ONE of the last bastions of veneration in this sceptical and increasingly-secular age is the British Lions.

It is all a bit of a self-indulgent get up. Rugby union has struggled to come to terms with what a professional sport should look like, as it pretended to be an amateur game for so long.

Its ancient rituals, like a Lions tour or a game against the Barbarians were all well and good when games were watched by three men and a dog and the players’ payments were stuffed into their boots.

Now the Six Nations and the growing appeal of its domestic game are the real drivers, but the blazers and their acolytes cannot come to terms with the idea of ditching the Lions so they have made it into a cult which organises its ceremonies every four years.

The players are proud to make the tour and I am sure they all have a ball. But the games are usually quite ordinary – proven by the legendary status according to Jeremy Guscott’s drop-goal on a previous tour.

Yet past achievements are often absurdly exaggerated or viewed through the rosiest of rose-tinted glasses.

How else can the ‘99’ call of the 1974 tour – a code for all-out thuggery – be recalled with fondness? It was pre-meditated violence designed to give the Lions a break from being under pressure from their opponents.

It is one benefit of the professional era that such episodes are unlikely to be revisited. However, the romanticism attached to the Lions should also be consigned to the history books – along with the tours themselves.