Tom English: Two tries, further progess, but the same old end result

‘Sometimes – too often, in fact – you can tell what kind of day Scotland are going to have by their very first attack, usually a multi-phased affair that brings Murrayfield to its feet’

In the aftermath, as his team-mates were coming to terms with the desperation of another defeat, man of the match Ross Rennie was yanked aside for an interview for television. Poor Rennie. He spoke, but didn’t really know what to say. He was asked about the pride he felt in Scotland’s performance and the confidence he must have going forward and took to such talk as a turkey takes to Christmas. Pride? Confidence? Yeah, whatever. Not exactly the sentiments uppermost in his mind, you felt. He looked like a man who wanted desperately to get out of the arena and into the dressing room for a head-butting session with a wall.

In Scotland’s inner-sanctum you’d imagine that he would have had to join an orderly queue in the venting of his emotions. Andy Robinson might have been ahead of everyone else in that regard. We have seen Robinson in many guises in this losing run, now standing at five games. The despair after Argentina at the World Cup, the emotion against England a week later, bitter frustration against the same enemy at the beginning of this championship and something resembling pride post-Wales. Yesterday, it was a bit of everything.

“I’m absolutely delighted with our intensity and our endeavour,” he said. “I can’t ask any more of the players. They were inspirational in what they tried to do It was an outstanding game of rugby and Scotland contributed a lot.” That was the pride bit. And now for the angst. “We lacked composure when Rory Lamont went off injured (with a suspected broken leg). In that ten minutes before half-time we allowed France into the game. It was a difficult period for us. We had to be accurate and we turned the ball over too easily.”

From pride to angst to anger. Wayne Barnes got it for a decision he made in the lead-up to the second French try, a score that flipped the scoreboard from a 17-13 Scotland advantage to a 20-17 French lead. Robinson tried to keep a lid on it, but inside he was seething. “The referee gave a penalty to France at a ruck and it was the turning point because they went down and scored,” he said. “I’ve watched it again and it’s not a penalty. “[Aurelien] Rougerie falls on our side and blocks Chris Cusiter’s pass and then he kicks the ball away. Two offences. Both pretty clear. You can cope with decisions going against you, but when it’s key ones like that…”

Robinson’s word of the day was composure. If he said it once he said it half a dozen times. Scotland didn’t have enough of it at critical times. Fine margins, he said. “I can’t hide away from the loss. The stats are there. In each game we go out with the belief that we can win and that belief was strengthened. We played against the World Cup finalists and we outplayed them.”

It was a huge overstatement, but then it was something he had to say. The reality is that Scotland are staring down the barrel of a wooden spoon dogfight with trips to Ireland and Italy to come. It seems unjust, given the way they have played in the last game and a half, but there it is. Even Philippe Saint-Andre thinks it peculiar that Scotland are in such a malaise. “Congratulations to Scotland,” he said. “If they carry on like this they can beat any team in the world. I’m sure very soon they will have a fantastic team. Their lock [presumably Richie Gray] and back-row are marvellous.”

The Frenchman’s praise will hardly ease the pain, though, for this was a sore one. Scotland will torment themselves with the loss of a ten-point lead and they’ll be apoplectic with Barnes, but ultimately their fury should be directed internally. They were good, but not good enough. They did so many fine things but making key tackles wasn’t one of them. They missed too many. That as much as anything else cost them. When the French were at their most physical, Scotland didn’t really have an answer.

Five losses on the spin takes Robinson into the depths plunged by Mattie Williams. He’s no Williams, of course. Heavens, no. But his numbers are becoming frighteningly similar. Two victories in 13 Six Nations matches as coach of Scotland. Six victories in 23 Six Nations matches when you include his time with England.

These stats mask a multitude, but Robinson is a bloke who deals with bottom lines and the bottom line here is wretched. Scotland are improving, no question. They have added substantially to their back-row and their backline in the last few weeks and there is always a sense with them that something terrific is about to happen, but they’re losing and losing and losing again.

With Scotland, it’s not the disappointment that kills you, it’s the hope. We had tries for Stuart Hogg and Lee Jones, the dashing youth in Robinson’s backline. We had big performances in the pack. We had a brilliant Test match, played in a wonderful atmosphere, but ultimately we had a defeat. These Scottish players are angst-ridden, but then so too are those who watch them. You go through a freakish ageing process when you come to Murrayfield. Years are put on you in the space of 80 minutes.

It was a rollercoaster. Sometimes – too often, in fact – you can tell what kind of day Scotland are going to have by their very first attack, usually a multi-phased affair that brings Murrayfield to its feet. How many times have we seen it? A surge from the back-row – and a ruck. Another surge from the second-row – and another ruck. Another surge, another ruck. The stadium rises as one as the brave Scots trundle forward to their destiny, which is nearly always a knock-on. In these moments, Murrayfield resembles a giant balloon that has just been popped. And so we presumed it was going to be same again when Scotland launched their first sortie.

When Rougerie sliced his clearance kick to touch at his own 22m line, Scotland got up a head of steam. Forward they drove. Fourteen phases came and went during which time they advanced about three metres before being hammered back from whence they came. Negative ground gained and now a French scrum. Murrayfield sighed.

That French scrum. A shambles and, lo, the Scots were on the move again. More phases, more bums off seats. The pivotal moment, the split-second that changed the tired old script, came from Greig Laidlaw. It was a piece of clear-thinking that created the score, a switch of play that took the ball away from the French and into the hands of Jones and then Hogg. The full-back got the plaudits, but it was Laidlaw’s awareness of what was around him that made it. Scotland, mercy be, had scored.

It was an exhilarating beginning and the intensity rarely let up. Scotland looked magnificent in the opening 20 minutes; dangerous going forward and tough in defence. Slowly, though, their resistance weakened. When Wesley Fofana scored just before the half-hour, it had as much to do with frail Scottish defending as fine French attacking. We were now in that period that Robinson bemoaned, the spell before the break where the Scots fell off too many tackles and ceded the impetus to the French.

The visitors drew level, then inched in front. Saint-Andre said they controlled the game from this point onwards but he was exaggerating somewhat. How else could he explain Scotland roaring back into the lead? It was down to John Barclay’s brilliant turnover in the first instance and the kind of clinical finishing later that we have not seen from Scotland in an age. How typical. We have cried out for tries for so long and here, two arrived at once and still there was a defeat at the end of it.

The game-changer was yet to come, though. Rougerie’s offences not penalised and Maxime Medard taking advantage of Barnes’s generosity by putting France back in front. Again, Scotland’s defensive line was weak. Again, Scotland were beaten by a narrow margin. It’s a recurring theme of the Robinson era.

Once he’d done talking he got up from his seat and breathed a heavy sigh, then said something that spoke of the frustration he was feeling. At the moment, Robinson comes across as a fella who knows the winning numbers of the lottery but can’t find a shop to buy a ticket.