Eddie Jones (center) hasn't been shy about making headlines since returning to Australia. Photo: Getty Images/Chris Hyde < p>Destroyer at his core, Eddie Jones seems to enjoy being in a state of perpetual chaos. While his fellow coaches may gag their mouths over the approaching World Cup, the Australian troublemaker prefers to taunt reporters over their «negative» questions, or refute Danny Cipriani's portrayal of him as a «horny teenager» for that he allegedly pressed on his personal life with ex-girlfriend Kirsty Gallagher at a team dinner. Indeed, he is a walking headline. If the Wallabies seem to be sneaking into this tournament, it's because Jones turned their French adventure into a one-man show.
It all started, of course, when Jones, dressed as a pint-sized Dundee crocodile, scolded reporters for «the worst press conference in the world» while seeing off the team at Sydney airport. But with this incorrigible mischievous, everything is exactly as it seems. A couple of weeks later, he let it slip that all his antics were «a little funny.» Behind all this fury lies a character whose outbursts are often more performative than venomous.
When Hamish McLennan, chairman of the Rugby Association of Australia, persuaded Jones to return home for a riverside steak in Richmond, the hope was that he could raise the prestige of the hard-pressed sport by regaining some of the ground lost by rival league and Australian codes. . Rules. He completed this task with pleasure. From ridiculing New Zealand writers as «laptop geeks» to telling a South African inquisitor, «Don't be a smart ass, buddy» (by far the most egregious case of a cauldron calling a teapot black), he stayed true to the belligerent type. As a result, the focus is not on his players, but on himself.
It's a trick that Jones spent nearly 30 years perfecting. In England's case, it worked at first, as he channeled his sense of the theater into everything from speaking to the media to performing in front of students. After speaking at the Oxford Union in 2017, one young man of thin build dared to ask him: «Is rugby now more about the physique and the ability to crash into a brick wall?» “Well, you definitely need to get some exercise,” came the reply. Seeing the questioner upset, Jones softened enough to say, «I'm sure you're a good player, mate.» It was a classic of his work: caustic one moment, charming the next.
Even his own players are not allowed to feel too comfortable. In Jones' first spell at the helm of the Wallabies, Matt Guiteau had the dubious honor of celebrating his 21st birthday in the midst of the 2003 World Cup. “We have training tomorrow, I don’t want you to drink,” the coach told him. But as the team made their way to the hotel bar that evening, Jones announced in front of everyone, “Gits, it's your birthday. You need to have a beer.» Welcome to Eddie's life, where every interaction is framed as a test, an exercise in human limits.
Jones during his first tenure as head coach of Australia as they reached the final of the 2003 World Cup. Photo: Getty Images/Odd Andersen
The flip side of all this brutal psychology is that Australians know how this story will end. Although the nation respected his efforts to reach the final in Sydney 20 years ago, the building soon collapsed as results plummeted and assistants became frustrated by his habit of demanding reports in the middle of the night. His tongue could be so caustic that Roger Gould only survived two Trials, later accusing him of depriving people of their dignity. Jake White, under whom Jones helped South Africa to triumph in 2007, reflected: «The only area where Eddie regressed was his inability to retain staff.»
The depletion rate is absurd. He changed 18 coaches in seven years in England, and the same pattern is repeated just seven months ago with the Wallabies. Brad Davies resigned as offensive coach the very week that Australia was scheduled to fly to France, amid speculation that he did not enjoy the relentlessly hostile environment. Who is losing a vital member of their support network on the eve of the World Cup? Only someone as ferocious as Jones, who brushed off Davis' departure with a smirk, quipping that it would «improve the staff.»
Jones is known for conducting psychological tests on his players with mixed results. Photo: Getty Images/Chris Hyde
There is a growing feeling that this garbage is starting to bother. Jones can be inventive in sledding when he's in the mood: just as he made fun of Simon Poydeven, his old clubmate from Randwick, by calling him the «Venus de Milo» (great body, no arms), he started calling wallaby mount by Angus. Bell is «half-bodied» due to his small legs. And yet this creativity can all too easily turn into rudeness. It's hard not to feel sorry for England striker Marland Yarde, who, according to Dylan Hartley, showed up at camp and said he was tired of the club game, and Jones told him: 'Fuck off, mate. I don't want tired players.» Yarde never played for England again.
For now, Jones keeps the faith of Australia. There is even the impression that he can afford to fail in France, that he can argue the need to rebuild the Wallaby from top to bottom for the visit of the British and the Lions in 2025 and the World Cup on home soil in 2027. But history shows that by that time he will have exhausted everyone's patience. McLennan seemed seduced by the idea that he could instantly lift his spirits. It has yet to materialize: if Jones initially electrified England with 18 wins, his second arrival in Australia began with five consecutive losses.
We must remember that Jones is a very different animal in tournament mode. that his World Championship winning percentage is an astounding 90 percent. Besides, he will never have more motivation to confuse his detractors than in the quarter-final against England. But bringing it back to Australia is a dangerous experiment. If his tumultuous career teaches us anything, it's that Jones deals with fame or misfortune, and there's no middle ground between the two.
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