The 2019 rugby union World Cup

The 2019 rugby union World Cup.

Today the rugby union World Cup gets underway in Japan amid the usual ceremony and formality. The opening ceremony is now history and the global giants from here, there and everywhere will pick up that famous oval ball and just run with it. That notable pioneer William Webb Ellis, whose name is now immortalised on that grand old trophy, must have known a thing or two because now rugby union has been officially been accorded the kind of prestige and status that it could only have dreamt about when Ellis was a lad in shorts.

When Jonny Wilkinson thumped his drop kick penalty to clinch World Cup victory against Australia in 2003, little could we have known then that the current England side are ready and waiting to eat red meat again. Rugby union has always been a game of beefy physicality, men with thighs like tree trunks, thick, muscular bodies that look as though they were designed to shift lorries rather than a rugby ball and a ruthlessly uncompromising approach to the game that takes no nonsense from anybody.

So here they come, the crushing, crashing locks, the formidable prop forwards with the steeliest glint in their eyes, the hookers that jump and bump at every line out they can manufacture, the back rows ready to rumble and tumble at every scrum or maul and a whole variety of those big, stocky and strapping men with ears that resemble cauliflowers, rolled down socks, arms clutching and grabbing at any ball that might come their way and legs like pistons. All systems go.

For some of us though rugby union, sadly perhaps, never really figured on our sporting itinerary. There was a moment when the ball was thrown to you on quite the boggiest and muddiest playing field in Britain. But then you tucked the oval ball under your arm and ran like the wind. You sprinted for your life, kept going and then discovered that you didn't quite know what to do with it. It was all very bewildering since the primary school was perhaps more suited to football rather than rugby union.

Then as we get older we began to recognise that our sporting prowess extended no further than a fleeting flirtation with the local park tennis court or a rumbustious kick about in the school playground that invariably ended up with the ball landing in either the car park or the old fashioned dinner hut. Rugby union was for those well built teenagers who loved nothing better than a deep mid winter scrap, breathing heavily in the scrum and then tightly locking shoulders as if their lives depended on it.

For a while we feasted on the then five nations tournament including both England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland and France little knowing that at no point at all would we ever renew our interest in the oval ball game. We thrilled to the Welsh wizards of Gareth Edwards, Phil Bennett, Mervyn Davies and JPR Williams and never thought we'd ever see such sublime rugby again. They weaved, hop scotched, zig zagged, dodged, darted, dropped a thousand shoulders, dazzled, enthralled, jumped and then took our breath away. Their schemes and strategies were cunning, their intentions never less than serious. There was the wondrous genius of Ireland's Willie John Mcbride and Scotland's prodigiously talented Andy Irvine.

On Sunday though the England rugby union team of 2019 will gather together in the most improbable setting of a Japanese backdrop, gum shield in their mouths and dogged spirit driving them on to the most promised land of the try line. In their opening game England will meet Tonga and this is the point where England will hope that the golden memory of 2003 will still be there willing them onto greater achievements.

We will watch the exceptional Billy Vunipola of Saracens, a harum-scarum, hustle bustle, fiercely committed and adventurous lock, powering past players with meaty, vigorous intent, Ben Youngs, the superb Leicester Tigers scrum half, a player of perpetual motion, will also be there, pushing and coaxing, galloping into the open spaces, dodging, probing and forever scheming, slaloming past players as if they weren't there and then flinging passes to players who were always available.

But most of all we will look forward to seeing the England captain Owen Farrell, rallying his white shirted troops and as inspirational as English skippers past such as Will Carling, Martin Johnson and Bill Beaumont. Essentially, Farrell will be the calming influence, the trigger point, the catalyst, the starting motor and generally tidying up at the back. George Ford of Leicester Tigers will be putting his best feet forward, tussling and nagging away at his adversaries and the peerlessly brilliant Manu Tuilagi of Leicster Tigers will be beavering away tirelessly, hunting, burrowing his way irrepressibly at fly half, barging and then bouncing off his opponents with ease and aplomb.

Above all we can now anticipate the spectacle of the rugby union World Cup, the Japanese hospitality, the hand of friendship they will extend quite naturally and then as hosts they will make everybody at home. For a country who remain receptive learners of the game, this could be a tournament to remember. We'll turn to the well established masters of their craft. New Zealand the current World Champions of course, will be the leading contenders, a team of well honed and toned professionals with stardust on their boots, always a pleasure to watch, an amalgam of breathtaking skill, vision and class.

And then there's Australia who of course who can never be discounted from the final reckoning. After holding onto the cricketing Ashes against England, the Australians will be in no mood to capitulate to anybody. On their day Australia are unstoppable, fearless, full of beans, competing, busting a gut, engaging constantly, desperate to meet England again and win again. France, Ireland, South Africa have to be considered as favourites if only because their all round technical excellence will be imposed immediately from the kick off. Tonga and Fiji will be exotically pleasing to the eye but the shorter form of the game looks to be their strongest suit.

Rugby union though will be uppermost in our minds, a game that to the neutral at least, does seem to stop and start infuriatingly, huffing and puffing towards its conclusion before the players charge forward with their heads down at each other like Spanish bulls. They will kick their steepling kicks huge distances, the ball hanging in the air like a hot air balloon. They will huddle together in collective solidarity because that's what rugby union players have always done. It'll be far from pretty but when the scrums have been delivered and the set plays completed then you can only hope that the rugby will flourish.

Sadly though, you find yourself at a complete loss as to why the likes of Georgia, Uruguay, Argentina, the USA and Canada are making up the numbers. Of course this is the World Cup and the world should never be excluded. It is though highly unlikely that any of the aforementioned will pose any problems at all to the big boys. They will be punching their weight, striving gallantly against the odds before realising that the impossible will almost certainly become a self fulfilling prophecy.

 If William Webb Ellis were still alive the lump in his throat would become readily apparent and with some justification. This is the William Webb Ellis rugby union World Cup and when the kick off whistle goes for Eddie Jones men, England will surely be ready to go. Go England.