Why Does Everybody Hate the English?

Or how to get "Simcerity" when it alls goes wrong. 

I came across a comment on Facebook last Saturday, following England’s humbling defeat in Dublin. It was made by a ‘friend’ who I actually know and have even had a coherent conversation face to face with, as opposed to the hordes of cyber-whackos on Facebook who inform me that they’ve just had a monster dump or are off to bed; so I thought I’d have a go at answering it.

            It read thus: “I find it funny that everyone is so chuffed that England lost. If you hate the English so much why do you all live here ?????”

            Before the pedants amongst you – and I pride myself as being in their number - tell me that this is actually a question, it is referred to as ‘a comment’ on Facebook.

            To answer this question/comment, you have ask another: is this in fact the case, or is my friend simply suffering from acute paranoia in the face of yet another of England’s recent spectacular sporting humiliations? What she is referring to – I assume - are the indigenous British Islanders who live in England and not the principalities, republics or provinces of their ancestry. Those with great expectations of what life in England can offer. Exiles from the parochial dullness of their own countries - those who will support anyone other than their adopted country of domicile on match day. In other words, the Celts and the ex-colonials.

            There is a huge body of evidence, both anecdotal and factual which supports this.             

            Recently, Marc Lievrement, the French coach was quoted in the Times: “We don’t like the English.” Gosh! Now that comes as a real surprise, Marc; five little words which confirm what we’ve suspected all along. It was the fact that he said it and kept his job, which was the real surprise. Imagine if Martin Johnson said: “We don’t like the Scots”? Or, “…we really don’t like anyone from west of the Severn bridge.

            Go with this for a moment: what if Andy Flower, currently shepherding that other under-achieving English national team towards some sort of international respectability, said: “We don’t like the Pakistanis”?  There’d be public outcry.

            Lievremont wasn’t finished: “We don’t like black people; we don’t like them and it’s better to say so than to be hypocritical.” He also went on to say how little the French like the Jews, and got all misty eyed about the Italians and Celtic conviviality, suggesting that they are all buddies because they don’t like black people either. But it was his comment about the English that was the real take home message.

            Of course, it back-fired on him at the end of the week when England won at Twickenham; the sound of chickens coming home to roost mingled with raucous English celebration long into South Western London night skies.

            But Lievremont is not the only England basher: a few years ago, the chief executive of the Australian Rugby Union, John O’Neill, was quoted saying: “It doesn’t matter whether it’s cricket, rugby union, rugby league – we all hate England.” He went on to suggest that the only reason that France were awarded the soccer World Cup was that no one would vote for England, and France was the only other country in the running. Don’t sit on the fence, John: say what you really think. He kept his job too.

            Okay, so the evidence supports my friend’s claim, but why does everybody hate the English? O’Neill explained this to some degree by referring to their “…born-to-rule mentality”. And here, I believe, he has a point. Without wishing to pour oil on burning waters by mentioning Tony Blair or Piers Morgan, the past is littered with historic figures whose barbaric subjugation of the provinces has left wounds which will fester, for ever, on the playing fields and in the stadia of the kingdom they unified. The aftershocks of transporting our criminals to the sunshine and oranges of Australia, Cromwell’s activities in Ireland; what Edward 1^st did to the Scots, and what Thatcher did to the Welsh miners, will be felt long after seismic events in Japan become a distant memory.

            Take the legendary half-time team talk by Scotland captain Gordon Brown (Broon frae Troon - not Clarkson’s one-eyed Scottish idiot) at Twickenham in the early ‘70s:           

            “Remember Culloden, lads?”

            “Aye”, came the reply from brother Peter, “We bloody lost that one too!”

            As for the French, despite their proximity, they are no more a natural ally to the English than Tom is to Jerry.

            But leaving history aside, there is something else which makes English rugby so difficult to like: arrogance.

            Back to Facebook: I found other comments which support this: “…going down the Black Horse to watch England give the paddies a good slap.” Really? And “…come on England: bash those thick micks.” Not that thick, it transpired. And, worst, of all: “We’re 80 minutes from the Grand Slam – Ireland, don’t even bother to turn up!”

            Now I’m sure that these comments are polarised and those who wrote them - like Lievrement -  now regret them, but it does expose a certain mis-placed cockiness that serves to fan the flames which England so frequently go down in.

             It doesn’t stop there either: it extends right the way up to the management and coaching staff. Johnson’s men went into the most important game since the last World Cup final woefully under-prepared. Sure, they had beaten a poor Welsh side, roused themselves sufficiently to make Lievrement eat his words; they had flooded a porous Italian defence and ground out a win against a manned-up but inept Scottish outfit; however none of this made anyone, other than the English themselves, see Johnson’s team as serious contenders to lift the Webb Ellis Cup on 23^rd October. Southern hemisphere sides are not quaking in their boots, and that’s who England will have to beat.

            Against Ireland, England didn’t think it was worth bothering with a plan B. By the time they realised that Ireland could easily read the inside ball, the long, deep pass behind the predictable line of drifting dummy runners, and the blunt attack of two massive but easily corralled centres, the game was up. Then Youngs prevented Ireland taking the quick throw and was yellow-carded. Johnson marked his arrogant and petulant behaviour by banishing him to the bowels of the stand. No swan diving for Ashton, either – an act which is tantamount to brandishing the middle finger to the opposition - as wave after wave of do-or-die Irish defenders enveloped him, sensing that this, if not their championship, was at least their day.

            Of course, in the lead-up to last Saturday, there was much talk in the England camp about how Ireland should not be taken lightly; how lessons had been learned from past complacencies, of how Dublin was a hard place to go and win. In 2003, in Dublin, when England won their last Slam, Johnson  - correctly I believe - refused to move his men at the request of a provocative ‘jobs’ worth’ before the national anthems. He declined to be pushed around; this galvanised England, who deservedly won. But that was Woodward’s team, an England team more focused and better prepared than any before or any since; a team high on confidence whose winning mentality was based on proven performance rather than hope – or arrogance. Certainly a team with a back-up plan.

            How far England has come under Johnson remains an unanswered question. Whether last Saturday’s woeful performance is down to selection – they played markedly better when the bench was emptied in the second half - or attitude, remains to be seen; as does the question as to whether England have over or under-achieved in this season’s Six Nations’.

            So those of us exiles who live in England, but take great pleasure at the odd Celtic victory or even the very occasional Grand Slam, can be vindicated thus: England, by virtue of sheer numbers, should be the favourites to win the Six Nations every year; but they don’t. Yet there is an expectancy from the management, players and supporters which sits perilously close to a “born-to-rule”, or “born-to-win” mentality.

            And so my suggestion to those, who, like my Facebook friend find England bashing distasteful, is in two parts: first, use this rancour to your advantage - as England did against the French - but second and more importantly - try a little bit of humility; in other words - to quote current management-speak: - manage your expectations, then you might receive a little “simcerity”, when England lose.

            That way perhaps, we all just might - yes even us exiles - get behind an England team in New Zealand if all of ours have caught the early plane home.