CHRIS HEWETT

The Heineken Cup, as we knew and loved it when Friday nights at Sardis Road and Saturday afternoons at Thomond Park were almost as exotic as a weekend in Paris or Toulouse, was the place where true rugby folk felt most alive. We must therefore ask ourselves how it became the tournament where boardroom mediocrity goes to die.
It is difficult to blame the tournament’s governing class for the ruinous effects of the pandemic, although it is tempting to try. But we can certainly hold them responsible for introducing a seeding system specifically designed to protect the powerful...