A full hour after announcing his England side this week, Clive Woodward was still standing on the terrace of the team hotel in Bagshot, shaking his head and sounding ever so slightly like Victor Meldrew.
"I would have thought there would have been a public outcry if I'd left him out . . . he's the player people want to go and watch . . . I don't understand how anyone can question him."
Only in England, continued their manager, would anyone dream of querying Iain Balshaw's right to be at full back against Scotland today, although the Monty Python team recognised the same blinkered global tendency when they wrote Life of Brian. As the debate raged over whether a couple of spilt balls against Italy should outweigh the 21-yearold Balshaw's two tries and three assists, that immortal line "He's not the Messiah, he's a very naughty boy" sprang to mind. Some rugby people, it appears, remain reluctant to trust their own eyes.
Woodward views it as the half-full, half-empty glass syndrome, a salt-or-sugar-inyour-porridge type of debate when everyone should be discussing the freshness of the oats. To him, and to most who have witnessed England's dazzling start to this Six Nations season, Balshaw has added "a new dimension". Matt Perry will never let anyone down but 124 points and 16 tries by England in Balshaw's first two championship starts is weighty evidence for attack being the best form of defence.
This, of course, cuts little ice with the prosecution, who argue Balshaw could come unstuck against better sides. "If he's an international full back then I'm Mel Gibson," roared the former Lions captain Finlay Calder. Woodward shakes his head again. "Listen, he dropped one high ball, which happens, the second he got belted in the air, and the third he shouldn't have come for, it was a back-rower's catch. It happened to me as a player. You miss a tackle and suddenly everyone's talking about your defence. People tend to look at the negatives but I've always been a coach who's looked at people's strengths as opposed to their weaknesses. With Balshaw, I have to say I don't think there is a weakness."
Barely a month older than Jonny Wilkinson, the fair-haired lad spotted one day at Stonyhurst college by Brian Ashton, English rugby's answer to Tord Grip, at least caught the public's attention, if not all those up-and-unders. His second try against Italy, when he collected a flick from Austin Healey on his own 22 and loped around the visitors, was worth the admission alone. High balls? Ian Botham bowled the odd half-volley but who bothers about that now?
As with Botham, the key to Balshaw's entire sporting outlook is enjoyment, on the basis that natural talent alone is pointless without it. Between the ages of eight and 12, he showed distinct promise at tennis and was once even invited to Wimbledon to give a short-tennis demonstration. An only child, he soon discovered there was more fellowship and less gloomy self-analysis to be had in team sports; he represented Lancashire schools at cricket but shied away from the loneliness of long-distance running. Nowadays he can barely bring himself to watch crash-bang men's tennis, and nine-man rugby has the same numbing effect.
"Once you start kicking the ball away and playing boring rugby, no one's interested," he says simply. As a kid he used to watch England and wonder how their backs stayed sane. "I don't think anybody enjoyed it. It's all right winning but if I'm stood on my wing or at full back not touching the ball I'd be pretty annoyed. I'd be very surprised if Jeremy Guscott didn't get bored in a few games." He also adheres to the theory that professional rugby has become a more attractive spectacle, partly because no one in their right mind would spend all week training to receive barely a pass on a Saturday. "If you did the same things they used to do day in and day out . . . " Balshaw lets the sentence dribble away, citing instead the ever-restless David Campese as one of his role models. "I watched people who were inventive and looked like they were enjoying themselves. They didn't kick the ball away, they experimented with things." In his brief career, Balshaw has already discovered that not everyone feels the same way, not least during Bath's lean spell earlier this season. "Knowing that everyone's got the ability, it annoys me when we can't do things because other people want to do it a different way. I am quite impatient."
Last summer presented a different sort of frustration, a deep-seated groin injury ruling out a place on the tour of South Africa. He admits now he felt "a bit sluggish" on his belated return, having been persuaded to add a stone in muscle during his lay-off, but he is back at full throttle now, with nine caps already. Only flippant jokes about his catching prowess and his flat-mate Mike Tindall's tidiness appear to irritate him. "He's like Monica off Friends. He's never got a duster out of his hands. It's quite annoying, really."
Housework aside, perhaps the real issue with Balshaw is how English rugby views itself when it looks in the mirror this morning. Does it still want to see 15 grafters simply dedicated to grinding the Scots into the turf? Or does it, Calcutta Cup or not, see a vision in white with limitless scope for adventure? With Woodward in charge, the choice already seems to have been made.
Just one more question, then. Does that extra `i' in Iain perhaps hint at a tartan bloodline? "I don't know where my mum and dad got that from. There could be Scottish in me somewhere but I hope not. I remember seeing my dad wearing a kilt once when I was younger but I think he was just taking the piss." All Scotland will have to pray they are not led a merry dance this afternoon.
