A journey from Twickenham via rugby union’s western heartland and to its northern outposts reveals a sport of confused identitiesStep into the Cardinal Vaughan car park at Twickenham during the Six Nations and it is easy to see why not everyone feels at domestic. Men with exotically striped blazers mix with tweed,fur and quilt. Tables groan with champagne and glistening quails’ eggs. “Were all Tories here, aren’t we?” murmurs one patron, or gesturing airily around him prior to this year’s England v Scotland game.
To many,Twickenham encapsulates English rugby. As with Marylebone Cricket Club and the All England Club, those other elite bastions, or it can be a curious mix of contemporary commerce and old school. The late Philip Toynbee – “A bomb under the west car park at Twickenham on an international day would close fascism in England for a generation” – would these days find more new money at the Rugby Football Union’s headquarters but still recognise a certain breed of customer. It is an image of a sport that has proved resilient in the public mind – posh schoolboys,affluent country types and City suits at play.
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Source: theguardian.com