Sideline Cut: Will Welshman Gareth Thomas be crazy enough to re-enact the controversial blade-of-grass gesture in front of the New Zealand haka? It has been made clear in the sour aftermath of the first Test that for a visiting captain to pick up a blade of grass and hold it aloft before the Maori war dance is perfectly acceptable conduct. However, to then cast the blade aside is apparently like taunting the entire New Zealand team about the virtue of their mothers.
Brian O'Driscoll may have believed he was engaging in a time-honoured custom last Saturday morning, but it seems the truth was he might as well have lowered the venerable Lions jocks and proffered a good old Clontarf mooning at the Kiwis.
Inadvertently or not, the Irishman showed grave disrespect and it could have been that gesture which prompted New Zealand's Tana Umaga to exact what can only be described as draconian measures. What caused Umaga - and Graham Henry's entire New Zealand camp - to behave so shamefully afterwards - is something he will have time to ponder long after his rugby days are over.
It is the contention here the essence of New Zealand's rugby culture died in the maiming of O'Driscoll, and in the hours and days that followed. Most of us watching probably felt puzzled when O'Driscoll pulled the blade of grass from the pitch. It definitely seemed like an odd moment to go in for a spot of horticulture. And when the TV broadcaster explained the Irishman was honouring the haka by accepting the challenge in the traditional way, the question arose as to why no other captain practised such pageantry before. That the Lions were misinformed seems undeniable. Doing anything with the grass beyond standing on it was a bad idea for O'Driscoll. But he did not deserve that tackle.
Numerous Dublin friends of mine (north Liffey folk mainly, pining for the days when Brian Mullins had long hair) do not have much time for O'Driscoll and the rugby fraternity. For a 26-year-old, he is remarkably confident, the quintessential young man in a hurry. But even his detractors appreciate the guy's supreme athleticism and his bravery. A few years ago when O'Driscoll was burning up Paris for fun, he gave an interview talking about the importance of defence. He was bemoaning players - colleagues of his - who committed with their arms instead of hurling their full body weight into the tackle. He shot an almost unconscious expression of contempt in describing those half-hearted, limp tackles. For someone so placid, calm and watchful off the field, it is clear that on the pitch, O'Driscoll relishes, and even needs, the uncompromising attrition of top-flight rugby. Put simply, he was and is a tough boy.
That is why his complaints after last week's first Test must have been deafening to New Zealand ears, particularly for Umaga and his fellow assailant, Keven Mealamu.
O'Driscoll is well versed in the code of ethics. He has never been one to make much of the belts picked up in front-line exchanges. Also, he is a key player and a smooth operator within the machine of professional rugby, one its most prized commercial assets, and it is surely against his very instinct to cast his sport in a poor light. Without doubt, he went through a miserable few hours after being borne by stretcher from the field in the opening minutes of last week's Test. But the denial of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to lead the Lions must have hurt much more acutely than the ruined shoulder.
Theoretically, flanked by the best Britain and Ireland have to offer, the Tests gave him the chance to express his lavish talent in ways not always possible when wearing his native green. And commercially, a successful tour would have seen his personal stock rise even higher. All of that has been taken away from him and now he faces up to six months out of the game. And there are no guarantees.
I remember sitting with Eddie O'Sullivan last January and he was marvelling that O'Driscoll was hopeful of making it until 30, which meant half his career had already passed. The wonder - and sadness - in O'Sullivan's voice came back as O'Driscoll was carted off the field, the first telling act on what became a night of tragi-comedy for Clive Woodward's Lions. O'Driscoll is 26 now. In that context, the New Zealand pair have taken a serious chunk out of the rest of his career. And although he is talking a positive game, sport is littered with cases of supreme athletes who were never quite the same after a serious injury.
The New Zealanders did something that is anathema to the beliefs they have espoused over a century of wowing the world with their fast, courageous, imaginative and all-conquering brand of rugby. They hid. It was a pity because as they showed again through Sitiveni Sivivatu's try last Saturday, New Zealand rugby in full flow is less like 15 men working together than a single animal, sleek and graceful and completely without equal.
The famous black strip and the haka have long been considered central to the soul of rugby. The pathetic excuses offered in the wake of O'Driscoll's angry denunciations throw up questions as to what the haka is for. The war dance is, of course, an illusion, harking back to a culture that has been decimated as thoroughly as that of the Native Americans or the Aborigines. Anyone who has heard Jonah Lomu speak of his youth will know the grim truth of life for many Maoris in contemporary New Zealand. But the suggestion made during the week the haka is a matter for the All Blacks flies in the face of the assumption it is the their gift to the sport. The haka has the power to electrify grey days in Twickenham or Dublin. People love, appreciate and respect it. It has to be presumed it was that very message O'Driscoll was trying to convey last Saturday.
But given the conduct of Umaga and Mealamu - churlish, small, unrepentant, defensive and completely unconvincing - the haka won't seem to matter so much this morning. Honour is surely at the core of that war dance and both the New Zealanders behaved as though that trait meant nothing to them, and by extension to their team. They behaved like cowards, in their treatment of an opponent with no means of defending himself and in their ducking away from the consequences afterwards.
Does New Zealand rugby deserve the traditional respect after all that has gone on in the past few days? One can't help feeling that an obedient salute from the Lions will seem hollow because it is clear there has been a terminal breakdown of respect among both parties, particularly the tourists.
So if flinging a blade of grass away can be perceived as an insult, then maybe that would be the appropriate gesture for Gareth Thomas. Failing that, the Lions could let the All Blacks get on with their salute to dead Maori warriors and continue their lineout drills at the far end of the field. God knows, they could use the practice.
