LONG READ Warren Gatland's Roman raid goes awry as he prepares to meet his fate

There is a supreme irony in the fact that Warren Gatland is simultaneously the best coach Wales have ever had, and the worst. The man who dragged Wales from the ignominy of the 2007 World Cup to three Grand Slams, two World Cup semi-finals, and a brief period atop the world rankings, is the same man who’s since presided over 14 consecutive defeats, and a slide to the worst ranking Wales have ever known.

If the World Cup draw took place tomorrow, Wales would be seeded as one of the minnows. A tiddler swimming adrift among sharks. Wales has a deserved reputation for vacillating violently between feast and famine, but after the bounty of Gatland’s first era, this is pestilence on a devastating scale.

The opening day defeat to France could be viewed in isolation. Toulouse and Bordeaux had been scorching their way through the Investec Champions Cup, laying waste to anyone with the misfortune to get in their way. The former’s 80-point hammering of Leicester would have been an axis-shifting result in any other era but, much like Trump’s daily tirade of absurdity, Toulouse’s pre-eminence has become so normalised it was greeted with barely a shrug.

Against that backdrop, Welsh fans may well have accepted a 43-nil drubbing in Paris, given how cavernous the gulf has become between the two sides. But a performance as toothless, guileless and error-strewn as last Saturday’s in Rome was beyond the pale, even for those now conditioned to defeat.

The Roman bars and trattorias were thrumming with heated conversations between drenched, bedraggled Welsh supporters, eager to vent. The overwhelming sentiment was that this simply can’t go on. Rome has historically been the Six Nations city to which Welsh fans have travelled in expectation, knowing a morale-boosting win would set them up nicely for a weekend of sightseeing and revelry. This is no longer the case.

The rain that hammered down relentlessly all day had been forecast, and Gatland’s selectorial tweaks were a clear indication of his tactics. Picking the gargantuan Eddie James in midfield was a likely reversion to the crash-ball tactics of yesteryear and the appalling conditions dictated that both sides would have to play it safe. There would – in short – be a lot of kicking, and so it transpired. Wales put the ball in air a lot – 41 times for a total of 1400 metres – but rarely did they ever get it back. The kicks were often too long and comfortably gobbled up, or – when they were contestable – won easily by the Italians. Are Monty Ioane, Tommasso Allan, and Ange Capuozzo better players than Blair Murray, Tom Rogers and Josh Adams? Not especially. But are they coached better? On the evidence of what we’ve seen, it would certainly appear so.

Ben Thomas is an elegant running inside centre with innate footballing skills. What he is not is a test fly-half capable of enacting a specific game plan based around tactical kicking in the torrential rain.

When Wales were in their pomp under Gatland, they had a limited, conservative game plan. They became the flat-track bullies of the Six Nations and had the personnel to back it up: a three-quarter line of bulldozing backs who’d routinely dominate collisions, and a master tactician in Dan Biggar who dictated where the game was played. Align that with the most miserly of defences, and you have a recipe for success. Wales don’t have those players anymore. The golden generation has dispersed, and those tactics don’t work unless you’re physically dominant. To illustrate the point, Wales made thirteen first-phase carries during the first half, for a combined territorial gain of a metre.

Italy’s defence coach, Richard Hodges, spent the best part of a decade at Cardiff, and was a WRU employee before then, working with both the 7s and U20s sides. He knows many of these Welsh players intimately and wouldn’t have had too many headaches analysing their attack. There is little in the way of deception or innovation. He knows as well as anyone that Ben Thomas is an elegant running inside centre with innate footballing skills. What he is not is a test fly-half capable of enacting a specific game plan based around tactical kicking in the rain.

The kicking game was one thing, but the truth was that Italy were superior in every facet; a fact which the closeness of scoreline overlooks. Their scrum was more powerful, their scavenging more potent, and – critically – their handling far more fluid. They launched fewer attacks, carried less and made fewer metres than Wales, but when they did, they made it stick. Wales, for all their possession, made 17 handling errors. As someone who was soaked to the skin after the game, even under the relative shelter of the Stadio Olimpico stand, I can testify that the rain was torrential, and that even Toulouse may have looked ordinary in such conditions. But Wales’s error count, together with their naivety, was their downfall.

So the on-field performance left a lot to be desired, and the players certainly aren’t blameless but it’s notable that most of the ire on display amongst the travelling hordes was directed not at them, but at Warren Gatland. The granite-jawed titan who once seemed impervious to criticism has become the number one target. His credit rating among the Welsh rugby public was once so high, it seemed he’d never have to buy a pint anywhere in the country. Now, it is almost entirely depleted. There’s a jarring dissonance between the swaggering, snarling Gatland of old and this newer, more hesitant version who’s lost the courage of his convictions. At post-match press conferences – where he once appeared bullish and confrontational – he now often seems bewildered and apologetic. As confused by Wales’s interminable slide as the rest of us.

Gatland was never a cerebral or particularly pioneering coach in the vein of Joe Schmidt or Rassie Erasmus, but he was a master of creating a mood and instilling belief.

Gatland was never a cerebral or particularly pioneering coach in the vein of Joe Schmidt or Rassie Erasmus, but he was a master of creating a mood and instilling belief. And if he had one coaching superpower, it was selection; an often-overlooked aspect of coaching where sophisticated gameplans and technical innovation have become paramount. But getting the right 15 players on the park remains a hugely important element. In that respect, Gatland has lost his mojo.

It was Gatland who dropped Brian O’Driscoll for the decisive Lions test in 2013, a decision for which he was entirely vindicated. Gatland who switched Jamie Roberts from wing to inside centre, a position in which he became the world’s best. Gatland who ruthlessly dropped his most trusted lieutenants – Roberts, Adam Jones, Mike Phillips – when he sensed their powers were on the wane. Gatland who recognised promise in the likes of Aaron Wainwright before many others did, who thought nothing of tossing a teenage George North into the frothing cauldron of test rugby.

Contrast that to Gatland 2.0, who has fielded 11 centre partnerships and 12 half-back partnerships since he returned, who persists in picking Ben Thomas at 10 despite the fact he rarely plays there for Cardiff. Who only chose one actual fly-half in his Six Nations squad (a rookie who’d never played test rugby), because Gareth Anscombe was “too old” (that logic doesn’t seem to apply to Taulupe Faletau, Will Rowlands and Liam Williams), who blooded a new generation of players like Cam Winnett, Alex Mann, and Mackenzie Martin only to jettison them soon after. Who ignored the try scoring-exploits of Max Llewellyn and dynamism of Johnny Williams.

Yes, there’s the counter-argument that few players are actually grasping the nettle and announcing themselves decisively as the best in their positions, but Gatland’s cast-iron certainty of yore has deserted him. Were it not for his glittering CV (and it is glittering), you’d look at his muddled selections, incoherent strategy and dreadful losing record and reasonably conclude that these were the actions of a clueless rookie woefully out of his depth.

Gatland has always prided himself on his ability to win trophies despite a failing system. That alchemy has gone. Some things get better with age. Others simply curdle.

Anyone without his CV would surely have been relieved of their duties by now. There are those who believe that anyone in his position would struggle, that his travails are a symptom of Welsh rugby’s decline rather than its cause. There are a multitude of reasons Wales is failing: falling participation levels, the decline of the national academy and subsequent crumbling of the player pathway, Welsh players disappearing into the English system having had their heads turned by money and scholarships, regional teams struggling with shrinking squads and slender budgets, and a Welsh Rugby Union forever mired in scandal and political wrangling.

None of that helps, but Gatland has always prided himself on his ability to win trophies despite a failing system. That alchemy has gone. Some things get better with age. Others simply curdle. From a purely personal perspective, Gatland must be wondering if he is actively trashing his legacy. There’s a danger that his once lofty reputation, built on a remarkable and unrivalled run of success will collapse under the weight of this ongoing debacle. It’s therefore in his own interests as well as those of Welsh rugby as a whole that he walks away.

Those operating at elite level have a shelf life. The Beatles split up after delivering their masterpiece, Abbey Road in 1970, leaving their fans bereft and clamouring for more. Joseph Heller never wrote another Catch-22. With The Office, Ricky Gervais created one of the greatest comedies of modern times, but refused to write a third series because he didn’t want to dilute its power. It’s still revered a quarter-century on. Gatland’s Grand Slam and run to the World Cup semis in 2019 was the equivalent of the Office Christmas specials. Two final reminders of his capabilities; a parting shot to the doubters, and a clenched-fist salute to the believers. I interviewed him on the turf of the Principlaity Stadium when he returned to coach the Barbarians and there were tears in his eyes as he bade farewell to the crowd – all 74,000 of them rising in unison to applaud him.

Despite his claim that he wants to continue, that he’s determined to dig Wales out of this ever deepening trough, there must be a big part of him that now wishes that had been his final goodbye.