
BBC's farewell to England men's rugby a reminder of what they do well... and badly
The last England Six Nations match on BBC for five years at least was both a fitting (temporary?) farewell and an encapsulation of some of the strengths and weaknesses of the corporation's rugby on TV.
A new deal sees ITV and BBC secure free-to-air coverage until the 2029 tournament but it is ITV alone that will show the England games. Rugby lovers are not thick on the ground in BBC Sport's decision-making roles and the shot-callers there have evidently decided that resources financial and political are better spent elsewhere than on pricey England men's games.
Continuing to show Wales and Scotland matches keeps those vocal regional lobbies quiet enough, ditto ongoing live coverage of the Women's Six Nations thanks to Auntie's glorious triumph in what one assumes was a hard-fought three-figure bidding war. ITV, while not necessarily a natural home for rugby, has done very well out of the deal with all five England matches each year. England rugby fans, however, have not and are left for half a decade to the tender mercies of a broadcaster that bungles the crucial moments of a key match (Finn Russell's kick) and serves up the chippy mutterings of Eddie Jones and his Smurf hat in between the frequent adverts.
The build-up to Saturday's match in Cardiff was a snapshot of the BBC's situation. Gabby Logan, sure-footed as ever, expertly handled a smart pair of classy communicators in Sam Warburton and John Barclay, who had lots of interesting yet accessible things to say about topics as diverse as England's tactical vulnerability to wide attacks and Tom Curry's ferocious appetite for pain. Martin Johnson's medals and gravitas justify his selection in the Grumpy Uncle role – the former England captain, for instance, remarking of an anticipated Welsh tactic to target the England No 15 with high kicks: 'Well, you'd do it to a full-back even if he's good.' A nice boost for Marcus Smith there from the big man.
Imagine taking your dog for a walk and @samwarburton_ randomly rugby tackling you. 😅 #SixNations #BBCRugby pic.twitter.com/yhVsTAReW5
— BBC Sport (@BBCSport) March 15, 2025
The pre-match programming managed to stoke up the excitement while also outlining some broad tactical or sporting points but also highlighted the probably unsolvable problem for rugby on the BBC: trying to be all things to all persons. Gabby said: 'We don't need to hype this one up but we'll do it anyway' and the montage began. Classic Eddie Butler territory, England in Cardiff. You don't need to reinvent the wheel here: just get a stirring tune, bombastic voiceover, men in sideburns, daffodils, choirs, possibly a few miners if you're really committing to the bit, 1970s glory days, 2013 and all the rest. A little hacky, a little cliched, but it always hit the spot and the classics are the classics for a reason.
On Saturday, the montage began with silence and a title card of ' Y Maestro ' as famous Welsh conductor Haydn James raised his baton to bring a male voice choir of boyos under starter's orders. Off we go, bit of singing, there's lovely. But after no more than a second or two, it suddenly cut to rave music and highlight clips that came so thick and fast you could hardly see what was happening, then back to the choir, then more pumping music and manic bits of match footage. And on and on.
The overall effect was like trying to watch TV with a hyperactive child who had got hold of both the remote and a bin-bag of Haribo. I just cannot see to whom this appeals on aesthetic grounds or sporting grounds and can only conclude it represents yet more well-meaning but misguided efforts to seduce a putative 'yoof' audience, as yet untapped, that will miraculously become devotees of the oval-ball code if only they could have it piped into their face-holes alongside a high-NRG soundtrack. With the best will in the world, I honestly don't ever see that working but, in terms of the England men's team at least, it is no longer the BBC's problem.
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Daily Mail
an hour ago
- Daily Mail
EXCLUSIVE 'Sam Allardyce wanted to kick my door down': IAN LADYMAN tells Mark Clattenburg about extraordinary run-in with former Premier League manager on new Mail podcast
Podcast All episodes Mail Football Editor Ian Ladyman told ex-elite referee Mark Clattenburg about a particularly exceptional exchange he had with former Premier League manager Sam Allardyce on the latest episode of the Whistleblowers podcast. Ladyman revealed he had a tense phone call with 'Big' Sam Allardyce during the former Bolton, Newcastle and West Ham boss's early days at Notts County in the late nineties. Allardyce won the Third Division with Notts County in 1998, which led to him being offered the chance to manage relative giants Bolton in the Championship a year later. 'Sam is friend of mine. When I first met him, I was working for a local newspaper', Ladyman said. 'He was the manager of Notts County, and it was my job to cover the club. They had taken a player on trial who had just come back to football after failing a drugs test. Whistleblowers, brought to you by the Mail and Wickes TradePro - is football's most original new podcast - lifting the lid on the parts of the game no one else talks about 'Twenty years ago, that was very rare. So, I rang Sam and told him I was going to write a story. 'Sam said I could write the story - but told me not to mention the drugs ban. I am like, Sam, that is the only reason the story is interesting. 'The fact your signing Joe Bloggs doesn't matter – we have got to mention the drugs ban. He said, you do that – and I will kick your f***ing door down. 'I had only just arrived in Nottingham and was living in a hotel – so I replied, you're not going to be able to do that Sam. 'He said: I will come to that hotel and kick every door down until I find yours.' Whistleblowers is a brand-new football podcast, brought to you by The Mail in association with Wickes TradePro. From what really goes on in the referee's room, to how clubs spin crises and who's pulling the strings behind the scenes - Whistleblowers brings the inside stories only those at the heart of the game can tell. Co-host Mark Clattenburg shared his affection for Sam Allardyce and what it was like referring his 'big character' in the dugout. Listen here Co-host Mark Clattenburg shared his affection for Sam Allardyce and what it was like referring his 'big character' in the dugout. 'I used to love Big Sam as a coach', the official said. 'I miss his character. At Bolton, he used to abuse me and the fourth official all the time and I used to ask him why and he would say – just to get the crowd going. 'I remember one time – we had a big bar bill at St George's Park. West Ham had been playing Aston Villa. It was worth a large sum of money. 'I went to Big Sam and Neil McDonald and said, my God – that bar bill was huge last night. 'They said the club would be launching an investigation and somebody would be sacked. I asked why – they told me they wanted to find out who'd had the coffee.' For more anecdotes from inside the world of football, search for Whistleblowers now, wherever you get your podcasts.


The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
‘Prison was the first place we felt sisterhood': six women return to the ruins of Holloway
The directors of Holloway use a simple but powerful visual device to demonstrate how badly the British prison system is failing the women it incarcerates. Towards the end of their eponynmous documentary, six former inmates are invited to play a version of Grandmother's Footsteps in the chapel of the deserted ex-prison, where they have been filming for five days. They begin lined up against the wall and a voice tells them: 'Step forward if you grew up in a chaotic household.' All six women step forward, before being instructed: 'Step forward if you experienced domestic violence growing up.' Again, they move ahead in unison. 'Step forward if somebody in your household has experienced drug use. Step forward if you grew up in a household where there wasn't very much money. Step forward if a member of your family has been to prison …' By the time the exercise is over, almost all the women have silently made their way from one side of the room to the other, starkly highlighting the film's fundamental theme: the UK's prisons are full of vulnerable women being punished – at great expense – and not helped. Shortly before Holloway prison began to be demolished in 2022, directors Sophie Compton and Daisy-May Hudson secured permission to film inside the abandoned site in London, watching as six women returned to the cells where they were once held, to explore how they all ended up imprisoned as young women. Directors of a more conventional documentary might have plonked the participants on the bare iron frames of their old prison beds and instructed them to pour out their life stories, poking and prodding them for all the shocking details. Compton and Hudson take a subtler approach, arranging the women in a circle, supervised by a trained therapist, and waiting to see what emerges. It is a risky strategy. The flow of the conversation is faltering, interrupted by nervousness about how their words will be used, suspicion about the directors' intentions – and a sudden, uncomfortable request for the most difficult conversations to continue without the cameras rolling. The film includes all this uncertainty: they debate whether they should proceed before realising their desire to talk about the justice system's failures mostly outweighs their concerns about sharing chapters from their complicated pasts. Compton (Emmy nominated for her documentary on deepfake pornography, Another Body) and Hudson (who won a Bafta Breakthrough award for her film Half Way, documenting her own family's experience of homelessness) have the confidence to make their subjects collaborators on the project, inviting them into the editing process, to ensure everyone feels happy with how their experiences have been handled. 'They could say what they did and didn't like,' Hudson says. 'They wanted more laughter included. Our wish was that they felt proud of the film.' Once western Europe's largest women's prison, Holloway has a significant place in British history. More than 300 suffragettes were held in a wing of the original building during the early 20th century. Ruth Ellis was hanged there in 1955, the last woman to be executed in the UK. Greenham Common protesters spent time here. Sarah Reed, who had previously been a victim of police brutality in 2012, died in her cell in 2016. This is not the story the film sets out to tell. 'It's not a film about Holloway; other films can tell a historical story or show the realities of being in prison,' says Compton, who I meet along with Hudson and two of the film's participants, Aliyah Ali and Mandy Ogunmokun. 'This is about a group of women returning to Holloway, and finding they are not the same people they were when they were in prison.' The women each respond differently when they walk through the corridors of the site, which closed in 2016. Some take delight in defying forgotten rules, skipping along walkways that were previously out of bounds. One begins by cheerfully telling the cameras how she viewed her time at Holloway as a holiday camp experience – it takes days for her to admit the extent to which her attitude is just a protective front. Another observes approvingly the way that brambles and ferns have started to reclaim the space, springing from beneath the plug sockets and creeping through the windows. 'It feels kind of healing to see that Holloway prison is falling apart,' she says. Some remember with horror the noise of night-time screaming, but several are surprised by the unexpected feelings of affection the building triggers. 'It was probably the first time that I was in an environment which was controlled and felt safe,' Ali, 31, tells me. 'It's sad that for a lot of us, the first time we felt that connection of belonging and sisterhood, we found it in prison. What does that say about society?' She was sent to Holloway at 18. 'Growing up how I grew up, you're conditioned to just brush things off and get on with things, and wear masks and stay strong. When I went back to my first cell, I felt my 18-year-old self cry out.' Ali is initially the most reluctant of the six participants. The founder of a non-profit organisation, The Daddyless Daughters Project, she has rebuilt her life, radiates strength and seems visibly irritated by the entire setup. 'I was worried they could edit our voices and create a narrative that we weren't hoping for,' she says. 'I was thinking, 'We're trusting them with a level of vulnerability that we're not comfortable with. What are these people going to do with it?'' Gradually she was reassured and slowly began to reveal some of the childhood events that catapulted her into prison – family breakdown, domestic violence, a move to a women's refuge, then later into a residential children's home at the age of 12. Her problems escalated when she got caught up in county lines dealing, as a child exploited by criminal gangs to move and supply drugs. 'I was introduced to selling drugs, which I was very good at, and it was the first time that I started to feel a sense of worth,' she finally reveals on camera. She is dismayed to remember how little support she received as a child. 'The system saw me as a bad girl … as somebody who asked for all of this,' she says in the film. 'It was always, 'What's wrong with you? Why can't you just behave? Why can't you just stop doing this?' Nothing was asked about what actually happened to me,' she says. Her fury is echoed by Ogunmokun. 'It's so frustrating to see how similar the stories of people going in and out of prison are. Change is so slow,' she says. The daughter of a woman who struggled with addiction, she also spent some of her childhood in care, went to Holloway first aged 20, and was in and out repeatedly for two decades until she shook off her own drug addiction aged 40. 'I'm angry that some kids are born into certain circumstances, and what chance do they have?' Ogunmokun, 66, has dedicated the 25 years since leaving Holloway to helping former addicts break the cycle of addiction and offending. 'Every time I reoffended the judge would say: 'You haven't learned anything.'' She didn't get the support she needed to change while she was in prison, through no real fault of the prison staff. 'The officers see horrific things, but they're not trained counsellors – they're not mental health trained, they're not sex-trafficking trained, they're not domestic violence trained. They've got a regime they have to run by.' She hopes the film might persuade viewers that there needs to be a revolution in the way that female offenders are treated. It is almost 20 years since the seminal Corston report on vulnerable women in the criminal justice system called for a radically different strategy, but many of the report's key recommendations have yet to be implemented. Hudson and Compton struggled for several years to raise funding to finish their film. Now they feel happy that it is being released at a time when there is some emerging optimism about the possibility of change. 'The simple truth is that we are sending too many women to prison,' the justice secretary, Shabana Mahmood, said earlier this year. 'We need to do things differently.' The film will be screened at an event with the prisons minister, James Timpson, in parliament later this month. Hudson's first fiction film, Lollipop, which comes out this month too, also features a woman who has recently left prison. She says both projects examine the way vulnerable women are shamed and blamed, as well as trying to showcase 'the power of women that society tries to put on the outskirts'. Ali is satisfied with how the film has turned out, and wants it to be shown to young people in prisons, to offer hope that lives can alter course. Despite her early reservations, she is impressed by the directors' creation. 'It's been emotionally turbulent,' she says, 'but they've done an amazing job.' Holloway is in UK cinemas from 20 June.


The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
Confessions of a Parent Killer review – a grisly tale of the murderer who lived with her mum and dad's corpses
Well, what do you think a 90-minute documentary entitled Confessions of a Parent Killer is going to be about? That's right, well done! It's the story of a murder by an (adult) child of her parents. Virginia – Ginny – McCullough killed her mother, Lois, and father, John, and confessed immediately to police when they raided her home in 2023 that she had done so four years previously. The twist was that she had been living with their bodies ever since. 'She was weird at school,' says a childhood friend. 'But not 'kill your parents and hide the bodies' weird.' You can probably tell from such unimpeachably phlegmatic commentary that this case occurred in England. Great Baddow, Essex, to be exact, and the film paints a portrait of quintessential small-town, almost-rural life in these sceptred isles that has gone unchanged for generations and, you suspect, will survive for many more. Everybody knew the family, yes. Grocer Paul; Alan, who rented John and Lois various bits of kit from his electronics shop on the high street; florists Rachel and Debbie and, of course, a number of thirtysomething women – 'Ella', Bethan, Kirsty, Lisa – knew Ginny from school. Everyone thought the family was a bit odd, yes. There were rumours that John, a university lecturer who liked a drink ('very curt, brusque', never said goodbye to Alan after he paid his monthly rent), was relentlessly strict with his daughters and that was why they all left home as soon as they could, though Ginny kept having to come back when her various jobs left her short of cash. And Lois was strange, quiet, unsmiling, 'subdued', 'withdrawn'. Ginny was more outgoing. She started coming in instead of her mum or dad to pay Alan. Spent a lot of time and money in the florist, too, since she came back to sort the house out four or five years ago. Always full of stories ('a bit of a fantasist', 'always some drama going on'), perhaps a little needy and annoying; you can see in the descriptions of her as an adult the shadow of the bullied, friendless child Bethan et al remembered. 'I don't like my mum at all,' young Ginny once told Bethan, on whom she lavished presents that 'she'd obviously just nicked from around the house' when they sat next to each other in year 2. But, well, every community has these people, don't they? It takes all sorts. You just accommodate them, make allowances, they don't hurt anyone. Until. Unless. Then you look back and, you wonder, don't you? Ginny returned the equipment to Alan in 2021 – she said her parents had moved to Clacton. People do. It was their GP who first contacted the police, after becoming concerned that John and Lois had missed numerous appointments. It turned out that no one had seen them for years. Investigations resulted in the raid. Bodycam footage shows an unfazed Ginny assuring officers of her cooperation and telling them that her father's body is in the sitting room. And mum? 'That's a little bit more complicated,' says Ginny, delicately. Mum is in a sleeping bag in a wardrobe upstairs, the doors taped against the flies and maggots that had been struggling to escape. 'Cheer up!' she cajoles the shocked officers. 'At least you caught the bad guy!' But why did she do it? Here, the programme becomes as manipulative as any psychopath. Numerous suggestions are trailed. 'Exclusive' letters (written, it seems, to one of the film-makers) from McCullough herself suggest an abused child of a mentally unwell mother and alcoholic father, who finally cracked. Some of the Great Baddowan testimonies appear to back this up. But a detective insists that she is a cold-blooded killer. A forensic psychiatrist – not the one on her case – does the intensely annoying thing of dressing up common sense as professional insight (she may have kept the bodies because she felt connected to them, or it may have been because it is so hard to dispose of corpses. Either way, it must have been 'psychologically taxing'). It is not until the final minutes that all the facts are laid before us. The new ones make it clear that psychopathy and a financial motive should have been given more weight, and that the viewer has been kept in a state of much greater uncertainty and intrigue than we would or could otherwise have been. A narrative must be shaped and an amount of storytelling leeway granted – but this goes far beyond that and taints the overall endeavour to an unpalatable extent. Confessions of a Parent Killer is on Paramount+ now