Opinion: Ben Earl and Tommy Freeman are the future… Steve Borthwick has stopped ‘listening to the noise’ so should you
England's Tommy Freeman and Ben Earl.
Let’s start with the basics. Ben Earl is not a number eight. Tommy Freeman is not a 13.
No, no, don’t laugh. This is serious. They’re not allowed. Not because they’re not good enough. Not because they don’t dominate collisions, break lines, or cover more ground than a drone. No. It’s because… wait for it… they didn’t start their careers there and they aren’t the right shape.
Apparently.
That’s the level of discourse we’re dealing with on social media. It’s like saying David Bowie couldn’t sing because he started out playing saxophone. Or that a dog can’t be a police officer because it used to chase tennis balls. “Sorry mate, you’re a Labrador. We only take Alsatians for riot control.” Idiots.
Dog jobs
You’ve seen them. The pub pundits. The Twitter tacticians. The ones who think rugby shirts come with birth certificates. “He’s not a proper eight,” they say, pint in hand, their paunch pushing anyone in their way asunder, eyes glazed over with nostalgia for a time when number eights were just wardrobes with knees.
“Freeman’s a winger, not a centre,” they mutter, as if the game hasn’t evolved since 1978.
Let’s do a Dog Jobs, shall we?
- Ben Earl: carries, tackles, jackals, scores, leads, paces, lifts, links.
- Tommy Freeman: reads space, breaks lines, defends like a flanker, passes like a 10, finishes like a 14.
- “Proper eight”: stands at the back of a scrum and occasionally falls over the try line.
- “Proper 13”: runs into contact and offloads into touch.
Who’s the dog? What’s the job?
There is a peculiar affliction among rugby’s online commentariat; a sort of numerical puritanism, where the number on a player’s back is treated as a birthright rather than a tactical decision. It is a mindset that would have seen Jason Robinson told he couldn’t play full-back because he once wore six studs instead of eight. Or that Ma’a Nonu couldn’t pass because he used to be a crash ball merchant. Or that Jordie Barrett can’t play 12 because he’s tall.
Earl, by any metric that matters, has been the most effective number eight in the Northern Hemisphere for three seasons – the Test stats prove that categorically. He played three-and-a-half Six Nations Tests there last season and dominated the 2023 Rugby World Cup in virtually every metric for an eight. He carries with venom, tackles with precision, and links play like a Test-level centre. He is, in short, the modern prototype. And yet, the chorus continues: “He’s not a real eight.”
Freeman? He’s been England’s most intelligent backline weapon since Steve Borthwick finally stopped trying to turn him into a touchline ornament. At 13, he sees the game two phases ahead. He defends like a back-rower and attacks like a fly-half. But no; he’s “not a centre.” Why? Because he used to wear 14. Because he’s not Guscott. He doesn’t look like O’Driscoll. Because he doesn’t fit the mould.
What, then, is a real eight? Is it Billy Vunipola, whose form fell off a cliff? Is it Zach Mercer, whose flair is undeniable but whose Test impact remains unproven? Or is it simply anyone who looks like they’ve been carved from granite and fed steak through a funnel?
And what’s a real 13? Is it a crash ball merchant with no distribution? A defensive turnstile with a sidestep? Or is it someone who can read the game, link the midfield, and shut down the opposition’s most dangerous channel?
Borthwick blocks out the noise
Borthwick, to his credit, has finally stopped listening to the noise. His selection of Earl at eight, again, and Freeman at 13 for England’s November fixtures is not a gamble. It is a recognition of reality.
These are not just players, but they are potential solutions, answers. They are the future.
The obsession with positional purity is not just outdated, it is actively harmful. It stifles creativity, and it punishes that most hated rugby quality, versatility. It ignores the fact that rugby, at its highest level, is a game of roles, not numbers and that positional adaptability in open field is an elite necessity. Ask Rassie if you don’t believe this. Or Kwagga Smith, or Andre Esterhuizen. Earl plays the role of a number eight better than anyone else in England, and Freeman plays the role of a 13 with more clarity and conviction than most, as he’s proved for Saints on several occasions.
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Let’s be clear: the idea that Earl isn’t a number eight, or that Freeman isn’t a 13, is not just wrong, it’s lazy. It’s the kind of thinking that belongs in a pub in 1978, not in a modern analysis of elite rugby. These two are the most complete, most adaptable players in the English game. And that’s precisely why they should be playing where they are.
The game has changed. The role of the number eight is no longer to truck ball into contact and hope for the best. It’s about tempo. It’s about link play. It’s about being the third distributor, the second wave carrier, and the first to the breakdown. Earl does all of that — and he does it at a pace that most Test forwards can’t live with.
The role of the 13 is no longer just about outside breaks and textbook drift defence. It’s about decision-making. It’s about shutting down the seam between 10 and 12. It’s about being the pivot between chaos and control. Freeman does that with the calm of a veteran and the instincts of a predator.
Borthwick’s selection for November 1 proves he’s finally understood that Earl at eight, Sam Underhill at seven, and Guy Pepper at six gives England a back-row that can move, that can think. That can win. Freeman at 13 gives England a midfield that can read, react, and reimagine.
The people who say “he’s not an eight” or “he’s not a 13” are the same people who said Matt Giteau couldn’t play 12, who said Sergio Parisse was too flashy, who said Richie McCaw was offside, or, god forbid, Richard Hill couldn’t play at seven. They’re not analysing the game, they’re clinging to a version of it that no longer exists.
Earl and Freeman are the future. They’re the now. And if you can’t see that, you’re not watching the game, you’re watching the numbers on the shirts.
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