WHEN I first came across Rob Andrew, he was already in the England team. He was not my type of bloke. He was part of an Oxbridge set, even a clique, of backs in and around the England squad, with Fran Clough, Kevin Simms and Mark Bailey. In terms of background and personality, we were a million miles apart. In terms of education, he was Cambridge, I wasn’t even red brick — unless you count the ones I laid when I was an apprentice bricklayer.

He was Cambridge and Wasps, I was Bath. We did eventually play scores of times together for England, but in a perfect world I suppose I would never have played alongside him because we did not dovetail; my attributes did not suit his style. Rob could do almost everything you would expect from a top-class fly-half, especially with his kicking game. He played in a conservative era for England rugby union when we had massive forwards and he could nurse them along. He was adored by every player from one to eight; perhaps not so popular among numbers 11 to 15.

But he could not break a defence with his running skills, and he was not the best player for an attacking centre to run off, as he lacked the ability to launch a backline at top pace. When we played together, I had to line up and start my run from way back, so as to have some speed up by the time he finally passed the ball.

People said that Stuart Barnes, who played only rarely for England in the Andrew reign, suited me better and suggested that we proved it weekly in the Bath jersey. Barnes was far easier for somebody such as myself to play off, even if when we played, we were not exactly bosom buddies either. Maybe it’s just me.

But Andrew and I got on, partly because we had to. We were both picked and had to bridge our differences in background and style, but I grew to respect and like him enormously. England did not lose many games when he was at fly-half.

He was called “Squeaky”, as in squeaky clean. He looked laid-back, sometimes unconcerned. Emphatically, he was not; his demeanour was not demonstrative, but it was all cooking away inside.

I played with some ferocious competitors, but never with anybody who hated losing more than Rob. He was insulted by England’s tradition of poor performances before his arrival in the team, and perhaps he has much the same feelings now. This is a man of steel.

In a rugby team there is no bullshit. On the field there are no politics. You are stripped to the bone, exposed and analysed to the ultimate degree. If you have a terrible game, you have to cop it. There is nobody else to blame. Rob’s strengths lay in absorbing the pressure and criticism, and in doing this well he more than proved himself courageous, gutsy and tough.

He was a tremendous defender and organiser, and he knew his rugby. As a coach, maybe he does not have a trophy cabinet packed with shiny stuff, but what he does have is ability; he has nurtured some great players — especially, I suspect, by passing on some of his mental toughness.

I fervently want him to succeed in the huge job he is about to begin, that of the Rugby Football Union’s (RFU) elite rugby director, a role for which he was chosen above two of the best-known figures in the game — Sir Clive Woodward, who masterminded England’s 2003 World Cup triumph, and Ian McGeechan, the former Scotland and Lions coach.

In my opinion, the job is too big, unfocused and unwieldy for one man. I am also wary that the RFU is trying to build the business from the top down, which seems a dangerous way to refashion everything. But Rob has the ability to do it very well.

Of course, he has to step up. He spoke honeyed words on Friday about getting the RFU and club owners together, about a wonderful future for both sides. It sounded great and was easy to say. It is more difficult to do, maybe even impossible, because the two side are always going to cause friction. The scope of the job is awesome. But if anybody can succeed, he can.

It might be an odd comparison, but he should follow the example of Francis Baron, the RFU chief executive. When Baron arrived, he was ruthless. He looked around, chopped away what he thought was the dead wood, took it forward in an atmosphere of rapid change. I was disappointed to hear Baron saying yesterday that Rob should take his time. He should come in like a lion and give the non-achievers a wake-up call.

He must also make a quick decision on the future of Andy Robinson and of the three other coaches — John Wells, Brian Ashton and Mike Ford — even though they are relatively new. Rob has to fashion the coaching set-up as he wants it, not accept one put up by somebody else.

Is Robinson a dead man walking? Given Rob’s pointed criticisms of him and England of late, it will be in the balance. Rob must decide, and rapidly.

Ruthless Rob? It would definitely not be out of character.