Why less might not be more for stars

MARTIN Johnson spent a rugby eternity perfecting his survival skills in the engine room of the scrum – the nearest thing big-time sport has to a circle of Hell, being dark and sulphurous and generally infernal – but, unlike Dante’s damned souls, he emerged into the light with a full set of glittering prizes: domestic titles, European titles, the England captaincy, the Lions captaincy, Triple Crowns, Grand Slams, a World Cup winner’s medal.

- CHRIS HEWETT

Yet the thing he most craved had nothing to do with cups, shields or series victories. Whenever he was questioned about his heart’s desire, and if he was in the mood to answer, he would invariably say: “What do I want? I want to play once a week.”

Hardly, you may think, the words of a man chasing the impossible dream, or asking for the moon on a stick. He simply craved his regular fix of thud and blunder, albeit at an unusually exalted level, rather than be rested twice a month for his own wellbeing, or held back for the must-win games at the business end of a season, or managed from afar by a Twickenhamite in a cravat and mustard-coloured corduroys.

Among the most graphic illustrations of how professional union has changed since Johnson’s day is the disappearance of the phrase “once a week” from the sport’s lexicon. Players of Johnson’s calibre, not to mention those who aren’t nearly as good as he was, are considered far too valuable to be placed on anything as common as a seven-day roster. This is the age of commodity control.