A miserable weekend for the England rugby union team.

A miserable weekend for the England rugby union team.

In the end it was all too much bear and very much a depressing anti-climax, a sad postscript and in many ways a match too far for the English rugby union team. They were comprehensively beaten in the World Cup Final by a prodigiously resourceful, all singing, all dancing, foot loose and fancy free South Africa side who were technically flawless, a superbly oiled rugby machine, quicker of thought and classier than England in every position.

For the last couple of weeks Japan has coped commendably with everything that might have been thrown at them. There was the typhoon that threatened the very continuation of the Webb Ellis World Cup, the ever present critics who clearly felt that the country was ill equipped to hold a tournament of this size and the voices of praise who eventually fell in love with its meticulous attention to detail. Here they were confronted with the thorny issues of organisation and the logistical complications that might have set in had it all gone wrong. Still, they got it absolutely right.

Last week England seemed destined to win the World Cup with their eyes closed, blinkers on and whistling a merry tune as it all became too easy for them. But casual arrogance never did sit comfortably on English sport's shoulders. The weight of expectation can often prove more trouble than its worth and England were beaten by South Africa because somebody must have told them that this would, quite literally, be a walk in the park for them. So they rolled up at a World Cup Final, looked at their opponents contemptuously and then decided that this was just another cliched piece of cake.

So much for a powerful and yet beatable South African team or so England must have felt at the time. But how foolishly misguided were they? There is a time for presumptuousness and over confidence but this was not it for an England side who believed, quite rightly, that it was their turn to win something very big and prestigious. In fact this was the World Cup Final and at stake a chance to gain immortality and celebrity status for ever more. England though were not up for this one though. They were still busy preening themselves after beating New Zealand in the semi final.

After South Africa had quite literally wiped the floor with England 32-12, England were left to look stunned, emotionally exhausted, inferior, sub standard and, quite definitely, second best. It was to be hoped that the engine room of the side including the rumbling, driving and forceful backs of Elliot Daly, Anthony Watson, Johnny May on the wing, George Ford and Ben Youngs would hustle and , bustle, foraging forward in search of what turned out to be scraps.

 We hoped that the versatile and magical Mako Vunipola would dance and cavort his way past a dark green pack of South African beefcakes. We assumed that the likes of Jamie George, the ferociously determined Kyle Sinckler and the ever influential England captain Owen Farrell would just be a pain in the neck for a South African side who were both prepared and primed for action. We knew that the equally as brave and grittily tenacious Courtney Laws would punch wide holes in the scrum, forever pushing and shoving with increasing menace while Sam Underhill would break forward at every opportunity.

But there was something missing. We could all see that. Following a quick succession of penalties for both sides, there was nothing between them. Then the white shirts of England began to collapse in the scrums, vital ball was wastefully squandered, passes went wildly astray or over heads and England were never ruthless enough, a side that had now become sloppy, sluggish and off the pace. They were also losing the ball quite disturbingly at turnovers, line outs and now leaping at thin air.

By the hour mark South Africa were grabbing the oval ball rather like the primary school child who wants to take the ball home to their parents and show off their burgeoning skills. They tapped the ball effortlessly from the base of the scrum with the healthiest appetite for the battle. They made light of the potential threat that England might have posed them. The dark green shirted Springboks were indeed having their day in the Japanese sun although the weather itself never really promised as much.

Your mind travelled back to that famous day when  Nelson Mandela presented the World Cup to Francois Pienaar and the ecstatic Mandela couldn't help but jig and move his hips from side to side, a very smug and contented man who knew exactly where his country was going. Now it was time for the current generation of South African players to give something even more meaningful and profound back to the Rainbow Nation.

Now of course the dark and ugly days of apartheid are well and truly behind all of South Africa. The wide open veldt lands and sweepingly dramatic landscapes of Cape Town, Pretoria and Johannesburg are gleaming reminders of a South Africa that is largely at peace with itself. Of course there are pockets of bloodshed and violence but then again this would never be a straightforward re-building job.

Still when Siya Kosili became the first black captain to raise aloft the World Cup for South Africa, a nation went into immediate party mode, celebrating joyously deep into the night and quite possibly for the rest of the year. South Africa were daintily skipping and weaving their way entrancingly past England, full of magic and sorcery, endless energy and stamina, never allowing England to settle.

The second half had now become a glorious exhibition of rugby union at its finest. South Africa was giving full rein to its natural expression, a country that had found both its clear identity and creative focus. The anxieties were falling away as the match reached its final moments. When Chelsin Kolbe went swerving his way through a gasping England defence to plonk over the crucial try which clinched the World Cup, it was clear that a country that had once been gripped by corrosive racism was now enjoying one of  the greatest moments in their sporting history. If only sport could offer more days like this one. It would make everything so simple