Chris Ashton curbs swallow dive but Saracens batter Clermont Auvergne

http://www.theguardian.com/sport/2014/apr/26/chris-ashton-saracens-clermont-auvergne-twickenham

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Not in the wildest dreams of the most ardent fez-wearing fan could this have been seen coming. Saracens, through their coach, Mark McCall, had promised that this would not be the same tale of his boys against the men of Clermont, as it had been in the quarter-final two years ago – but who could have foreseen this reversal of roles?

Saracens were irrepressibly exuberant and nobody played with greater bounce and wit than Chris Ashton. His two tries took him past the tournament record held by Sébastien Carat of Brive, but it wasn't his finishing alone that elevated him. He kept his eyes open, never easy for a player whose worth is generally measured in his personal tally, and supplied sweet passes, long and short, to comrades in support. True, there was an element of good fortune about the pass that hit the turf and bounced off the knee of Owen Farrell, but Ashton's willingness to keep the ball alive deserved a reward.

It was not the only slice of good fortune going Saracens' way. After Ashton's first try, which included a double contribution from the remarkably sharp Schalk Brits, and before Farrell's, there was the penalty try. Clermont will shake their heads at the injustice of it and claim that Brock James had no intention of knocking the ball out of play deliberately, and that furthermore it was not clear that Marcelo Bosch would definitely have scored had the ball come down cleanly.

Brock is an Australian and obviously understands Nigel Owens – even in full west Wales flow – and Bosch is a polyglot Argentinian, but it still fuels French conspiracy theories that English is the only language of rugby. Referees, with the exception of Alain Rolland (and French arbitres), offer explanations only in English. It would sometimes be wiser to give instructions by hand signals. There seem to be enough of them to cover most eventualities.

In the great scheme of things, Clermont's fly-half being sent to the sin-bin and the award of the penalty try did not matter. It was just one of six tries, and the French team were dishevelled long before the end. But it didn't feel quite right somehow.

Clermont did manage to put together some rolling, rumbling charges after they went three tries down. They really should have finished their best move before Damien Chouly crossed in front of Sitiveni Sivivatu. But they still had determination enough to do what they do best: set their forwards to work in close exchanges before going wide for the kill. It was just that in hand to hand combat and in wider exchanges they ran into the most formidable defence they must ever have encountered.

Farrell never flinched and Brad Barritt led the organised defence with speedy authority. But it was nothing compared to the contributions of the southern Africans. Brits chopped down players twice his height, while his fellow South African (by provenance), Mouritz Botha, launched himself horizontally at opponents half his height. But even they were eclipsed by the tackling of the maniacal Jacques Burger. The Namibian, long hair streaming behind him, above him, all around him, hurled himself into contact. He went high, he went low. He hurt himself time after time, comforted by the fact that his personal pain was minimal alongside what his victims had to absorb. He laid waste to the pride of France.

The ebullience of the victorious team could not disguise the fact there was an end-of-regime feel to the day. Twickenham rang a little hollow to the sound of 25,942 spectators. It would have been a fine crowd at the Madejski in Reading, but in the mother ship it was barely a crew. A stadium two-thirds empty with a French team way below their best smacked of the need for reform. Which is to be delivered next season. This was not a good day for ERC, the Dublin-based organisers who are being taken – dragged – to the window.

It was a quite brilliant day for Saracens. It was going to be special from the moment Ashton restrained himself from diving so very annoyingly for all his opponents and settled for a demi-swallow. The conversion was stroked over from the touchline by Alex Goode, another who must have impressed onlooking England parties – Andy Farrell for one. England may have Mike Brown as their nailed-down number-one 15, but Goode was exceptional. And Saracens added more to the stockpile of players in every position. When Ashton spoke of regaining his England place he backed up his desire with deeds. Stuart Lancaster could ask for no more.

The Vunipolas, Mako and Billy, were heavily involved too. Less conspicuous than might be the case when a game turns into a romp, they still put themselves about. If there was one good thing about an empty stadium it was that the sound of the Vunipolas making contact carried to all seats. To the music of devastation Saracens roared to the final.