Every Second Counts

Well it looks like at some point today Martin Johnson will become the England Boss and Brian Ashton will be gently pushed out of Twickenham's back door into that little industrial estate behind the RFU's headquarters. Is that really a fitting end for a manager whose tenure as boss although rarely spectacular - can hardly be called a disaster!

I was there at Twickenham the day an angry crowd turned on Andy Robinson. In one voice 70,000 people told one man that he'd better not make any appointments for the following week - I've heard few people actually call for Ashton's demise.

It is true that we lost to Wales and came very close to being humbled by the mighty Italy - but we came through the storm and somehow found ourselves as Runners-up! We even managed to beat the French!

The World Cup also was supposed to be a disaster, but once again we made the Final. Had a foot not touched some painted grass then England could have been Champions, London would have had a big party and the Queen would have been scratching around in her honours box to find some more medals.

As an Englishman i have long since learned that 2nd is as close to victory as we're usually likely to get. And often thanks to terms such as "Penalty Shootout" and "Batting Collapse", we rarely get that far.

So over to you Jonno even if you are arriving just in time to take a holiday while the team are in New Zealand. It's not the poisoned challace that Italian bloke inherited over at Wembley by any means. The raw talent is there and you are proven and determined leader who won't stop until you get your hands on that shiny gold cup once more.

I look forwards to the Johnson years with much anticipation. But I also feel that something is not quite right in the way Ashton was treated in the end. He may not have been the charismatic and inspirational leader you need when you are trailing at half-time. Some players have made claims that perhaps they made the final despite him, rather than thanks to him. But he will be remembered for doing what we English do best - coming close, falling just short of greatness, and then quietly moving on without any fuss.