Archive May 7, 2025

They had a different perspective in Bob Seddon’s day. No television-televised Lions squad announcement because there were no airplanes, and no first-class plane travel was possible.

Seddon led the first rugby team of its kind to leave these shores and head south, not yet as the British and Irish Lions, but as precursors and pioneers as the captain of the wide-eyed Victorians of 1888.

Every one of the close to 40 players named the Lions of 2025 on Thursday should be familiar with some of this history, should be able to absorb some of the depth because they are a part of the sport’s greatest odyssey.

Seddon’s crew boarded the RMS Kaikoura and set sail for Australia and New Zealand. They traveled for 46 days. lumpy seas and calm waters. dense fog and heavy gales. He claimed that “neither the sun nor the stars were seen” for a week.

They still had 19 games to play, including 16 in Australia and New Zealand, before getting finished. In effect, they played another 19 matches of Victorian Rules-Australian Rules. On a 249-day tour, there were 54 contests involving just over 20 players.

This time around, the chosen ones will play nine games in less than a month. You’ll miss them if you blink.

Seddon, a Lancashire resident, had already got married. He drowned in the Hunter River in New South Wales twenty games into the trip.

Some people refer to the Lions as an anachronism and an unimportant exhibition because they don’t understand them. In the modern era, they ask why the lions matter.

They are significant in part because of people like Seddon, all the heroes, and the social history that accompanied him.

In South Africa in 1896, Tommy Crean, the Irishman, was a Lion. In the Boer War, he received the Victoria Cross. In South Africa in 1896, Alexander Todd, the Englishman, was a Lion. At Ypres, he passed away.

In 1896, London clergyman Matthew Mullineux was also a Lion. During the First World War, he won the Military Cross. In South Africa in 1910, Robert Milroy, a Scot, was a Lion. At the Somme, he passed away. In 1910, Welshman Phil Waller also had a Lion’s horn. At Arras, he passed away.

In 1938, County Down native Paddy Mayne was a Lion in South Africa. He received the Legion d’Honneur and the Croix de Guerre from the French government after receiving three awards for his heroism in three separate acts of heroism during war. He was the SAS’s founding member as well.

Pontypool’s Harry Jarman did not perish during combat. The 1910 visitor, who had threw himself into a runaway coal wagon’s path as it rattled toward some children playing in its path, later died from complications.

This team plays more than just sports. It is a phenomenon in culture. The Lions’ 1974 trip to apartheid South Africa was incredibly divisive, and there are still heated debates about both the benefits and drawbacks of doing so.

Nelson Mandela’s story also comes to mind as he listens to commentary on the radios of his wardens in his cell on Robben Island. Mandela and other political prisoners erupted when Willie John McBride’s immortals defeated the Afrikaners and won the series.

Ian McGeechan, the Lions’ coach, and Fran Cotton, their managers, were on the same team when they returned in 1997. In a nation where Mandela is now the president, Steve Tshwete, a minister of the government, welcomed them.

When Tshwete recounted his experiences of listening to those radios and hearing how they brought the Springboks to their knees, Tshwete, who was imprisoned alongside Mandela, practically brought McGeechan and Cotton to tears.

What did being a Lion in the past entail? Players took vacations from their jobs to travel. Some people quit their jobs when they couldn’t take vacations. Because they were not paid, club members and other villagers made a few bob in their pockets to send them on their way.

The great Ireland prop Syd Millar had his overcoat taken from his hotel room during his 1959 New Zealand tour. Word quickly reached the local press, and friendly Kiwi letters with checks suddenly arrived.

Thankfully, we live in different times. Despite bloody internecine conflict both abroad and at home, this team and these tours have survived.

Despite the threat of advancement and a constantly crowded fixture calendar, they have prospered despite their existence.

They have survived the flak that eluded hateful violence in Westward-era matches.

The Battle of Boet Erasmus, the Battle of Ballymore, the Battle of Canterbury, and the Battle of Potchefstroom. engrossing but depressing chapters.

Every turn, doom-mongers have been proven false. Yes, the brand has grown to be a commercial beast and there are too many brand hypings, but the Lions’ core is strong and presumably unbreakable.

The fascination only grows as the tourists have only won one of six series in the last century. This is a unique experience, a bucket-list item for fans, and a dream fulfilled for every chosen player. It is brilliantly strange and utterly exhilarating.

However, it’s soon over who’s in and who’s out that the speculation ends. The coaches and Andy Farrell have their men.

Not everyone will agree with the names they came up with. A mistaken choice, a lucky choice, a cause to rally around and become angry at. It has always been that way.

Although there are four nations and one team in the Lions, everyone is watching out for their own on the day of the announcement.

Being chosen for the Lions is and will always be a special moment in a player’s life, and many will say it is. But it cannot be enough. Being a Lion gives one a sense of pride, but greatness only comes with victory.

In his famous speech about climbing to the top of Everest in 1997, Jim Telfer referred to selection as “the easy bit.” He told his supporters, “Winning was the most crucial thing.” The “ultimate” He was there at the time and is now.

The 2025 Lions will rightfully celebrate a magnificent accomplishment on Thursday, but it’s only the start of a long road.

In Bob Seddon’s day, they did things differently. No televised Lions squad announcement because there was no television, no first class plane travel because there were no aeroplanes.

Captain of the wide-eyed Victorians of 1888, Seddon led the first rugby team of its kind to leave these shores and head south, not yet as the British and Irish Lions, but precursors and pioneers.

Seddon’s squad set sail for New Zealand and Australia on RMS Kaikoura. For 46 days, they travelled. Calm waters and lumpy seas. Heavy gales and dense fog. A week went by when “neither sun nor stars were seen,” he reported.

They played 19 games in New Zealand, 16 in Australia, but they still were not done. They played another 19 matches of Victorian Rules – Aussie Rules, in effect. Fifty-four contests for just more than 20 players on a tour that lasted 249 days. The chosen ones this time will play nine times in just more than a month. Blink and you will miss them.

Seddon, from Lancashire, was engaged to be married. Twenty games into the trip he drowned in the Hunter River in New South Wales. Some people do not get the Lions and call it an anachronism and an unimportant exhibition. They ask why do the Lions matter in the current age?

They matter, in part, because of folk like Bob Seddon and all the heroes and all the social history that came in his wake.

Tommy Crean, the Irishman, was a Lion in South Africa in 1896. He won a Victoria Cross in the Boer War. Alexander Todd, the Englishman, was a Lion in South Africa in 1896. He died at Ypres. Matthew Mullineux, a London clergyman, was also a Lion in 1896. He won the Military Cross during the First World War. Eric Milroy, a Scot, was a Lion in South Africa in 1910. He died at the Somme. Phil Waller, the Welshman, was also a Lion in 1910. He died at Arras.

Paddy Mayne, from County Down, was a Lion in South Africa in 1938. He won the Distinguished Service Order medal and three bars for three separate acts of heroism at war and was then awarded the Legion d’Honneur and the Croix de Guerre by the French government for his work in the liberation of France. He was also a founding member of the SAS.

Harry Jarman of Pontypool did not die at war. The 1910 tourist died of complications after he threw himself into the path of a runaway coal wagon at a South Wales colliery as it rattled towards some children playing in its path.

This team transcends sport. It’s a cultural phenomenon. The Lions tour to apartheid South Africa in 1974 was deeply divisive and even now there would be heated debates about the rights and wrongs of going there.

But there’s also the story of Nelson Mandela in his cell on Robben Island, listening to commentary on the radios of his wardens. When Willie John McBride’s immortals beat the Afrikaners and took the series, Mandela and his fellow political prisoners rejoiced.

When the Lions returned in 1997, players from the ’74 tour were coach, Ian McGeechan, and manager, Fran Cotton. They were greeted by Steve Tshwete, a government minister in a country that now had Mandela as president.

Tshwete, incarcerated on Robben Island with Mandela, practically moved McGeechan and Cotton to tears when he recounted his experiences of listening to those radios and hearing how they brought the Springboks to their knees.

How much did it mean to be a Lion back in the day? Players took time off work to tour. Some gave up their jobs if they could not get time off. Club members and fellow villagers chipped in to send them on their way with a few bob in their pocket because they did not get paid.

On the 1959 tour in New Zealand the great Irish prop, Syd Millar, had his overcoat stolen from his hotel room. Word reached the local press and suddenly letters with cheques came flooding in from sympathetic Kiwis.

We live in different days, thankfully. This team and these tours have endured despite bloody conflict abroad and at home, they have prospered despite having their existence threatened by the march of professionalism and an ever more crowded fixture calendar, they have survived the flak that flew after despicable violence in matches from the wild west years.

The Battle of Ballymore, the Battle of Canterbury, the Battle of Potchefstroom, the Battle of Boet Erasmus. Compelling but bleak chapters.

Doom-mongers have been proven wrong at every turn. Yes, it has become a commercial beast and the rampant hyping of the brand grates, but the essence of what makes the Lions special is strong and apparently unbreakable. The tourists have won just one series this millennium – one of six – but the fascination only grows. Brilliantly weird and utterly exhilarating, this is a unique experience, a bucket list item for fans and for every chosen player, a dream realised.

The speculation around who’s in and who’s out ends now, though. Andy Farrell and his coaches have got their men. Not everyone will agree with the names they came up with. There will be a wronged one, a lucky pick, a cause to rally round and get furious about. It was ever thus. The Lions is four nations and one team, but on announcement day, everybody is looking out for their own.

Being picked for the Lions is, and always will be, a special moment in the life of any player – many would say the most special moment – but it cannot be enough anymore. There’s a pride in being a Lion, but greatness only comes in victory.

In 1997 Jim Telfer called selection “the easy bit” in his famous speech about reaching the top of Everest. Winning was the most important thing, he told his forwards. “The ultimate.” He was right then and he’s right now.