Jonny flies the flag for England, now Lewis is a chequered flag away from history
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.This is getting silly. Three weeks after being humiliated 36-0 by South Africa, and following a week of headlines predicting everything up to and including emasculation at the bare hands of the Australian favourites, England were yesterday propelled into the semi-finals of the World Cup by the boot of Jonny Wilkinson.
This wonderful implement was not quite on its usual unerring form (he missed one drop-kick and three penalties), but it is a measure of how superbly he and his colleagues played that the four penalties he did kick were enough for a 12-10 margin in Marseille. They also made Wilkinson the highest points scorer in the history of the competition.
As victories go, it was – given Wilkinson's persistent medical problems – a triumph for British surgery, as well as being evidence that the nation's representatives are never more dangerous than when no one, least of all their fellow countrymen, gives them a cat in hell's chance. So it was yesterday. By half time, with the score at 10-6 to Australia, the widespread pessimism of the morning ("Wallabies will put England on a plane" – copyright D. Telegraph) had been replaced by the unreal thought that maybe, just maybe, a win was possible. A second half of no score by the Australians and two penalties from You-Know-Who, and there it was.
And so, refuelled in the pit-stop of fate, English minds turn towards today's Chinese Grand Prix, and Lewis Hamilton. He is in pole position, and only cruel misfortune – or a basic error of the kind he has shown no sign of making – can stop him becoming world champion either at breakfast time today, or in Brazil in a fortnight's time. He will, at 22, be the youngest world champion ever, and the only man to win the title in his first season.
Thus, the lad from a broken home on a Stevenage council estate will see his salary rise from the £340,000 with which he began the season towards parity with the £20m a year banked by his McLaren team-mate Fernando Alonso. Add personal endorsements and other deals, and calculating Hamilton's earnings will soon require a rev counter. More than that, he will have joined Wilkinson at the top of that most exclusive of sporting trees: the one reserved for clean-cut heroes whose private lives are uncluttered by booze, lap-dancers, or permatanned Wags with a shopping compulsion.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments