Are Woodward's England the biggest chokers in the game?

Now is the time to ask the overwhelming question, if there can be such a thing in connection with a game of rugby while the missiles are raining down on Baghdad. It is a sporting question far more profound than whether Jason Robinson is a better full-back than he is a wing, or whether Jonny Wilkinson's DNA renders him humanly incapable of missing a kick at goal. It gets to the very heart of this England team's claim to greatness. Do they freeze in the face of real pressure? Do they cop out on the big occasion? Are they, in the last analysis, chokers?

The answer will be writ large across the rickety old stands and litter-strewn concrete terraces of Lansdowne Road come tomorrow tea-time. We will know, once and for all, if Clive Woodward's England – the England of Martin Johnson and Jason Leonard, of Neil Back and the maestro Wilkinson – have what it takes, deep down inside where the truth resides, to complete a job of work. We will have the strongest of indications, six months or more before the event, whether talk of possible World Cup victory in Australia later this year has a basis in fact, or is merely the latest offering from the realm of white-shirted fantasy.

Let us be tough on Woodward and the team he has constructed in the five and a half years since he succeeded Jack Rowell, his opposite in so many ways, as England's main man. (In World Cup year, when life gets more intense and problematical at every turn, there is precious little value in being anything other than tough). For all their unprecedented achievement – repeated Twickenham victories over the best the southern hemisphere has to offer, an outstanding triumph over the Springboks in the Afrikaner stronghold of Bloemfontein, a remarkable win against considerable odds in Buenos Aires, back-to-back Six Nations titles in 2000 and 2001 – there remains something hollow at the core of the thing.

Indeed, it is possible – maybe essential too, given the defining nature of the challenge awaiting them this coming autumn – to suggest that whenever Woodward's England have played a match with something tangible on the end of it, they have failed to deliver. The three Grand Slam foul-ups–- Wales 1999, Scotland 2000, Ireland 2001 – are obvious cases in point, as is the World Cup quarter-final against South Africa three and a half years ago. Throw in the pool match against New Zealand in the same tournament, when victory would have put England in a highly favourable half of the draw, and you have quintet of cock-ups that suggest both tactical paralysis and, more damagingly still, an inherent emotional flakiness.

A plea of mitigation could have been, and was, entered in each case. The game against Wales hinged at least in part on a dodgy refereeing call, the match against the All Blacks tilted away from England because a freak by the name of Lomu suddenly rediscovered the best of himself. Preparations for the Bokke quarter-final were hampered by a bruising midweek play-off tie with Fiji; the weather in Scotland proved the greatest of levellers; and injuries kicked in before the delayed game with Ireland. But was there also a common denominator at work? Did they lose all five games in the mind before losing them on the scoreboard?

Not according to Phil Larder, the defensive coach, who has seen the insides of more rugby dressing-rooms, union and league, than Woodward and Rowell combined. In his opinion, there is not even the remotest suggestion of weakness in the red rose mindset. "Are we chokers? No, definitely not," he insisted this week. "We lost those games because we played dumb, not because we couldn't handle the pressure. I don't think I've ever seen a more assured team than this one – and we're more assured now than at any point since I first got involved, back in '97. Think back to the Test against the Wallabies in November. It takes strong minds and steady nerves to come from behind against the most proficient winners in world sport."

Yet Woodward is not quite so adamant. "We'll find out this weekend, won't we?" he said, intrigued, rather than offended, by the suggestion that his beloved side might not be able to handle the heat once the needle on the temperature gauge moves into the red zone. "There can be no excuses this time. We're close to full strength, our preparation has been excellent, we've had a wonderful run of results, we understand the importance of the occasion. Those games you mention... well, we didn't play too smart in any of them. But this team is different, more knowing and more experienced. And we have Martin Johnson, the best captain in the world, to guide us through."

To be sure, Johnson's dark and ruthless presence should be of incalculable benefit to England on their day of days, especially against an Irish side who, for all their progress under Eddie O'Sullivan and Brian O'Driscoll, pose a fairly straightforward physical threat rather than one of cerebral sophistication. But for all the calm reassurance offered by Johnson, all the been-there-and-done-it know-how, an urgency bordering on desperation is coursing through the collective psyche.

It was Johnson's predecessor as captain, Lawrence Dallaglio, who gave voice to the yearning felt so acutely by a side who have failed, many a time and oft, to do full justice to their own prodigious talent. Wouldn't it be nice, he was asked, to nail down one of these really important games? "Nice has nothing to with it," replied the celebrated loose forward from Wasps. "It is totally, absolutely bloody essential that we win this game. I'll tell you this much: if we lose, I'm not flying home on Monday. I couldn't stand it. Not again."

And we are still in the March before the October when the culmination of the Woodward project, revolutionary in many respects, will unfold, for better or worse, in Australia. If England really are as fragile up top as some of their big-match results suggest, just imagine what they will be like once they get to Perth.