LONG READ Finn Russell's not a 'maverick' - he represents the best of rugby

Which Finn Russell was most compelling on Bath’s golden day at Twickenham? The Russell who nailed his goals as the sunshine and the spotlight burned down upon him? Surely the Russell who read Handre Pollard’s pass like a clairvoyant and ran half the length of the pitch? How about the Russell who, with the line in his crosshairs, ripped the ball inside to Max Ojomoh instead of scoring himself? Maybe the Russell who gave his boots to an ecstatic kid in the crowd afterwards. Or the Russell who led the chorus of ‘ramenez la coupe a la maison’, the French FIFA World Cup victory song, jiving around a car park jammed with blue, black and white.

If you’d known one of the Prem final fly-halves would throw an interception pass to the other, most people would have bet the farm on Russell lobbing a speculator into the Tiger’s bread basket. This was Pollard, the machine-like Springbok whose steady hand and unerring boot has steered South Africa to successive World Cups. This was Russell, the impish rascal who plays with fire and gets his fingers singed.

An early Father’s Day present for Finn Russell 🎁#GallagherPremFinal @BathRugby pic.twitter.com/bZrg1jTgOO

— Premiership Rugby (@premrugby) June 15, 2025

Nobody at Bath thinks of Russell in this way. His legend – and the cynicism which follows him – have been forged through feats of derring-do. But Johann van Graan sees well beyond the surface perceptions. That’s why, two years ago, seeking his ‘franchise quarterback’, he took Bruce Craig’s fat cheque and slid it across the table to Russell. Together with Lee Blackett, Russell’s key role was to add gears to a Bath team whose remit had been defensive solidity and a meaty set-piece.

At first glance, they seemed an incongruous pair, the scrupulous Afrikaner and the free-spirited Scot. Van Graan’s slogan is ‘stick to process’. Russell doesn’t have a catchphrase but if he did, a sarcastic ‘never in doubt’ might be the one. Indeed, in his younger days, there were few Test fly-halves more likely to smash ‘process’ into a million pieces.

This isn’t how Russell operates now. Nor how he’s been behaving for much of the past seven years. He may never rid himself of the lazy brand ‘maverick’; the idea he’s flaky and rash and not to be trusted when placed in the thumbscrews of finals rugby; a portrayal which grossly denigrates his tactical acumen and game intelligence. A frugal trophy haul not remotely reflective of his talent suggests a player with all the ability but seldom the temperament when it really matters. He won a Pro12 with Gregor Townsend’s Glaswegian swashbucklers a decade ago and until this season, nothing since. No honours in five years as Racing 92’s go-to man with a dominant pack and absurd weaponry around him. Duck egg again on his debut campaign in England.

He’s a kid from Bath that grew up watching his dad [Steve] lifting this trophy. Giving him a little bit of limelight in the final was nice.

Russell had a fine showing against a Leicester team intent on whacking him. He kicked magnificently at the ground where he’d slid a potentially match-settling goal wide just three months earlier, as Scotland relinquished their grip on the Calcutta Cup. He steered Bath around the paddock with typical assuredness. He got flattened by Olly Cracknell and went back in for more. Russell’s tackling is another overlooked strength in his armoury.

When he got his chances to dazzle, the stardust was given a liberal sprinkling. Rapid distribution left and right, then bang: a dummy, a jink, and a sumptuous offload which Joe Cokanasiga fumbled on the hoof. Had he held it, Big Joe would have taken some stopping. There was the vision to seize Pollard’s pass and the generosity to give Ojomoh his moment. “He’s a kid from Bath that grew up watching his dad [Steve] lifting this trophy,” Russell told the BBC post-match. “Giving him a little bit of limelight in the final was nice.”

That moment encapsulated Russell. The boldness to throw a pass nobody else would have considered, never mind tossed. The hearts in mouths all around the West Country as he threw it. And the leadership we seldom appreciate. Behind the flair and the humour, there’s a serious talisman. Russell went out of his way to help a young Marcus Smith when there was no real incentive to do so. He still spends hours with Bath’s rookie pivots spooling through footage and offering his wisdom. Talk to Ojomoh – talk to any of the emerging crop at Farleigh House or at Murrayfield or in Paris – and they’ll wax lyrical about his influence.

When he signed for Racing in 2018, he quickly learned French and made himself a figurehead. He drove the standards and the culture. He’d scrutinise clip after clip with attack coach Mike Prendergast and devise plays to expose opposition frailties. The blockbuster moments on a highlight reel look spontaneous, but so many of them were plotted and calculated with intense rigour. Some pundits ranked him the best foreign player in France. Prendergast went further, calling him the form 10 in the whole sport during 2020.

“The biggest thing for me is, he’s a player that can do stuff maybe no other 10 in the world can do, and most of the time it comes off, but when it doesn’t, he forgets about it,” Prendergast said. “He just puts it behind him, and it’s all about the next job.”

Van Graan loves this mindset too. He talks about one of Russell’s first matches down at the StoneX. The game was under two minutes old when Russell went for a chip, Andy Onyeama-Christie got his paws up to block, guzzled the loose ball and scored. Two minutes later, Russell was unleashing an outrageous cat-flap pass to put Tom de Glanville in at the corner.

Up until this season, Russell’s CV had two glaring voids: more medals and a proper run in a Lions series.

For every Prendergast and every Van Graan, there are a dozen sceptics. Remember those Johnny Sexton quotes about “flashy” 10s that did the rounds when Sexton was hired by the Lions? The Irishman’s typically unvarnished opinion would have drawn plenty agreement across the game. We’re told Sexton and Russell have gone for coffee and laughed off the whole business. If you’ll excuse the pun, the furore is a bit of a storm in a teacup. Sexton will harbour no prejudice. The Lions are not Ireland v Scotland, or Sexton v Russell. They’re much bigger than all that.

Prendergast and Van Graan got the best out of Russell by creating a tactical framework while allowing him freedom. He’s delivered his best stuff with a commanding scrum-half at his side; Greig Laidlaw in Scotland, Maxime Machenaud in France, and now, the outstanding, ambidextrous Ben Spencer at Bath. Russell used to get frustrated when he’d have a run-of-the-mill game. If he didn’t do something magic, he’d feel unfulfilled, even if his team won and he’d played well. That streak, the compulsion to entertain, has long been tempered. Some of Russell’s most impressive recent outings have been exhibitions in understated class.

The thought of Russell in an Andy Farrell attack shape with the premier players from these islands around him, and Jamison Gibson-Park conducting and creating at the base? That’s an intoxicating prospect.

Up until this season, Russell’s CV had two glaring voids: more medals and a proper run in a Lions series. Four years ago, in the rugby equivalent of a demolition derby, he injured an Achilles and only contributed in the third Test, off the bench. He immediately brought some pep to the bludgeon-heavy drudgery.

Russell will always, unashamedly, be himself and partly because of that, always polarise opinion. He brushes off errors with a shrug and a smile. He has spoken about gobbling Xtreme Chewit sweeties while lining up place kicks. He famously likened himself to Lionel Messi in the Netflix ‘Full Contact’ show with tongue firmly in cheek. Later in the programme, Finn tells us he’s “not the best trainer” and we cut to shots of him, hands in pockets, languidly swinging his legs over some hurdles. That’s anathema to men like Sexton.

Russell is different to many of those who don rugby’s most pressured jersey. He’s a risk-taker, yes, but not some carefree hold ‘em player who gets his kicks from pushing every chip into the middle of the table. He needs structure but not a straitjacket. Trample his instincts and you lose his essence.

Russell embodies everything that’s great about our sport. The gunslinger and the reveller, the schemer and the slayer; the Test-match animal and the relaxed everyman who doesn’t take himself too seriously. Which Finn Russell did you enjoy most on the weekend? Why not appreciate them all.