James Lawton: Unquestioning faith in Wilkinson may be England's downfall

Jonny Wilkinson has acquired an awesome reputation. He is also a demonstrably splendid young fellow: dedicated, brave, obsessive in the way that is utterly commendable in all those who have been handed remarkable talent by the gods of sport.

In an age of so many grievously distracted celebrity sportsmen, he is heart-warmingly unswerving. He wants everything of himself. He has a pitch cleared on Christmas day so that he can continue to kick a rugby ball with an uncanny, other-worldly precision. He hurts for his art, both physically and psychologically, so much indeed that at this point in the greatest adventure of his professional life it is hard - though maybe unavoidable - to ask a painful question.

Properly it is an enquiry that should be directed not so much at a young player who has made no great claims for himself anywhere other than on the rugby field, and in the heat of the most ferocious action, but at those who have attributed to him qualities which, at the highest level, it could just be that he crucially lacks. The question is this: as the potential orchestrator of an England World Cup triumph, is Jonny Wilkinson a myth?

Certainly in the heat of Melbourne's Telstra Dome at the weekend, when England's challenge wavered so perilously against the patchwork but inspired Samoans, we found ourselves looking not at Wilkinson the giant, but the paradox.

The case could be made that he was both England's greatest strength and weakness, and that the frailty he displayed against the South Sea Islanders mirrored the major doubt about England's prospects throughout their long and impressive march to the tournament.

It is that in all of England's great and obvious strength, in the power of their pack, the relentless and unscrupulous leadership of Martin Johnson, the wit of Lawrence Dallaglio, the speed of Jason Robinson, the metronome kicking of Wilkinson, there is a certain dead zone in the matter of creative range. The worry must be that this ultimately can be exploited by teams who may be less ordered but, at the vital time, are perhaps more likely to be touched by a little more inspiration. A team, for example, like potential semi-final opponents France.

Questions about the total scale of Wilkinson's ability are not new. Indeed they have run alongside his gradual elevation to the rank of the world's top out-half. Jonathan Davies, who would have been a great half-back in any age of the game, has been as generous as anyone in his estimate of Wilkinson's worth, and his criticisms have been no more than gently implied. But when Davies said earlier this year that he would love to see Wilkinson convey more joy when he has the ball in his hands, and be more willing to make it clear that he regards himself as the key player on the field, he might have had the Samoan experience in his mind's eye.

"Jonny has the means to be great," Davies said, "but he needs to show more evidence that he knows it."

Apart from a disconcerting drift from his usual kicking accuracy, Wilkinson displayed a dismaying lack of authority at times against the rampaging Samoans. Yes, he made the game safe with his immaculate punt into the path of Iain Balshaw, but such flair and conviction lay well below the surface when Samoa had their legs and their dramatically erupting self-belief.

Certainly the prospect of this Wilkinson against the fast-emerging young French star Frédéric Michalak was not something to bring on a flood of optimism. Nor is it good enough to say that the Samoan spirit and force and blood-stirring running was a surprise that required some adjustment from all the England team, and that in this sense Wilkinson was something of a victim of circumstances. Great out-halves, this side of total slaughter inflicted on their pack, are expected to be crucial factors in the flow of the game. At times, Wilkinson seemed on the point of abdication, not physically of course, or morally, but in his insistence that he should be a point of influence and inspiration.

Watching the furrows in Wilkinson's brow deepen, it was certainly hard not to make a comparison with the last northern hemisphere out-half to go south with the aura of being the world's No 1. Wales's Barry John was crowned king in New Zealand, and there was no doubt about the vehicle that had carried him to that status. It was the arrogance of those who know perfectly what they can achieve.

When you think of the meaning of Barry John, you are bound to recall the story of when he first met the great Gareth Edwards on the Welsh training field. "How do you like the pass," Edwards asked the new boy, "long or short?" The kid just narrowed his eyes a little and said: "You throw it Gareth, I'll catch it."

There were times at the weekend when you might have been forgiven for doubting Wilkinson's capacity to say such a thing to an esteemed team-mate. You just had to hope, for England's sake, that you were wrong.