The tournament looks ferociously competitive and, with attacking verve back in fashion, it promises to be a vintage year. Every now and again it is useful to be reminded of rugby union’s place in the grand scheme of things. “So, what’s next for you?” a non‑sporty friend asked the other day. He must have spotted my raised eyebrow. “Oh, yes, um, it’s the Six Nations, isn’t it?” Even on Planet Zog, inhabited by people who think a cauliflower ear is a tasty veggie option, they have heard of the annual rugby equivalent of Glastonbury.
![[Fabien Galthié (third from right) leads a training session before France’s Six Nations opener against Wales]](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/151d065a5fcc21478dbeb3384318d1b7f111e3e6/0_346_4578_2746/master/4578.jpg?width=445&dpr=1&s=none&crop=none)
And, traditionally, that has been the sport’s saving grace. Millions with limited interest in club rugby gather to cheer on the lands of their fathers, grandmothers and wolfhounds. The technical intricacies matter less than pouring a Guinness 0.0 – seemingly the pint du jour – and announcing to no one in particular that England are coming in nicely under the radar.
![[Tommy Freeman on the charge]](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/1b3593413020b0b2f5e3e7a583bed4c2b2cdba70/178_65_2822_1693/master/2822.jpg?width=445&dpr=1&s=none&crop=none)
In days gone by, for the most part, the skill levels on the field were secondary. Instead there was a certain thrill to be had from watching, say, Ireland kicking ahead – any head? – on a lashing wet day in Dublin. Or rampant Scottish forwards stampeding around Murrayfield like mad giraffes, to steal from the peerless Bill McLaren. And, of course, the forging of lifelong friendships in the bar afterwards.
Increasingly, though, the times are a-changing. It could even be that the 2025 men’s championship, kicking off in Paris on Friday night, proves a watershed moment. Some significant conversations are under way in the background as the organisers seek to nail down the next TV broadcasting deal starting in 2026. Could the holy grail of free‑to‑air live coverage go the way of the dodo? Quite possibly, if the money men get their way.
