Is Scotland a 6 Nations Contender?
Why Scots rugby could be on the rise.
Scroll down through the long list of Five and Six Nations winners, and you might notice that one country makes only an occasional appearance. It is so much of an occasional appearance that you might wonder if they appear in the competition at all.
That country is Scotland, who have won the competition outright only three times in the post Second World War period, sharing the trophy twice: once with Wales in 1964 and once with France, in 1986.
Two of Scotland’s wins came in the 1980s – in 1984 and 1990 – which is, admittedly, the 1980s at a stretch. It was an era of glowing romance for them, as we will find out about shortly.
Scotland’s last win took place in 1999, the last-ever Five Nations before it began to feature Italy as a sixth nation. That’s 26 years ago. With three home matches this season, and only two away, hopes are high that Scotland might repeat the heroics of the 1980s and late 1990s again in 2025.
They start their campaign at home against Italy on Saturday, before entertaining Ireland at Murrayfield eight days later. Afterwards they travel to Wales and England, with the last Test of their Six Nations being away to France in the middle of March.
For the purposes of our story, given that Scotland won the Five Nations in 1984, that most symbolic and literary of years, let us begin a year before that.
The occasion was Parc des Princes, in Paris, for a match against mercurial France, who had just returned across the Channel after their opening fixture of the tournament, where they had beaten England at Twickenham. The French were at home for their second match against Scotland, yes, but they were without Didier Camberabero, their first-choice fly-half, who was injured.
Camberabero was their usual place-kicker. His absence worried the French and their blonde blindside skipper, Jean-Pierre Reves. Instead, they had to rely on Serge Blanco.
Blanco had the silky counter-attacking skills of a rugby saint. But he could also be as flaky as the rest of his team-mates when the occasion demanded. And he was not their first-choice place-kicker.
The first-choice place-kicker for Scotland was the young Peter Dods, their fullback, a fitter from Gala. Gavin Hastings had yet to arrive on the scene and Dods was at the beginning of a slightly stop-start international career.
Always a contender, seldom a fixture, Dods played for Scotland 23 times in eight years until Hastings elbowed him out of the team and, for good measure, bundled him over the touchline of history.
In the Paris match Scotland roared into a 12-3 lead after 25 minutes. By half-time, however, the French had brought themselves towards themselves, with or without Camberabero. The score, as they trotted in for the break, the French in white jerseys, the Scots in blue, was 15-all.
Late in the game, with score remaining 15-all, Dods was presented with a penalty to take Scotland three points clear and so to give them a sniff of an improbable victory. The phrase “improbable victory” is not hyperbole. Neither is it a sop to my legions of Scots listeners. Never before had the Scots beaten France at Parc des Prince.
Dods had a place-kicking ritual, not uncommon at the time. He raised his left foot at a 45-degree angle to the ground and dug a hole in the turf with the heel of his boot, spinning around his braced right leg a full 360 degrees as he did so
.Into this hole, a couple of centimeters deep, he placed the ball. After doing so, satisfied that the ball was as he wanted it, he stepped back to examine the posts, which were directly in front of him, approximately 30 meters away.
Dods stepped back from the upright ball with what appeared to be a jaunty confidence. He gathered himself and ran forward, hitting the ball cleanly with his right foot. The TV camera, mounted behind the posts in the stands, recorded the ball’s flight.
The ball seemed to be on course for a successful kick. But at the very last moment it screwed to the left as Dods looked at it and, miraculously, missed the uprights completely.
A miss it might have been- and a costly miss at that – but Scotland were not out of the game by any stretch. If Dods was disappointed, his run across the half-way line gave no indication of the fact.
France scored a late try at Parc des Princes, meaning that Scotland lost the international by four points when it appeared to be theirs for the taking. They had already lost to Ireland at Murrayfield by an agonising two points, and, a couple of weeks later, went on to lose to Wales by four points.
In summary, it was the season of narrow losses. Yet there was also a juicy caveat. In early March, Scotland travelled south to England for their last fixture of the 1983 Five Nations.
At Twickenham, in the cathedral of the enemy, they beat England 22-12, two tries to nil, so avoiding the wooden spoon. Dods, he of the shank at Parc des Princes, had regained his composure. He scored 11 points through three penalties and a conversion.
The Twickenham victory against England was significant for Scottish morale. It gave then something upon which to build. At the beginning of the 1984 season, they hosted the All Blacks, an opportunity to lay down another brick or two.
Dods was at it again because, late in the match, with the scores locked at 25-all, he had a moment akin to the moment at Parc des Prince the previous season. This time the kick was more difficult. It wasn’t a penalty, it was a conversion, tight against the touchline. Again, Dods fluffed it, and the All Blacks escaped with a draw.
Beginnings, as we all instinctively know, are made up not of one but many beginnings. Beginnings, in fact, beget beginnings, and it is wise and honest to acknowledge the fact. The problem of beginnings, in fact, is that acknowledgment of the artificiality of beginnings means that we never get past the beginning. It is – to coin a phrase – a false start.
And who wants a false start or an esoteric focus on the metaphysics of beginnings when all we really want is for the story to gallop into the first chapter. In so doing we hope that, contrary to all those false starts, it will be a true start and we can all move forward.
To linger on the theme of beginnings and the beginning of beginnings for a moment, we might factor in another beginning. This was the beginning of Brisbane, the beginning of Ballymore to be more precise, where, in 1982, Scotland beat the Wallabies 12-7. They lost the second Test in Sydney heavily but here was another beginning upon which to build a beginning.
By the time of the 1984 Five Nations there had been many beginnings. The win against the Wallabies at Ballymore in 1982 was a beginning, as was the narrow defeat against France at Parc des Princes the following year.
The win against England that selfsame season was a far less ambiguous beginning and any side that could hold the feared All Blacks, well, that really was something, there was certainly nothing flukey about that. Never has a draw been more celebrated.
As luck and scheduling would have it, one of the two matches of the final weekend of the 1984 season featured Scotland versus France, this time at Murrayfield. Both teams had beaten England, Ireland and Wales, so if France could repeat their win at Parc des Princes the previous season, they would leave Edinburgh as Five Nations champions. If Scotland could beat France, they would be champions for the first time since 1925.
The Scotland versus France match was a close affair, so close, in fact, that deep into the second half it was 12-all, with neither side completely in the ascendancy, neither side looking as if they were in the mood to be beaten.
John Rutherford played at fly-half for Scotland that day (Bryan Gosman had played against France in Paris the previous season) and he gave the home side a steadying calm that was to be a feature of their play throughout the decade.
Three -minutes before the final whistle, Rutherford hoofed an astute diagonal towards the French corner flag. The kick was dealt with by the tiny French centre, Didier Codorniou, in the nick of time. He was confronted by a raft of Scots chasers bearing down on him, so his clearing kick was hasty. It meant a Scottish put in to the line-out.
Throws in the 1980s were one-handed bombs flung into chaos. Lifting wasn’t allowed in those days, so throws were often poached by the tallest man. Sometimes throws weren’t poached by the tallest man at all. They were gobbled by the most athletic man. Or the best jumper.
Or the man who had the priceless ability to gouge his opponents’ eye while also focusing on the ball that was spinning in his general direction. Think of popcorn bubbling in the foyer of an old-fashioned cinema and you have a general idea of the behaviour of the rugby ball in an international in the 1980s.
Many things were different in international rugby in the 1980s. Heels against the head weren’t completely unheard-of. Photographers drifted onto the side of the pitch, while well-wishers flooded onto it after a game. Extra-time was played, and it could frequently last for five, six or even seven minutes depending of the referee’s discretion.
Referees were not the celebrities they are today. They didn’t have their own Instagram pages. They were officials. And they were frequently officious.
In one photograph of the period I stumbled upon during my research for this podcast, a Scottish team photograph showed the ultimate accessory – a tartan blanket, spread out before the team. On it is perched a rugby ball. This is heady stuff, no matter which way you look at it. I was surprised not to see a thermos flask of broth, a tin of shortbread and a pair of Scottish Terriers.
But back to that Scottish throw into the line-out. The throw was preceded by confusion: two balls had bounced onto the turf and the Welsh referee was keen to avoid an unnecessary mix-up so late in such a dramatic Test. Colin Deans, the Scots hooker, threw in one-handed, looking for Ian Paxton at the back of the line-out.
Jumping at full stretch, Jean-Luc Joinel, the French loose forward, was first to get a hand to Deans’ throw. But he could only palm the ball limply in the direction of his scrumhalf. Fatefully, his tap lacked direction and power, and wasn’t gathered by any of his fellow-forwards.
Jim Calder, the Scottish captain, standing close-by, was quick to pounce and, because he wasn’t blocked by any of the French forwards, simply collapsed over the line clutching the ball to his midriff. The score was as easy as pie.
Dods, who had refined his place-kicking technique on that of the previous season’s, did a dainty little pirouette at the top of his mark to get himself flowing. It was pure theatre and absolutely unique – a calling card, if you like. After four or five delicate little pirouettes at the top of his mark, Dods rushed forward and gave the ball a good belt, as true a kick as he had ever tried.
If you transport yourself back on a flight of imagination to that moment at Murrayfield in March, 1984, you somehow know his kick will be successful. We know now that his kick was successful, I hear you complain, and you’d be right. But I’m not talking about the moment afterwards, when we all know.
I’m talking of the moment before the moment before the kick was successful. Everything has aligned. It is beautiful. The perfect moment in Scottish rugby history. Dods, who has missed at Parc des Prince in 1983, has fluffed his kick against the All Blacks in the great 25-all draw, was never going to miss this kick.
And he didn’t. His kick split the uprights with a bull’s-eye precision. And so the Scots led 18-12 with the final whistle only minutes away.
At this point in rugby history the French had a reputation for not knowing which side of the bed they were going to wake up on. No-one who played them knew either. And so began – at 18-12 to the Scots – the great French unravelling.
Whether out of frustration or disappointment or a combination of both, the French imploded in the final stages of their last match in the 1984 Five Nations. First, Blanco, rushing for a French up-and-under, late tackled or barged Dods, who was busy trying to retrieve Blanco’s kick. The referee took a dim view of the French fullback’s indiscretion and awarded the penalty.
But worse was to befall the French. They back-chatted the Welsh referee, a referee, incidentally, who was wearing red, not a calm or a calming colour. The referee marched them back 25 meters, a stroke of wonderfully unexpected luck for the Scottish.
Again, up stepped Dods, because now the penalty was within range. There was no possibility this time that he would repeat his miss of the previous season in the closing stages of the equally tight encounter at the Parc des Prince.
As it so happens, it was a far more difficult kick, further out, in from the touchline. It was more difficult but also, strangely, given the context of the match, easier.
Dods was poised on the cusp of history. He stood in front of his home crowd, perched comfortably on a six-point lead. He stepped back and did his little shimmy and he banged it straight and true.
As Dods ran back to his position in the wide-open wastes, he allowed himself the smile. His smile is noticed and commented-upon by the veteran commentator Bill McLaren. It was the smile of satisfaction, of simple pleasure. Dods realised in smiling his smile that nothing now could take Scottish victory away. People he will never meet again will buy him pint upon pint on the streets of Edinburgh across the hours to come.
The French implosion continued after the Dods penalty, the penalty that made it 21-12 to Scotland, a lead, as they say, that was unassailable. Once with the help of the touch judge and once through his own scrutiny, the referees penalises the French. McLaren, now certain of a rare Scottish championship win, ventures that questions will be asked of Rives’ captaincy.
On both occasion the referee demonstrates gesturally that the French have been punching, once in the scrum and once in a ruck. Over a distance of all these years you can almost hear the French muttering. You can hear their rancour, their disquiet, their utter dejection at having allowed the soft Calder try. They shook their heads as they trudged across the muddy field.
Soon it will be all over and they will be able to hide their sorrows in the showers.
When the final whistle does eventually blow, after six or seven minutes of injury time, neither Calder, nor Rutherford, nor Paxton, nor Dods, were the slightest bit interested in hanging around.
Another curious feature of international rugby in the 1980s was that fans flooded onto a field when the match was over. The Scotland match against France at Murrayfield was no exception. The fans swamped on in their hundreds and the Scottish players were smart enough to make a beeline for the tunnel.
Scotland and France shared the Five Nations two years later. You might call it a kind of poetic justice; then again, you might not. In actual fact, Scotland beat France at Murrayfield, in the two respective teams first match of the competition.
Dods, after a mediocre 1985, made place for Gavin Hastings in the France match, who was to become a big feature of Scottish rugby football life. Hastings kicked six penalties for 18 points, while the French scored two tries for 17 points, giving the Scots the match by a point.
One of those tries was scored by a nimble, quicksilver French centre with an unfashionable haircut. His name? Philippe Sella. The French centre was in the midst of making quite a name for himself in 1986 – he scored against each of France’s opponents in that year’s Five Nations.
While Scotland beat France, they also contrived to lose to lose to Wales in Cardiff in the next round. One of the Scots’ tries in Cardiff that day was scored by a rangy loose-forward called John Jeffrey, who thousands knew as “JJ” or “The Great White Shark.” Jeffrey had made his Scottish debut against the Wallabies at Murrayfield in 1984 and, by 1986, had become a feature of the Scottish pack.
In the 1986 competition’s final round of fixtures, France entertained England in Paris, while Scotland travelled to Dublin’s Lansdowne Road for a tricky tie against Ireland with “JJ” and Gavin Hastings in tow. The French – who were in good try-scoring form in that year’s Five Nations – scored three tries and a penalty try against England, a try apiece falling to Sella and Blanco, in a comfortable 29-10 win.
If Scotland lost to Ireland, France would win the title, given that Scotland had already lost to Wales. If they beat Ireland, however, the title would be shared. The Scots cut it fine in Dublin, winning by a single point in a grubby, low-scoring affair. They weren’t a side to indulge in throw-it-around brio, and the trophy was shared.
The French had grounds for complaint. They had played enterprising rugby. They scored four tries against England and Wales, three against Ireland – in a 20-point victory – and two in their one-point loss against Scotland. The Scots, meanwhile, only scored seven tries all competition, compared to the 13 of the French. The Scots, however, had Gavin Hastings. Unlike Dods, his predecessor, he seldom missed.
“JJ” was still in the side four years later, when David Sole captained Scotland to another Five Nations crown. I remember the names: Craig Chalmers, Sean Lineen, Finlay Calder, Damian Cronin, Gavin’s brother, Scott, Tony Stanger, John Allan, Doddie Weir.
It’s best not to inundate you with too much information, but they won all four games, which included a sweetly comfortable win against France and narrow victories against Ireland and Wales. England were their opponents at Murrayfield in their final game. Dare I say it? England, with more enterprise, were unlucky. Hastings played an important part, keeping the ball alive with a kick that kept the ball in play which led to Stanger’s try, the definitive score of the match.
Dods, who we heard so much about, was in the Scottish 1990 Five Nations squad. He didn’t play against England but unlike many Scottish players who did, he was there at the beginning. It was a beginning of many and exciting beginnings.