Rarely am I moved to write about anything other than football, but when I am tempted it is usually because of having watched a rugby match.

The last time, as I recall, was to comment on an amazing Wigan Warriors comeback against St Helens in a Rugby League derby match when Wigan clawed their way back from something like a 26-point deficit in the second half to claim a most unlikely victory.

Last night I watched in awe and admiration as Bath and Gloucester slugged it out for 80 minutes in a top-of-the-table Guinness Premiership battle that really should never have been played because Bath’s Recreation ground was an absolute sea of cloying mud.

'The nearest we came to any kind of admonishment from the referee was when he handed out a friendly warning to both sets of forwards when they became a little too cosy at a line-out'


The mere fact that it was played is a tribute to not only the ground staff, who had been fighting a losing battle with the elements all day, but to referee Wayne Barnes and the two skippers, Steve Borthwick of Bath and his Gloucester counterpart Marco Bortolami, who could so easily have said “no game” but instead took into account the endurance and expectations of a capacity crowd.

The fact that Bath won 10-5 to reduce Gloucester’s lead at the top of the table to two points, was, in viewing terms, of little consequence.

What took place was an epic, mud-clinging, energy-sapping, gladitorial encounter in the most brutal, freezing rain-lashed conditions imaginable.

Needless to say, within 10 minutes the Blues of Bath and Reds of Gloucester became the all blacks, covered from head to toe in mud that threatened to suck the very breath from their steaming bodies. No player was recognisable, save perhaps Bath’s Ollie Barkley who, on this night, seemed just about the only one capable of skipping over the mire underfoot.

Bath dominated possession; Gloucester were pinned down in the shallow end for interminable spells, unable to get a foothold on the surface (I nearly said grass) but willing to throw bodies into the defence of their line. Bodies piled high in rucks and mauls, the ball disappearing from view in the general morass.

Such was the pressure on Gloucester that they might well have been relieved to concede three points to a Barkley penalty, the only score in the first half.

But Bath were relentless in their pressure, and increased their lead 10 minutes into the second half when full-back Nick Abendanon hoisted a 60-yard kick to the far corner of the field and Joe Maddock slid 10 yards to touch down, Barkley adding the conversion.

Gloucester substitute Chris Paterson's breakaway try 19 minutes from time caused a few flutters in the Bath ranks, yet the home side were not to be denied a win built on fearless commitment.

But the thing that really struck me most was the absolute sporting manner in which the game was played. The nearest we came to any kind of admonishment from the referee was when he handed out a friendly warning to both sets of forwards when they became a little too cosy at a line-out.

The referee’s only other contribution of note was to be sent sprawling at one maul, discover his whistle clogged up by mud and being forced to shout out his instructions and decisions until he was able to stop the game for a forward pass and borrow another whistle from the touch judge.

This was rugby at its mud-caked glorious best, rarely a hint or opportunity for fast open play and scintillating try scoring but an exhibition of sheer guts, bravery, and monumental endeavour. Not the slightest hint of nastiness to be seen.

If Arsenal, Manchester United, Liverpool and the rest of the 64 clubs engaged in the third round of the FA Cup this weekend provide just a quarter of the effort and entertainment displayed by Bath and Gloucester last night, we could have a weekend to celebrate.

What can football learn from rugby? We'd welcome your comments below or, better still, in an article for Sportingo.