TALK aplenty this week of Lions and pride and mane men and roaring confrontations – and while certainly clichéd, the hoopla and hype around the announcement of the Lions squad for the tour of Australia is well worth it.

While rugby union is not my fave sport, and at the risk of repeating myself, I’ve said that before and I’ll no doubt say that again how union is second best to rugby league, the 15-a-side code always manages to stir the juices and race the blood whenever the Lions assemble.

It’s not just a case of the Aussies being the opposition. Besting our Antipodean adversaries is always a pleasure and how proper boss it would be if we were to conquer the down under dragoons, not just with the Lions but also in two Ashes’ collisions which will be played before the end of the year is out. That would make 2013 a memorable year.

But the Lions also represent the essence of team sports.

Unlike clubs, unlike national teams drawn from the clubs of a particular country, the Lions comprise a squad of players pulled together from the nations of England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

Four nations as one, two actual geographical islands as one – many more if you include the respective atolls of the Orkneys, Shetlands, Isle of Man, Isle of Dogs, Isle of Wight, the Channel Islands and the land mass of Canvey.

Whatever, it’s a corps of collective consciousness even down to the kit which incorporates the red, white, green and blue of the respective quartet of countries.

And for me it is no way an echo of empire days, especially when the British empire was as much responsible for many of today’s ills and global disputes as it was for establishing GB as a brief ruling class.

As with all empires their command eventually fractures and blisters like so many brittle bones and pus.

No, contrary to empire days, the lions head off on their tours needing to draw all their resources under one common banner against foes who are the equal, if not the superiors, of the tourists.

Lions’ tours to South Africa, New Zealand and Australia have often been journeys of jolting anguish, pilgrimages of pain, trips of toil and turmoil.

In contrast to imperial might, the Lions are too frequently the underdogs entering the lair of superior forces ingrained with the sheer desire of inflicting comeuppance on their former colonial masters.

The Great British and Irish Lions have to engender their own reserves of resistance and foster an identity which does away with their own tribalistic six-nations sporting enmity into a union of common precision, passion and purpose. They have to put themselves aside for the benefit of all – a sort of sporting socialism.

It’s a movement that has even greater resonance in the biennial duels of the Ryder Cup where the American golfing empire is tackled by the best of Great Britain and Europe.

It once was Great Britain and Ireland, but the inclusion of Europe has not only swelled the talent pool from which to choose but has also demanded that even more national identities, feelings, complexes and neuroses have to be set aside for a more unified aim – beating the crap out of the good ol’ boom-boom USA.

See, for all the come-together composition of the Continent’s top golfers and these islands’ leading rugby union players in life with the Lions, there always has to be that element of rivalry, that sense of uniting against a common foe, that desire for tribalism.

Sport – don’t you just love it. I do. Come on, you Lions, gerrinterem.


For sake of Audley clang sign

THERE may be some out there who would describe Audley Harrison, the Olympic gold-medal winning boxer, who retired this week, as more akin to the leonine figure in the Wizard of Oz than a king of the African plains.

His first-round demolition by America’s newest heavyweight hope Deontay Wilder signalled what for many was a long-overdue hanging up of the gloves by the 41-year-old.

But no-one can accuse Harrison of cowardice. For anyone who steps into a boxing ring, amateur or professional, does so with courage. Mano e mano is no place for cowards.

What Harrison lacked, however, was the realisation that he did not have the whole collection of tools needed to make the transition from Olympic gong to professional titan. So he remained fogged by delusion until this week.