Robinson plots revenge for Grand Slam reversal

The logical candidate to succeed Clive Woodward as England coach will not tolerate a second red rose shambles against the Irish

Six Nations

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James Lawton: What price will you pay for victory, Clive?

Robinson plots revenge for Grand Slam reversal

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If you thought Andy Robinson was an irascible so-and-so on the pitch, you should see him in Sainsbury's. He fixes the delicatessen counter with a stare as black as soot – "Get those stuffed olives onside, ref, or I'll have to sort it myself" – and his devout vegetarianism is fearsomely evident as he scrummages his trolley past the butchery section. Two days previously, England had recorded a momentous victory over Australia at Twickenham. Had they lost, there might now be a pile of rubble where a supermarket used to be.

England's head coach does not enjoy shopping – "I bloody well hate it," he admits – but on the Robinson Scale of Profound Hatreds, it is a long way behind finishing second in a game of rugby. Fortunately for him, not to mention the rest of us, this calamity of calamities does not occur often. Seventeen Test matches into his career as an international plotter and planner, he can boast a success rate of 75 per cent plus – no mean achievement, given that five of those games have been against the world champion Wallabies and another four against the ultra-physical Springboks.

However, he can also point to a rock-bottom moment: the aftermath of England's Grand Slam failure in Dublin last October. Robinson's aftermaths tend to last longer than anyone else's: during his Bath days, a defeat would render him all but speechless for 48 hours (he once stomped out of a press conference after contributing precisely 11 words, one of which was 'ashamed'), and he is not noticeably more philosophical now.

"I think I've matured a little," he said during preparations for today's Six Nations return match with the Irish at Twickenham, "but I'm still totally passionate about my rugby, and I still head for the darkened room when I lose. Where's the harm in that? I certainly don't consider my inability to deal with defeat to be a sign of weakness. It's something I need to handle in my own way." Did he attend the after-match banquet in Dublin? "I did, actually; I felt I had to show some respect to the Ireland coaches, Warren Gatland and Eddie O'Sullivan. I would rather have been elsewhere, though."

Should England get it wrong against Ireland again this afternoon, Robinson will not see daylight for a month. He might even emigrate. He unhesitatingly describes the Lansdowne Road defeat as "a massive disappointment; the low point my coaching career to date" and refuses to contemplate a second successive cock-up. In many ways, this game is right up Robinson's street, for it will be won and lost in the hearts and minds of his players, every bit as surely as in the technicalities of scrum and line-out. As an iron-willed flanker with a competitive streak the breadth of the Somerset Levels, Taunton's favourite son lived for these occasions. As a coach, he lives for them still.

"Ireland? I have a lot of time for them," he acknowledged. "Their forwards beat us up in Dublin; they attacked us at first phase, they drove the ball at us, they bullied us. They are what they are, they do what they do and fair play to them. If you take Keith Wood out of the equation, there are no superstars in the pack; David Wallace is making quite a name for himself, but we are talking about a real collective unit here. They do damage to good teams, this lot, and the sides that threaten you are the sides you want to play against. This is a genuine test for us, and I relish being involved."

Robinson is generally happiest when the stresses and strains, and therefore the rewards, are greatest – an attitude rooted in his early days at Bath, when he was confronted with the unenviable task of relieving Roger Spurrell, one of rugby's more petrifying psychotics, of his honoured position in the back row. Tales are still told of mud-spattered training nights by the river at Lambridge, when the two men strove for supremacy in fairly basic fashion. Robinson prevailed, just about, and he smiles at the memory.

"When I joined the club out of college and took one look at Roger, I realised there was an immediate choice to be made," he recalled. "Approach number one was to put up my hands and allow him to keep his place. [An entirely sensible option for anyone intent on staying alive.] "The other approach was to challenge him. As I was serious about playing for Bath, about making my way in the sport of my choice, there was only one answer. Was it hard? I should say so. The training was harder than the playing by a distance, and there were times when I struggled to hold my nerve. But that was what made Bath the side they were: the ferocity of the training somehow made the playing seem easier. This is what Leicester have now. Those blokes fight all the time in training, but they win on a Saturday."

Needless to say, Robinson stands with both feet in the pro-Martin Johnson camp. A decade or so ago, when England's bogey-man of a captain first appeared in the Leicester first team, Johnson could not have imagined that the narrow-eyed, pain-in-the-arse warrior in the Bath back row would one day coach him at Test level, let alone defend him in his hour of need. But rugby's strong and largely silent types share a common view of the sporting world, and recognise a good deal of themselves in each other.

"Martin is a great rugby player, full stop," said Robinson. "I love his competitiveness, I admire his knowledge of the game and I would never presume to judge him. Ask him for the hard yards, he gives them to you; ask him for a little finesse, you've got it. There is a completeness about him, both as a second row and a captain, that demands respect.

"He sorted me out a few times, did Johnno. I remember him back in '91, playing an absolute blinder for Leicester when they came to our place and beat us in the cup. I thought then: 'Hello, this kid can play.' Mind you, they caught us on an off-day. We'd beaten them at Welford Road the week before, and then gone partying somewhere in the Cotswolds. It was a right bender, and it took the edge off our performance." This is typical Robinson. The way he tells it, the only side to beat Bath during his 14 years at the Recreation Ground were Bath.

Fortunately for England, his West Country myopia has receded in the 20-odd months since Clive Woodward offered him the chance to replace the departing John Mitchell in the red rose hierarchy. The assumption before the 2000 tour of South Africa was that Robinson would take over as top dog after the next World Cup, and despite the odd blip during last summer's Lions tour, when he assisted Graham Henry, and the shambles in Dublin, that theory is as sound now as it was then. More so, probably.

"There are things I need to work on," he admitted. "I need to extend my technical expertise, and my communication skills are lacking sometimes, especially when the intensity gets to me. But I'm learning all the time, especially about communication. Clive has created a culture in which the players put forward their own ideas and talk about their problems. No issues are buried or hidden away, nobody bleats to their mates, no-one sits sulking in a corner. When I first played for England, it was entirely different. I know which system I prefer."