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The Circus vs The Wolves: 'The rekindling of the single fiercest rivalry in the women’s domestic game'
On Monday – Saracens released a very funny Instagram reel – in which players were asked, via a teeny, tiny microphone (it is 2026…) their favourite thing about Gloucester-Hartpury.
Responses ranged from bemused to smirking and back again, via the throwing of some serious shade – as any reverence afforded to the PWR three-peaters proved decidedly AWOL. Canadian torpedo, Julia Omokhuale, was given the final say: concluding, with a wink over one sculpted shoulder: “that we’re gonna beat them.”
It was a fabulous piece of content, and you’d expect nothing less from domestic rugby’s pantomime villains: an outfit who cash ruffled feathers like cheques, and whose press officer, Will, donated his own baby sister’s teddy bear – like a Hunger Games tribute – to the men’s media team – so that they could film it being flattened after seeing off Bristol. They’re a devious bunch: masters of gleeful provocation.
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What it also underlined quite perfectly is that Sunday isn’t just a top of the table clash – between outfits who’ve won 22 of their combined 23 matches this year, and claimed six of the last seven titles. It’s actually, if you stop and think about it, the rekindling of the single fiercest rivalry in the women’s domestic game.
There are derbies, sure – London and West Country – and a handful of Élite Un and Super Rugby match-ups which get quite tasty, but they’re small fry compared to this. There’s, admittedly, a generous crack of spice whenever Sarries face Exeter, when tempers fray on-field and popcorn is munched, saucer-eyed, from the stands. In fact – things get spiky whenever the Wolfpack face anyone: it’s just the way they’re wired – and Poppy Cleall is in their team.
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This one, though: this one feels uniquely pointed.
The individual head-to-heads are sensational. Kelsey Clifford locking horns with Maud Muir. Mo Hunt attempting to out-spark Liv Apps. Mia Venner pressing her claim for Jess Breach’s Red Rose jersey. Back fives so physical they’re eliciting winces already – and it’s only Thursday.
Then there’s the clash of branding.
Gloucester-Hartpury are the circus. One big happy family. They’re pathway and nurtured acorns and a sense of fun and endless, impish references to nights out at Teague’s. They dress like candy canes, for crying out loud – and their head coach is a wry smile beneath a pop art beanie.
Saracens are the wolves. They wear all black because they’re threatening and cool in equal measure – the original club of North London, in case you missed the gothic-fonted memo – and they’ve a swagger which comes with both their peerless pedigree, and current dead-eyed class. They don’t care if you don’t like them – because plenty adore them, and they’re really, really good.
Statistically and stylistically: there’s a melée brewing.
The average Saracens ruck lasts less than three seconds, they offload more than Fabien Galthié’s Les Bleus, and – push their muscular backs up against a wall – they’re like tin openers inside their own 22: fighting like demons for outrageous turnover hauls. They attack like Canada because the Maples’ coach masterminds their attack: a sorcerer in a baseball cap – hurling aggression, instinct, and bravery into a potent cauldron. They’ve scored more tries than anyone, whilst conceding a measly average of two and a half per outing, and numerous league coaches have called them ‘the form team’ recently.
If the Londoners’ rugby is all crackle and velvet – Gloucester-Hartpury’s is thunder and bass: rippling sinew and livid ballast. They top the charts for carry dominance and post contact metres, scrum like monsters, and have spent much of 2026 putting in such meaty tackles that some of their victims have been left permanently two-dimensional.
Hunt continues to hand out try assists like sweets whilst kicking masterfully from hand, whilst Lleucu George conducts things with aplomb: untouchable in the flat and skip pass stakes. Don’t let Muir’s beam fool you: this lot are as confrontational as they come, once the whistle pips. Their three-peat, lest we forget, was founded on Sean Lynn’s challenge to them to be “mud monsters”. Besides, all the best circus big tops are hoisted upon poles of uncompromising steel – and contain tigers.
Their last meeting was flabbergasting. A round one rematch of the 2025 final, which we all billed as the consummate curtain raiser. 80 minutes later, we were scooping collective jaws off the Queensholm floor – after pure dominance from the champions.
That these athletes were asked to go hammer and tongs at one another a mere 29 days after the World Cup final was bonkers, as underlined by Alex Austerberry – concerned for his players’ “broken bodies and minds” – but he was quick to add that his side were comprehensively outmuscled on the day, and conceding 22 turnovers before The Shed was never going to end well. As an overture – it was a total damp squib – and Saracens, much like gremlins, really don’t like getting wet.
PWR
P
W
L
D
PF
PA
PD
BP T
BP-7
BP
Total
1
Saracens Women
12
11
1
0
55
2
Gloucester-Hartpury Women RFC
11
11
0
0
55
3
Exeter Chiefs Women
12
5
4
3
36
4
Harlequins Women
12
5
6
1
34
5
Trailfinders Women
11
4
5
2
32
6
Sale Sharks Women
12
4
7
1
28
7
Bristol Bears Women
12
4
7
1
25
8
Loughborough Lightning
11
3
6
2
25
9
Leicester Tigers Women
11
0
11
0
1
The deck’s been shuffled since – Apps has taken to the PWR like a Mentos to a bottle of pop, Zoe Stratford’s been battling a neck injury, and Niamh O’Dowd surprised precisely nobody by arriving in Gloucestershire like an auburn hurricane – so much so that it almost feels worth consigning that bewildering autumnal afternoon to history. Zoe Harrison and co. have.
However the cards fall at the StoneX, however the Wolfpack respond – this also doesn’t feel like the final act in this saga for 2026. If you had to whack your pocket money on who’ll be running out at the Stoop on June 28th – you’d surely be backing these two titans. An away victory, and Dan Murphy’s women finish top. A home dub, and things get awfully tasty at the summit. Psychologically, Saracens would love this one, and yet what’s tantalising is that they could lose twice to GH during the regular season – and then stage the ultimate coup before the engraver’s rapt gaze.
Whatever transpires – this is going to be fascinating. It’s also going to be, in no particular order, bruising, venomous, star-studded, played at a million miles an hour, and doused in the dark arts.
Because, in case you thought there was even an iota of love lost between these two – the current queen bees and the traditional top dogs – if you were to wander around Queensholm, with a tiny microphone and the prompt “what’s your favourite thing about Saracens?” – you’d get nothing but grins back over the net.
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