England reach the rugby union World Cup Final.

England reach the rugby union World Cup Final.

Crikey, they've done it again! Who'd have thought it possible? Months after celebrating their famous World Cup Final victory over New Zealand, England pulled off the same trick against the same nation but this time in the rugby union code. This could be the year of the uncanny coincidence. Does sport get any better or more rewarding? You wait years for England to win something and then two roll up when least expected. Beggars though can't be choosers. But England are in another sporting World Cup Final and who cares what those stuffy bureaucrats at the EU may be thinking?

The fact is though that Eddie Jones brave white shirted men from England have reached their first World Cup Final since 2007 and that's no mean feat. Four years before of course, under the shrewd and savvy leadership of Martin Johnson, England had beaten a cocksure Australian team with Jonny Wilkinson's much adored and acclaimed last second penalty that swung over the posts in a romantic parabola.

Still, here we are in 2019 and it looks as if it's happening all over again. Maybe their appointment with destiny is much closer than we ever thought it would be. Set in context a win against the All Blacks, regardless of its nature, has to be savoured and early this morning at British time, England were the epitome of gallantry, the very vision of chivalry, English knights in armour and they played the kind of virile, vigorous and swashbuckling rugby rarely seen at this exalted level.

The shackles were off, the inhibitions lost in a haze and some of us are genuinely excited. England are on fire, dashing, moving in unison, darting once again, driving through the lines, winning decisive ball at the breakdown, winning line outs with an effortless and knowledgeable air and just very good. Here against the great All Blacks, once one of the most untouchable sides in the world and still looking pretty sharply debonair when the mood takes them, England matched New Zealand ruck for ruck and pass for pass.

For the better part of the first half England were in strategic, thoughtful mood, aggressive and combative when they had to be and then sweeping down the pitch as if defeat would never enter their minds for a second. They outmuscled the All Blacks, they outran the All Blacks, they broke down all of the psychological obstacles that the men in black might have set for them. It was rugby from the old days, rugby that was continuously enthralling and rugby that was, quite naturally, of the highest quality.

But this was an England side who were determined to rise to the big occasion come what may. The rumours were that the All Blacks would just get out the steamroller and then tread all over England, a big, muscular pack who would just hammer the English into the ground without a single apology. England were tough as old boot leather, sticking rigidly to their original game plan and never allowing their opponents the luxury of a breather.

Under the quiet but heavily influential captaincy of Owen Farrell, England pinned back New Zealand into their own half time and again. As a collective unit, England were strong, feisty, well organised, fitter than they've ever been before and rolling steadily towards the All Blacks try line with red blooded masculinity, charging forward at will, shouldering arms to the cause and just forcing their opponents back into meek submission.

When Manu Tuilagi gave the lead with a cleverly worked try after 35 seconds it seemed as if we were living in a fantasy world. Nothing could have been further from the case. England just kept pushing, probing, committing the All Blacks into rash mistakes and without a thought for their own well being, just diving into the danger areas, snatching the ball back in vital areas of the pitch, stealing a march as they say, going for broke and gambling like the most experienced poker player.

There were frequent moments throughout the game when you kept expecting the All Blacks to just win back possession and just turn on their inimitable style. You were convinced that the majestic All Blacks from years gone by would swish the matador's cape and break down English resistance. You feared that  New Zealand, with their pretty passing range and fleet footed rhythms, would simply wipe out England with their unique flair and individual brilliance. Not today though, certainly not today.

This was England's time, a side dedicated to the task of stopping the All Blacks from winning what would have been their third consecutive World Cup trophy. However hard the Kiwis tried though, they were just flabbergasted by English grit, determination and beefy commitment. There was nothing that the now outgoing World Champions could do about this valiant white shirted forward advance. England were sharper in the ruck invariably plunging on the ball before offloading to colleagues within perfect proximity. England were hunting in packs and when the ball went loose they were quicker and brighter, forceful and purposeful.

When the ever present Jonny May helped himself to a whole barrel load of penalty conversions to increase England's lead, suddenly we were looking at a major shock. Nobody could have seen this one coming or could they? The New Zealand juggernaut had lost its way, its engines burnt and left to smoke alarmingly in the face of a tremendous England onslaught. England were just heroic, fearless, bristling and snarling viciously, purring and humming, pulling on the handbrake when the All Blacks threatened just after half time but never shaken or stirred at any point during the game.

To their eternal credit the All Blacks did get back into the game briefly with the simplest of tries after a temporary lapse in English defensive concentration. Julian Savea was quick witted to notice a gap in the English defence after England had failed to pick up the ball and Savea's try gave New Zealand hope when none had even remotely existed.

England though were not to be deterred nor downhearted. They grabbed hold of possession once again and drilled through the All Blacks in a dizzying whirlwind of passes, flipping the ball between themselves, a bewildering blur of hands weaving in and out of a New Zealand side as if they weren't there. From time to time the play would be halted, white shirts floored for perhaps a minute or two but England knew they had their opponents measure.

But then the reliable Jonny May potted another penalty and George Ford whipped over another handsome penalty that would finally silence the all singing Kiwis. The pre match haka would fizzle out into a slow waltz and the final whistle would signal another England World Cup Final appearance.

Now England await the outcome of the other semi final tomorrow between Wales and South Africa and lips are being licked at the prospect of another rugby contest designed for the purists. For those of us living in the green and pleasant lands of Britain, an England- Wales World Cup Final feels like the greatest sporting confrontation of all time. Across the soaring mountains  of England and the timeless valleys of Wales voices will increase in volume by the minute and day. We can barely believe it all and yet who knows? Loyalties will be tested and hearts will be in mouths. For those with nerves of steel this could be the ultimate challenge. You're advised to sit tight, hold onto your chairs and just enjoy the moment. Not a single soul will be taking bets on what happens now.