Here's an ethical conundrum for the rugby terraces. Is it ever appropriate to jeer the opposition?
Is it always unsporting and uncouth, or should it just be accepted as a feature that adds to the atmosphere of a high-level game?
The issue has been brought into sharp relief by the spectacle of England fans booing Australia's Matt Giteau at Twickenham on Saturday.
Every pundit seems to have an opinion on the incident – with many adopting such a scandalised, po-faced reaction that you'd be forgiven for thinking they'd never witnessed a cat call at a match before.
But what of the psychology of jeering? Booing the kicker is more often than not a form of displacement activity. Frustrated by the perceived injustice of the referee's decisions but powerless to reverse those judgements, the aggrieved fans vent their anger on the person who they believe they can affect – the place-kicker.
However, pundits, fellow players, coaches and supporters should be wary of feeling outraged on a kicker's behalf.
For evidence of this, I invite you to step back in time to a dank afternoon at The Rec on October 4 when Bath hosted Leicester in the EDF Energy Cup.
On that day it was the boot of Tigers' fly-half Derick Hougaard that did for Bath. During the afternoon, The Rec fans had the audacity to let out some feeble jeers when the South African prepared to kick one of his penalties, prompting a headmasterly voice over the public address system to scold the supporters for their rudeness.
And what did the former Blue Bulls player make of such unpleasantness from the Bath fans?
"When the crowd booed, I felt more at home," he said afterwards. There was a smile on his face, but you got the impression he meant it.
It's not too hard to understand where Hougaard's coming from. Everyone knows from common experience that a deadly, you-could- hear-a-pin-drop silence can be deeply off-putting when you're in front of an audience, whether you're trying to park the car or give a speech. A bit of background noise never does any harm; it makes you feel like you're not the centre of attention and that the full glare of scrutiny is off you.
I'm not suggesting there's room for foaming, braying yobbery in the Guinness Premiership's stands. Far from it. Certainly there's no place for personal abuse, and people who make such utterances should feel the full force of public shame and be ejected from the ground.
But a rumble or a jeer from the crowd is not the same as levelling an insult at an opposition player.
As Saturday's magnificent match against the Tigers showed, rugby stadiums – and sports stadiums generally – are at their best when they are bubbling cauldrons of emotional intensity.
On a good day, when the vibe is right and the play spectacular, a match can take a crowd through a gamut of emotions as wide-ranging and intense as those evoked by the best plays ever written and the best music ever composed.
Provided the expression of those emotions contains no suggestion of abuse or violent intent, then fans should be free to holler, whoop and whistle for the full 80 minutes.
This article is from an original column for The Bath Chronicle. To read more of my columns for the Chronicle, click here
Is it always unsporting and uncouth, or should it just be accepted as a feature that adds to the atmosphere of a high-level game?
The issue has been brought into sharp relief by the spectacle of England fans booing Australia's Matt Giteau at Twickenham on Saturday.
Every pundit seems to have an opinion on the incident – with many adopting such a scandalised, po-faced reaction that you'd be forgiven for thinking they'd never witnessed a cat call at a match before.
But what of the psychology of jeering? Booing the kicker is more often than not a form of displacement activity. Frustrated by the perceived injustice of the referee's decisions but powerless to reverse those judgements, the aggrieved fans vent their anger on the person who they believe they can affect – the place-kicker.
However, pundits, fellow players, coaches and supporters should be wary of feeling outraged on a kicker's behalf.
For evidence of this, I invite you to step back in time to a dank afternoon at The Rec on October 4 when Bath hosted Leicester in the EDF Energy Cup.
On that day it was the boot of Tigers' fly-half Derick Hougaard that did for Bath. During the afternoon, The Rec fans had the audacity to let out some feeble jeers when the South African prepared to kick one of his penalties, prompting a headmasterly voice over the public address system to scold the supporters for their rudeness.
And what did the former Blue Bulls player make of such unpleasantness from the Bath fans?
"When the crowd booed, I felt more at home," he said afterwards. There was a smile on his face, but you got the impression he meant it.
It's not too hard to understand where Hougaard's coming from. Everyone knows from common experience that a deadly, you-could- hear-a-pin-drop silence can be deeply off-putting when you're in front of an audience, whether you're trying to park the car or give a speech. A bit of background noise never does any harm; it makes you feel like you're not the centre of attention and that the full glare of scrutiny is off you.
I'm not suggesting there's room for foaming, braying yobbery in the Guinness Premiership's stands. Far from it. Certainly there's no place for personal abuse, and people who make such utterances should feel the full force of public shame and be ejected from the ground.
But a rumble or a jeer from the crowd is not the same as levelling an insult at an opposition player.
As Saturday's magnificent match against the Tigers showed, rugby stadiums – and sports stadiums generally – are at their best when they are bubbling cauldrons of emotional intensity.
On a good day, when the vibe is right and the play spectacular, a match can take a crowd through a gamut of emotions as wide-ranging and intense as those evoked by the best plays ever written and the best music ever composed.
Provided the expression of those emotions contains no suggestion of abuse or violent intent, then fans should be free to holler, whoop and whistle for the full 80 minutes.
This article is from an original column for The Bath Chronicle. To read more of my columns for the Chronicle, click here
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