THE Heineken Cup is no competition for old clichés. Each year the same phrases are regurgitated. The French talk of English efficiency, the English love to eulogise the fiction of “French flair” while everyone knows the Welsh regions are determined to live up to their forefathers and keep the ball alive.

As for the Irish, we are all stumped. Munster’s pride and passion formed the ultimate Heineken Cup cliché but the intelligence of their game should have consigned that hoary old chestnut deep into the bowels of Bunratty Castle, while Leinster confounded all with a cocktail of the dullest percentage rugby and the most magnificent variety when Munster were downed in last year’s semi-final. And now along come London Irish and Northampton with an offloading game that would befuddle Leinster and Munster if the two regions were not such consummate outfits, having won three of the past four Heineken Cups. They will be ready for the English test.

What remains to be seen is whether the galvanised English teams will withstand the vigour of essentially the two halves of Ireland’s Grand Slam team. Despite all the talk of Premiership power, the regional nature of Ireland’s leading two sides is on a whole other level. French and English clubs need to know this competition inside out before they can overcome such a disadvantage in terms of international experience. The nearest English club to a cliché would be the Tigers. They are organised, they are supremely efficient in defence and have a belligerence to their game descended from Henry V. The French are right to fear them — Leicester are the most exceptional proponents of English efficiency in the land.

Bath are capable of being brilliant and brittle in equal measure while Gloucester have been bullied out of this tournament year after year, although who in France expected Harlequins to stand up and face down Stade Français last season? And now we have the free-flowing spirits of Northampton and London Irish; any coach who prepares for the English in a set way will be left looking stupid.

“French flair” is the sorriest joke of them all. Blame it on Toulouse, because they have provided some of the most dazzling counterattacking rugby imaginable from the first day of this competition. Even when the forwards take control of a match, there remains a metaphorical swagger to their game. As three-time winners they represent France in our imaginations, whereas the reality is that the rest of France is mainly remarkable for the moodiness of their game and the obsession with slowing the opposition and kicking away just about every piece of possession.

When Clermont Auvergne, Perpignan (the reigning French champions), Biarritz or Stade Français revert to running, it feels like a release from some Gallic prison. French club rugby is, by and large, unambitious and ugly. Stade Français are Europe’s great underachievers yet Clermont and Perpignan are capable of some of the finest interlinking rugby between forwards and backs, keeping the ball away from the tackle and preventing possession being slowed. In the Auvergne, Clermont are often majestic; down south, Perpignan are a tough act to rumble. Away from home, though, the French come seeking not riches but a turgid affair and losing bonus points. Given the talent at their disposal, if they ever decide to pursue a balance between the clichéd flair and the real grind of their game they will make a mockery of last season, when Toulouse were their only entrants to make the knockout stages.

Their conquerors were Cardiff Blues, a team who nearly broke the cliché but justified the English stranglehold of Leicester in the dying minutes of the semi-final. Flipping balls before the breakdown formed, supporting from all angles and delivering risky but rewarding passes, this was Welsh rugby at its best for a spell that almost took them to the final; as near as you could want to an English versus Welsh cliché.

The Blues, despite a moderate start, have the personnel to play in the image of the Welsh greats. Opposing coaches know Martyn Williams has to be overpowered as the link between forwards and backs. If the weather holds, the Blues’ clashes with Toulouse in rounds three and four will be pool highlights, as were the memorable meetings between the French giants and the Scarlets a few years ago when the west Wales team painted glorious rugby pictures across the field.

Orchestrated by Stephen Jones, they will try to attack while the Dragons under the innovative direction of Paul Turner will make more than the sum of their parts. Sulking on the outskirts of Swansea, the Ospreys possess a squad as gifted as any in Europe but play rugby as dreary as anything a wet Friday in Brive has to offer.

When they meet Leicester you will hear and read the word “intensity”. Watch out for that one. Translated, it means 80 minutes of blokes running headfirst into each other. You won’t hear “intensity” mentioned in the same breath as Edinburgh and Glasgow but, with little expectation, they play some fearless running rugby. As for the Italians, they are cannon fodder. There’s your one indisputable Heineken cliché.