Lions are now playing for more than a series

For one warm evening in June, the Lions arrived in Dublin and the city rose to meet them. From early Friday afternoon there was a festival air across the city from Baggot Street all the way to Ballsbridge – red shirts everywhere for the rarest of things: a Lions Test match in the northern hemisphere. It was, by some stretch, one of the hottest tickets of the summer.

But somewhere between the first whistle and the final hush, the sense of excitement that usually surrounds this old, hallowed institution began to fray. Argentina did not come to genuflect. They came with intent – with rhythm, bite and the quiet fury of a side who knew they were seen as little more than a speed bump on the road to Australia. Their play was sharper, their cohesion was clearer, their purpose was unmistakable. The Lions, by contrast, often looked like a band formed the night before a gig, playing by instinct and hoping the harmonies might sort themselves out.

To say that chemistry takes time is true. To say that time is in short supply on a Lions tour is truer again. There were, of course, glimpses of swagger, but there were also stretches of uncertainty where promising movements dissolved into knock-ons and kicks to nowhere. In those moments, the red shirt seemed to sag slightly, as if burdened by expectation rather than lifted by it.

The result – a 28–24 win for the Pumas – will be filed away for now. But it will provide food for thought. The Lions came to Dublin looking for a launchpad. What they found instead was a reminder that reputation means little in the Test arena.

For over a century, the British & Irish Lions have existed as rugby’s great illusion, a side stitched together by geography and old grudges, somehow made whole by a unique concept. The miracle wasn’t just that four nations could unite; it was that they could beat the best while doing so.

There was magic in it. And there still is, to an extent. You can’t fake the lump in the throat when the team runs out in red. The Lions have always meant something because they’ve always stood for something – the notion that brief unity could still produce greatness. And there’s still something noble about them – like the last payphone in a town that has perfect signal.

But the world has changed. Rugby has changed. The idea that Ireland, England, Wales and Scotland must combine to compete with the southern hemisphere belongs to another time, one where travel was by boat and players had real jobs. These days, each nation arrives at the party with its own CV. Once upon a time, the Lions were a necessity to compete. Now, they are an idea. And ideas, as it turns out, can be harder to defend than rolling mauls.

The charm of the Lions was always that they became more than the sum of their parts. But in Dublin, they fell well short of that. And as the game dragged into the final quarter, one couldn’t help but wonder whether this grand experiment in red is now trading more on memory than momentum.

There was nothing ceremonial in the way the Pumas approached the game. From the first carry, they played like men who’d read every press release, every preview, every interview, all of which focused on the games against Australia, a nation ranked lower than them in the world rankings. Argentina didn't arrive in Dublin for atmosphere or anecdotes. They were there to win.

And they played like it. Where the Lions looked tentative, Argentina looked tuned. Where the Lions shuffled through phases like a side still learning the steps, Argentina moved with rhythm – fast, physical and utterly unapologetic. The chip on their shoulder was visible from the back row of the top tier of the Aviva, and it worked like rocket fuel.

You couldn’t blame them. They are a Tier One side in everything but invitation. They’ve beaten all Tier One nations, played in World Cup semi-finals and put 67 points up on the Lions’ primary target this summer in a record-breaking Test defeat for the Wallabies last year. And yet, when the Lions draw up their plans, Argentina are never offered a series.

The truth, of course, lies not in rankings but in revenue. A three-Test series in Buenos Aires would never do the numbers. And so, Argentina were cast as sparring partners – spirited, respectable and ultimately beatable.

Only they weren’t.

In treating this as a step on the road to Australia, the Lions missed the pothole in front of them. The Pumas, in return, reminded them – and perhaps the sport itself – that pedigree, when ignored, tends to bite back.

The Lions will go to Australia carrying with them a hefty weight – the stories, the tradition, the grainy documentaries and sepia-tinted photos where men in red walked into the lion’s den and came out with something to show for it. But they will also go carrying something newer, and far heavier: doubt.

Because this time, they won’t just be fighting for a Test series. They’ll be fighting for relevance. For generations, the spell of the Lions allowed them to find a way, through instinct or pride or alchemy, to be better than the sum of their parts. That’s where the mysticism came from.

But mysticism has a shelf life in professional sport. And in a world where Ireland can win a series in New Zealand, where England can reach World Cup finals, where Scotland and Wales can turn over giants, the Lions no longer get to live on sentiment alone. They must be better. Otherwise, the whole thing begins to feel less like a privilege and more like a pageant – all sequins and no soul.

There’s still time, of course. And maybe Australia will be where it all snaps back into place, with the Lions reminding us why this strange thing still matters. And the stories your uncle tells when the power goes out – stirring tales with names you’ve half-forgotten and glories that never seem to get smaller in the retelling – will live on.

But what Saturday showed, in flickers and full view, is that the next time the Lions fall short, the questions won’t stop at selection. They’ll run deeper.

Because if the Lions don’t play like something extraordinary, what’s left?

Just a jersey. And just an idea. And even ideas, in the end, must earn their keep.