or on the back of a quick play-the-ball, Giteau is the most dangerous man in rugby with the defense on the back foot. He runs great lines, has exceptional awareness, puts his body on the line, is defensively sound, is surgical with his kicking, creates great separation with his shoulders, has a motor for a heart, and has experienced his greatest success at twelve. Why a proven coaching genius like Robbie Deans continues to force the marriage between Giteau and ten is beyond me.

(Or is it? It’s out there, but I wouldn’t put it past the ARU. Its clear Giteau wants to play ten. Is it then unreasonable to believe the ARU promised him the position knowing that a) Larkam was retiring from test rugby, and b) there was a good chance he could/would have pulled a Sonny-Bill and chased the euro had they handed the position to the more logical fit—Barnes? I wouldn’t even discount Giteau—a guy with great sense of entitlement—demanding the ten jersey when he was deceptively segueing from the Brumbies to the Force. And if he did, what choice did the ARU have? They couldn’t throw money at Andrew Johns, Mark Gasnier, and Lote Tuqiri, only sign one, and then lose Giteau. It would have been a disaster! And I have digressed.)

For now we must accept him. Giteau is the Australian flyhalf until further notice. It could be worse. All I can hope is that he discredits me completely. Until then: Come on baby, light my fire!