Mar 07 Sale v Worcester

Shoulder to Shoulder


I didn’t make a bolt for the exits straight after the game on Friday; I just sat in my seat quietly reflecting upon what I’d just witnessed, too numb to move and too shocked to speak. It wasn’t just the result that made me morose, though goodness only knows anyone claiming to sell rugby that sets the heart racing could probably be done under the Trade Descriptions Act: no, it was the atmosphere, or more to the point the lack of it.

We took 20,000 fans to the Pilkington Cup final in 1997 and the same again last year to the Premiership final. Where have they all gone? Do we only attract fair-weather fans and glory hunters, or have I missed something, somewhere? Yes, I know the rugby isn’t pretty and we’re unlikely to win anything this year, but that to me is beside the point. If you’re a supporter who is happy to experience the highs in life, then you have to be prepared to take the lows too.

I looked round the stadium just before kick off and was surprised and shocked by just how empty the place looked. There was supposed to be over 8,000 there but I can’t help thinking that whoever did the count was a tad too enthusiastic with the calculator. The handfuls of Worcester fans scattered round the ground out-sang us from the off. I know they probably had more to sing about than us, but that’s not the point. They won and let’s be honest about it, they deserved to. They grafted and fought for every ball as if their lives depended on it. They performed as a team. They played for the shirt, the Club, and most importantly of all, each other.

That’s something we haven’t managed to do for some time now. Our forwards do their job, though our set piece isn’t functioning properly at the moment, and the backs, if given a chance, do theirs. The problem seems to be a lack of communication between the two units. They play like distant cousins who rarely meet and have little to say when they do. There seems to be no confidence or any sense of self-belief, and we look like a team that can’t come to terms with the fact that we’re now well and truly in the mire. No team is ever too good to be relegated.

This really is a dogfight now. One more loss and we’ll be bang in the centre of the relegation struggle. We may be only five points from safety, but those five points will be probably the hardest we’ve ever had to earn. Why has it all gone so horribly wrong? I’m just an ordinary Joe, so I don’t have the answers, but I don’t buy the excuse about injuries or International call-ups. It’s worn a bit thin of late. Something fundamental is wrong, something that’s eating away at the core of the squad and is de-stabilising the Club. Is it just the team who are at fault, or do we the supporters bear some of the responsibility ourselves?

I suppose it all revolves around the perennial question of which came first, the chicken or the egg? Fans will, and do, claim that it’s very difficult to rouse yourself and your vocal chords if your team underperforms, and consistently kicks away possession needlessly, in the hope that the opposition might make a mistake when they run the ball back. The fact is, they don’t and are never really likely to.

All that happens each time is that we scramble backwards, defend frantically and then concede penalties. I never used to think this was a tactic, I just thought it was down to poor technical execution. However, it’s now obvious that it is intentional: the fundamental problem is, it doesn’t work. The best way to stop the opposition scoring is to make sure they don’t have the ball. If we started from that premise then we might fare a little better.

Still, if you look at it from the team’s perspective, you can understand how disheartening it must be performing in front of an audience when you can hear a pin drop. You want passion and encouragement from your fans that will drive you on and rack up your performance by that extra notch. What you want is your sixteenth man onside. You want noisy support that might help in some way or other to influence the officials. No-one can tell me the crowd at Welford Road or Thomond Park doesn’t have an effect on the referee.

You certainly don’t ever want to be forced into the position again where your stand off has to turn to the crowd and beg them to lift the roof and shout and roar encouragement. How can we expect our team to show the passion and desire we demand, if we don’t return it in equal measure? We might not be able to directly influence what goes on on the pitch but we can, as ordinary supporters show the team we’re singing from the same hymn sheet. We can fight with them shoulder to shoulder.

Let’s face it; it’s down to us and us alone - the ordinary supporter, the ‘car park fraternity’, to carry the team through these difficult times. The corporate dollar, as widely predicted, has already started to migrate back up the A56 to Old Trafford. The bandwagon called success has started to leave town, and they and their wallets are jumping on board. I for one will shed no tears. Ordinary fans have supported this club through good and bad times and will still be there, hopefully, should the worst ever come to pass.

Being a supporter is all about passion, commitment and belief. It’s about cooping yourself up in a coach for thirteen hours even if your team are likely to be humiliated. It’s about sleeping on airport floors for 24 hours and driving from one coast of France to the other and back just to watch and be part of an eighty minute match. Occasionally you might be rewarded for your efforts when the team wins, but invariably you’ll end up disappointed. Yes we might moan and grumble about the performance and the result for much of the time, but the difference is, we keep coming back for more.

If the hoorays with the money switch allegiance, then so be it. I’ll keep the faith regardless. Who knows, there may even come a time when the ordinary fans manage to reclaim the facilities that once were rightly theirs. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not exactly advocating a re-enactment of the storming of the Bastille, more a civilised and less confrontational transfer of the balance of power. There’ll be no need for pitchforks or guillotines.