Chris Rattue: Bully for O'Neill's school of hard knocks

Well, we've all been standing in the corner this week - with those kick-off cones on our heads with the letter D emblazoned on the side.

We are the naughty, naughty failures of the rugby world. Absolute failures, one and all. And suitably chastised by our cherished headmaster, John O'Neill.

In the time-honoured old English schoolboy tradition of getting belted by someone who actually has your best interests at heart, Mr O'Neill finally delivered those much expected words of compassion this week.

No wonder the Rugby World Cup is named after a fictitious English schoolboy, who if he existed would have dropped the ball as soon as he picked it up - either that or kicked it over the sideline.

It was assembly time, as in assembling our thoughts, and Mr O'Neill stood regally before the school to deliver his lecture of love.

Walking back to classroom Z43-million, we could all reflect on his wisdom and care.

"You were just the sub-hosts, you silly brats, and you should have been grateful for that," he had told us, and we believed it all.

"But then you went and talked in class. Stole someone's lunch. Claimed the world was flat. So you lose it all."

How comforting it is to have someone care for you so much that he will take it all away so you learn a valuable lesson that can be used a couple of decades later. Thank you, headmaster John.

To think that we, the horrible little schoolboys, should actually gasp the same air as our wonderful teacher. What recklessness. We should be punished.

To help us to deal with our failure, this marvellous man brought in Mr Pugh. Experience is vital in these matters and if anyone should know about failure, it is anyone who has been involved with running rugby in Wales.

Mr Pugh stood in front of us, went as red as his team's uniform, and told us if we ever performed as badly as Welsh rugby, well ... we'd be in big trouble. And we were.

"In Wales, we look after corporate box holders, wherever they're from," he yelled.

"You have no respect for caterers and your attitude to sponsors is a disgrace. We understand the real value of money. Hell, we give truckloads of the stuff to your blokes to coach our team."

Yes, but Mr Pugh, your team are still ****.

"Don't interrupt boy. Any more of that and I'll send you down to see Mr O'Neill."

Which brings us back to our kindly headmaster.

"Now before you all go home, I'd like to warn you about some horrible men lurking around the school, like Mr Turnbull," Mr O'Neill said warmly.

"Don't touch the man with a corner flag. Mr Turnbull is obsessed with money and wants to turn rugby into a worldwide circus."

Yes, Mr O'Neill, but that's what you want to do.

That did it. Talking back is just not allowed.

"Get out of the class. You can go and play soccer," he yelled, rubbing his wallet with one hand and patting Mr Pugh on the back with the other.

Mmm ... soccer, now that's an idea.