IN A Cardiff bar on Saturday, I noticed a picture of the first team ever to represent Wales in a rugby international. It was in 1881, versus England, and the Welsh lost heavily: 81-0 by modern scoring values. So it seemed apt that among those pictured, as the team’s bowler-hatted selector, was a man whose name continues to reverberate wherever sport is played badly. Take a bow “R Mullock” Esq.
I have no idea whether it was Mr Mullock – or any of his relations – who gave their name to the English language. I’m not even sure what the verb “to mullock” means exactly: except that it’s never used as a compliment of a player’s skill levels.
But as chance would have it, a few hours later, I was sitting in the Millennium Stadium alongside an excited Kerryman who – without prompting – illustrated both the general sense of the word and its continued popularity.
During the first half of that extraordinary game, my neighbour was mystified as to how Leinster’s thoroughbreds could underperform so badly. After all, he thought, Northampton were cart-horses by comparison. Thus, as the famous comeback got under way, he was triumphant, while insisting that the turnaround was purely logical.
When Jonny Sexton scored his second try, even though Leinster were still trailing, my neighbour’s vindication was already complete. Northampton were in for a hammering now, he predicted. And then he delivered the ultimate insult: “They’re only a bunch of mullockers.”
EVEN IFhe didn't lend his name to the language, the man in the bowler hat seems to have been a bit of a mullocker himself, on and off the pitch.
For one thing, his selection policy was heavily criticised after the England match. It had reputedly been less influenced by players’ ability than by their geographic origins and attendance at certain colleges. Communication also appears to have been a problem: two selected players failed to turn up on the day and had to be replaced by spectators.
Later, as secretary and treasurer of the Welsh (Rugby) Football Union, Mullock proved an equally poor accountant, although he survived a series of financial controversies. What did for him, eventually, was an incident in a club game for which England’s rugby union demanded and received an apology. Then as now, grovelling to the English was a treasonable offence in Wales and he lost his WRU job soon afterwards.
Mullock also served time as an international referee in the early days of what is now the Six Nations. Here too there was controversy. He is said to have been of Anglo-Irish stock, but when England played Ireland in 1886 and won narrowly, the Irish blamed him for the result. It was the second year running England had edged victory in the tie, with Welsh referees implicated both times. Such was the bad feeling, Ireland refused to play Wales in either season.
Poor Mullock. He was a man of energy and of some organisational ability, if not quite enough. As a professional printer, he must have seen the writing on the wall long before he was declared bankrupt in 1893. He was later rumoured to have emigrated to Africa. But he died in both London and obscurity, circa 1920, by which time the team he had set on its way was establishing itself as a rugby powerhouse.
EVEN IFthe hostility between Munster and Leinster is exaggerated, the aforementioned spectacle of a Kerryman exulting in Saturday's victory may need some explanation. And had the man himself been asked, which he wasn't, he might have it attributed to the innate fairness, lack of chauvinism, and love of sport for which Kerry people are famous. But I have an alternative theory, based on his enthusiasm for the aforementioned Jonny Sexton, in particular.
As the Leinster No 10 led the comeback – having made a stirring speech in the dressing room at half-time – my neighbour was telling anyone who listened that Sexton was the “best out-half in the world – better than [Dan] Carter!” Man-of-the-match or not, this seemed a slightly extravagant claim. But then I remembered there might be some tribal pride involved. Although Jonny is officially from Dublin, it’s well-known that he is an honorary Kerryman, thanks to his paternal roots and many holidays in Listowel.
Whatever he is, he is also surely the very opposite of a mullocker. In fact, in a general sense, even his surname may be a contrast with Mullock’s, in that it derives from an English word rather than giving rise to one. As such, it’s not an inapt name. Sexton’s facial features are frequently said to be of the kind you might see in a church, albeit on an altar boy or a member of the junior choir.
There was a time when a church sexton's job included digging graves. I know this from the famous scene in Hamlet, involving Yorick's skull. Because even though Shakespeare introduces this blackly-comic interlude via the stage direction "enter two clowns with spades and picks", he later has one of them tell Hamlet: "I have been a sexton here, man and boy, thirty years." The Leinster outhalf has not been a Sexton for nearly that long, yet. But he's learning the job fast. He certainly dug a few holes in the opposition's half on Saturday, burying their hopes in the process. You could even say that alas, poor Northampton, he knew them well. And they were only a bunch of mullockers.