Dear Prudence
Ok – let’s be honest: you were expecting a battle on Friday, weren’t you? I know I was. It was going to be a very closely fought, tight game between 2 teams who expect quite rightly to be there or thereabouts at the end of the season. It was probably going to be too close to call and was more than likely that either a penalty or an inadequate refereeing performance would determine the final outcome.
Well, how wrong can you be? Sure we got a battle of sorts, though it was more one of attrition with the occasional skirmish thrown in, and yes too, we got the over-officious, zealous and infuriating officiating that seems to be par for the course these days. What was unexpected though was the manner of the victory. Sale were dominant and I’m not sure the score line adequately reflects this. Make no mistake, Gloucester are a decent side with great potential and some fantastic players, yet they weren’t given a sniff: Dean Ryan might choose to lay the blame on the shoulders of the hapless Ryan Lamb even though he was being asked to play a game that doesn’t come naturally to him, but there was far more to it than that. Sale bossed the match from the off in both attack and defence and made the team who recently beat Bath at the Rec look very ordinary indeed. Oh happy days.
From the kick off it was immediately obvious that Sale were going to take the game to Gloucester: no shrinking violets here, simply an in-your-face, no holds barred, front foot game plan. McAlister’s high floated kick off was taken by Bortalami fractionally before he was smashed by the combined force of Abraham and Ormsby. Lamb may have cleared downfield, but the ball came straight back at the Cherry and Whites: Charlie’s jinking run taking Sale back into the Gloucester half and forcing the infringement at the ruck as the visitors were pinged for going off their feet. Big Mac slotted over the kick from just inside the Gloucester half to give Sale an early lead.
Early on it looked like it could’ve turned into the contest that we all expected, as Gloucester looked to fight fire with fire: Lamb sent a neat little chip over the advancing Sale line forcing a 10 metre defensive line out and Vainikolo made one of his trademark bullocking runs before being brought to ground by Thomas. Game on, you would’ve thought. Unfortunately that didn’t take into account the man with the whistle, the IRB’s directive about policing the breakdown and 22 penalties.
The law about staying on your feet at a ruck has always been there, and in fairness hasn’t always been applied as strictly as it could’ve been. Munster amongst others have used it to their advantage over the years with Leamy, O’Connell, Hayes and O’Callaghan being past masters at flopping onto the ball at the breakdown, effectively sealing off the pill from the opposition to such an extent that even Richie McCaw would struggle to get his mitts in there. Something did need to be done and maybe some form of clarification and tinkering round the edges was to be welcomed. What no-one wanted was a zero tolerance policy that punishes every error at the breakdown and kills any momentum that an attacking team tries to generate. Even those players driven off their feet yet beyond the ball and therefore out of the frame are penalised. The ELVs were introduced to speed up the game and make it more exciting. The IRB ‘clarification’ about staying on your feet ironically, runs the risk of bringing the game to its knees.
Now I wouldn’t like to be a referee, especially now when every performance and decision you make is analysed to the nth degree by assessors, but surely there’s room for the application of a little common sense: interpretation should you’d think be the key to successful officiating. If the laws are deliberately broken to secure an unfair advantage, then penalise the offenders. If there’s no advantage gained, then leave it well alone. Spectators pay to watch rugby, not foot tennis. If I wanted to see a ball being lumped up and down an arena, I’d go to Roland-Garros. Thank goodness I wasn’t sat in the McAfee or Vernon stands with nothing to show but 35 minutes of dull fare and a stiff neck.
Where did all that come from? Suppressed anger seeping out there: better lie down in a darkened room for a while. I’ll get my coat and say no more, save come on chaps, sort it out before it kills the game, and while we’re on the subject, if this is the way it’s going to be, then make sure it applies in Super 14 too. Right, down off the soapbox now and back to business.
When it became obvious that Mr Small would blow at the slightest provocation, the game changed and stopped being a contest. No team is ever going to try to run the ball out of their own half, let alone their 22 when you’ve got a trigger-happy official: it doesn’t make sense because sod’s law says you’ll be penalised soon as not and concede 3 points. So you kick for territory and hope that your kicker’s better than theirs and that you either force a mistake from your opponents or get a slice of luck. That’s all well and good if only one of the teams does it, but when they’re both at it all you end up with is stalemate. Forget not wanting to be a ref, thank God I’m not a coach (fortunately that’s never likely to happen, so you can all breathe that collective sigh of relief!). How frustrating must it be to have a full week’s planning and preparation undermined by inconsistent officiating, or worse consistently bad refereeing?
In Charlie Hodgson, Sale have one of the best tactical kickers in the game and his astute vision and controlling of what was effectively a chess game gave the Sharks the edge in a dull and rather dreary first half. Ryan Lamb is no kicker – he’s got great hands and a quick rugby brain, but his kicking out of hand leaves a little to be desired. Dean Ryan might criticise this aspect of his game, but you know what you’re likely to get before a ball’s kicked. It’s a bit rich and, you could argue, distasteful having a pop at a player in public when you yourself set out the stall.
A further McAlister penalty was answered in kind by Olly Barkley who slotted over 2 of his own. Any attacking promise came solely from Sale. Lamont looked comfortable at full back and was imperious under the high balls that rained down on him. Chabal looked revitalised and began to show the sort of form last seen against Stade Francais: one storming run down the flank saw him make over 30 metres, leaving Big Les clutching at thin air as he tried to get him into touch. David Doherty too showed great promise and but for the timing of Lamont’s pass could’ve been over for the first try with 20 minutes on the clock and been over for a second had the Volcano not smashed him into touch.
The line out was reliable, the scrum effective and the broken field play adventurous but you got the sense that Sale were almost trying too hard, forcing passes that weren’t really on in order to break the deadlock. But it was good to see the team have a go at throwing the ball around. The conditions were perfect and the ball rotation very good, but the final pass just wasn’t on the money. Gloucester disappointingly produced very little and rarely ventured out of their own half. Defensively Sale were as solid as a rock as we’ve come to expect recently and you could almost have been forgiven for forgetting that Simpson Daniel was playing. I can’t actually remember him touching the ball, cutting a very lonely and frustrated presence on the wing.
So even Stevens at the break, 6 apiece. Philippe Saint Andre looked frustrated at the break and rightly so: territorially Sale were superior and they’d had the bulk of attacking play, yet for all the endeavour had little to show. The only advantage the Sharks had was the number of penalties conceded – 7 as opposed to Gloucester’s 5: on that basis, it seems the more you try to play with attacking intent, the more you’re penalised. When was that rule introduced?
With only a minute or two played of the second half, Sale’s game plan became obvious. Take the ball to Gloucester, use your physicality more and utilise the flanks to stretch the game. Little if anything came back from the opposition – they were too busy fending off Chabal who looked well and truly fired up. Thomas too, not content with battering Narraway from his position at first receiver on the defensive set piece, began to steamroller his way up field whenever the chance presented itself, abetted by Big Mac. The line out began to stutter a little and 3 successive set pieces were fluffed. Nonetheless, the scrum looked solid and the introduction of Faure simply bolstered this superiority. The supporters desperately wanted a score and as the minutes ticked by you could almost sense it coming. All that was needed was either a bit of a break or quick, accurate ball.
That it should come from Seabass was probably not the biggest surprise. Peel replaced Wiggy and with his first touch fed a fizzing ball out to Chabal after Faure had turned over Gloucester’s line out. Seabass peeled off the back of the set piece and charged for the line. The intent was there for all to see – he wanted it and nothing was going to stand in his way. Nothing did, and perhaps that’s rather fortunate as you suspect had anyone tried to stop him, he might well have left the field horizontally. Big Mac converted from the angle and finally Sale got the point’s margin that their enterprise had undoubtedly merited.
As if on cue, party pooper Small immediately redressed the balance by penalising the Sharks at the breakdown. Did Sale come in from the side? Who can say? If they did, it was marginal. The referee’s radar was finely tuned at the tackle area and he was able to spot infringements that few others noticed, with a little help from his friends running the lines. It’s a shame the same obsession wasn’t devoted to applying the new 5 metre offside line at the base of the scrum: according to my reading of the ELVs, it applies to Barkley and Tindall too, but you’d never have guessed it. Barkley dispatched the penalty and brought Gloucester to within one score.
The assistant was on hand to try to redress the balance even further when he attracted the referee’s attention to Rory’s tackle on Tindall. It was, I’d have to say, a fair call as Tindall was still airborne when Lamont tackled him and he did come down with a thump. The only aspect I might question was whether there was intent there. Rory never took his eyes off the ball and certainly didn’t appear to target the man, but the assistant, from a distance I might add, called it and he got his marching orders. Even when down to 14 men though, Sale rarely looked troubled. The defence this season has been awesome: there’s grit and determination there and you get the feeling it’s going to take something special to get through it: that’s a big ask at any ground, especially at fortress Edgeley. (apologies for that phrase as I hate it, but sometimes you just have to do it)
McAlister couldn’t increase the lead with his 2 penalties though it’s fair to say they were long range and from awkward angles. It probably didn’t help that Bortalami decided to demonstrate his speciality Pilates stretching slap bang in front of Big Mac. Alright, he got a telling off from the ref, but it didn’t stop him doing it. The kicking duties were passed on to Lee Thomas. He obviously couldn’t care less if the big number 4 stood there, converting a monster kick from inside his own half after Gloucester had been penalised for offside at the breakdown. Bomber’s got one hell of a boot on him. Barkley wasn’t able to respond in similar fashion when Sale were penalised at the scrum for not driving in straight.
From the restart Sale recycled the ball and Peel fed Chabal on the crash ball. He managed to make 10 yards before feeding the ball out to Big Mac. The All Black showed what a turn of pace he has by ghosting past Barkley, who’s no slouch, then cutting back in on his inside shoulder through the gap between Barkley and Lawson and darting into the Gloucester 22. He drew Narraway’s covering tackle and zipped the ball out to Doherty on the flank. The winger had the easiest of chances and dabbed the ball over the line. ‘Forward’ cried the Gloucester fans. Was it – probably, but who cares: you have to ride your luck sometimes and when you get the breaks you’ve got to accept them. Besides, it was such a classy move, it deserved it: a top notch break from a top notch player. Bomber converted from the acutest of angles, taking Sale 2 scores clear.
Bar for a final flurry from Gloucester where Sale were for once on the back foot after a 5 metre defensive line out, the Cherry and Whites offered very little. For those who wanted a true contest I suppose it was disappointing. Frankly, I’ll take the win and the points but I too was surprised by how little threat Gloucester produced. Balshaw looked very flaky at full back and even Narraway produced little of note in spite of his growing reputation. Poor old Lamb took most of the flak, and however justified some of the criticism may have been, I actually felt quite sorry for him. Dean Ryan wasn’t best pleased, but you kind’ve sense that very little does actually please him anyway. Besides, with such solid defence, even if they’d played more to their potential, I doubt whether they would’ve left Edgeley Park with anything.
Next up, the nemesis – London Irish. Last time we went down to the Madjeski Stadium we seriously underperformed. I wrote some things I possibly shouldn’t – no, scratch that, I wrote some things I genuinely believed in. This time it will be different. This is an entirely different team, a team with purpose and intent and a team that will fight to the bitter end. It’s a tough ask – there I said it again – but I’m hopeful that this time we’re up to the task. Our defensive mettle will surely be tested as the NotNots are a team that like to attack. Judging by our displays so far, we should be up to the task. We’ve also shown that given the opportunity we can score too. On such a wide open park there should be more than enough room and opportunity to carve out a few openings and make teams really start to fear us. If it turns out to be a kicking contest with few points, then I’ll take that. Without wishing to sound too like Gordon Brown, if we have to play pragmatically and conservatively to achieve our goals, then so be it. I’ll take the prudence road. Having said that though, I’d prefer to run them off the park and cast aside last season’s demons. We owe them one – well actually two, if you’re going to be pedantic!
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Sep 08 Bristol v Sale
A Rose by many other name…..
It’s often said that in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Well, apologies to anyone who suffers from a visual impairment like myself, but I have no qualms in saying that when it comes to matters relating to Sale Sharks, I’m as one-eyed as you can possibly get. Every decision that goes against my team rankles, every bad call I take as a personal affront. Yet, even though we came away from the Memorial Ground with 4 points and a new defensive Premiership record, I felt anything but regal. The journey back from any away match is never something to look forward to. Sure, when you win it can seem like your return leg up the motorway is swifter, buoyed by the satisfaction of a job well done. When you lose, well the trip home can take an eternity. Suffice it to say, the trip back from Bristol took a long time and that really sums up the feelings of those who trudged back up the M5 – yes, we were victorious, but sometimes, as I’ve said before, you can’t help but want more.
On paper you’d be forgiven for thinking this was a bit of a mismatch. Fifteen men dressed in blue with a legion of international forwards, a backline to die for and a lofty league position against a team of yeomen languishing at the bottom of the pile with a never-say-die attitude who work for each other as if their very lives depended on it. We all knew what the result would be, didn’t we? We’d all called it - Sale would cruise into overdrive and outmuscle and outclass a belligerent yet valiant Bristol side. The depth and breadth of the respective squads should’ve made the outcome inevitable – and yet it appeared that the game plan was simply ‘go out, and make sure you don’t lose.’ With a squad packed to the brim with talent and potential, wouldn’t it be refreshing if you sensed that there was sufficient confidence within the team for the coaches to just say – ‘right boys, you know you can do this: go out and win, just be positive and play to your strengths.’
Bristol, under Richard Hill, are a team who don’t like taking prisoners. Even without the injured Sidoli and with Roy Winters only making the bench, you knew as the game kicked off that Ward Smith, Budgett and Alfie To’oala would ensure that this was going to be a battle. Even with Ed Barnes playing out of position at 12, rather than his normal customary role at stand off, Bristol looked confident despite getting off to a poor Premiership start.
Bristol were immediately on the back foot from the kick off, knocking on one of McAlister’s trademark hanging kicks. From a Sale perspective, it’s refreshing to see that they no longer opt for the flat 20 yard punt, but are prepared to give the ball some air and chase after it. Granted, there’s a way to go before they’re challenging and winning clean ball from these restarts like they were doing in the Premiership winning season, but it’s good to see the intent there.
Sale were penalised by referee Rose, more of whom later, for not packing down straight. Jarvis cleared to touch from the ensuing penalty taking play to just outside the Sale 22. Sambucetti took the uncontested line out and Beveridge fed the ball out to Barnes who cut back inside towards the Sale flank. He didn’t make too much progress as he was given the traditional Welsh hello, as Lee Thomas smashed him to ground forcing the penalty as he held on. If what happened next is a sign of things to come, then there are reasons to be cheerful in the coming weeks. Peel opted for the quick tap as the Bristol defence retreated expecting a Hogdson punt down the park. He made a full 40 yards taking the ball deep into the Bristol 10 metre area, supported by Tait and Lamont. Spud took the popped pass from Peel and sprinted towards the corner. Although Arscott flew across to cover, it looked a nailed-on score – all Tait had to do was step back inside as the Bristol full back’s momentum meant he couldn’t readjust his centre of gravity. Spud chose instead to pass the ball out to Rory. Arscott made to intercept and knocked the ball and Lamont into touch, snuffing out what had been a very promising move.
From a distance it almost looked like a deliberate knock on from the Bristol full back. Mr Rose didn’t see it that way however and gave the line out to the home side. Sale fans weren’t best pleased, but in truth it was one of the few decisions that went against them all night. Every pantomime needs a villain it seems. Two seasons ago it was Jason Robinson for his deliberate pull back on David Lemi. This year it was David Rose. Howls of derision greeted most of his decisions. Who said a rose always smells sweet? Had I been a neutral, let alone a Bristolian I would’ve shared some of that displeasure. Sale definitely for once got the rub of the green with the officials. Granted, it makes a change, and whether this had any ultimate bearing on the course of the match is debatable, but I don’t expect Rosey’s in line for many free ciders for a while down there.
Although the momentum was undoubtedly with the visitors in the first quarter, they weren’t able to generate many attacking threats. The intent was definitely there. Sale took the opportunity to run the ball whenever the chance arose and in the light of the last couple of matches with the policy of kicking away possession, that in itself was refreshing. Having said that, the Sharks were still guilty of punting the ball away at times, though they did at least manage to retain the ball better than they have been doing, stringing together multiple phases of play without creating that killer opening. What was needed was a bit of luck, something that might tip the balance in their favour. Fortunately it arrived courtesy of the officials.
Another offence at the set piece was called by Rosey – he saw the collapse of the scrum as being solely down to tight head Jason Hobson. From our view in the stands it seemed more than a little harsh as Big Ted had slipped his binding. Bristol fans were suitable aggrieved as they probably saw the same thing we did. Barnes was obviously annoyed at the call and refused to release the ball to Peel, finally kicking away the ball in frustration. Anyone who’s seen David Rose officiate knows that he’s not shy when it comes to dealing the cards.Barnes got 10 minutes for his petulance. Was it an unfair call? Probably, but like Laurie Lee, I’m siding with Rosey. By the way David, did I mention the cheque’s in the post? On joking – I’m strictly a cash in brown envelope sort of guy: you know the drill, knock 3 times and ask for Louis.
Every Bristol cloud has a silver lining if you’re a Sale fan. You sensed the one man advantage was exactly what the Sharks needed at that time. McAlister converted fro around 40 metres with a sweet kick and you sensed they would kick on from there and grab the game by the scruff of the neck. Bristol though play with heart and passion: so much so that you would barely have noticed the absence of their player. Ward Smith and To’oala upped their game and actually started to take play to Sale. Granted the cutting edge wasn’t there, but they began to move the ball around and refused to let Sale pin them in their own 22. This increase in tempo seemed to unnerve the visitors and more and more errors began to creep into the Sale game, whether that be knock ons, or spilling the ball in contact. The Sharks began to look jittery and started to revert to type, hoofing the ball up field.
Peel’s passes, which had until then fizzed from the base of the scrum, started to go a little wayward, either falling behind advancing attacking backs on the flanks or one horrible occasion looping high over Charlie’s head forcing the stand off to scurry back into his own 22 and kick out on the full. Damn those Elvs. The line out, unlike the scrum had until that point functioned effectively without producing quick, clean open field ball, began to stutter as well: the percentage ball to Jonah at 2 or 3 was jettisoned in favour of the longer throw to Chabal or Ormsby at the tail. Bristol were wise to this and dealt with it efficiently.
Although the penalty count was definitely in the visitors favour, the exerted Bristol pressure started to tell, forcing the Sharks into unforced errors. Rosey may have missed the high tackle on the dangerous Lemi, much to the further annoyance of the home fans, but he didn’t miss Bruno straying offside effectively killing the move just outside his own 10 metre line after Neil Brew, Ward Smith and To’oala had stormed up the field dragging a couple of desperate defenders with them. Should that have been a card too? Well, probably if you’re going to be consistent. The lively Graeme Beveridge took a quick tap and darted over by the posts only for Rosey to call it back for taking it from the wrong spot. Marginal wasn’t really in it – it was a harsh call and just fanned the flames of discontent in the Bristol support. Even a Jarvis penalty levelling the scores could do little to quell this sense of injustice.
Bristol returned for the second half, replacing Jarvis with Barden, moving Barnes to fly half. Whatever Richard Hill said to his team at the break seemed to do the trick for they had the majority of play in the third quarter. For all the possession though, Bristol didn’t have the cutting edge. Beveridge and the Arscott brothers saw plenty of the ball but were powerless when it came to breaching the resolute and powerful Sale defence. Wave after wave of Bristol attacks were repelled with clinical efficiency. Defence though, whilst in might save a game, won’t necessarily win it for you. Against a team like Gloucester, let alone Clermont and Munster, Sale will definitely need a little more grunt and go forward. You can’t always rely on penalties and friendly officialdom for points, though McAlister was able to keep the score ticking along with 2 further beautifully struck long range penalties.
In spite of these the momentum remained with the West Country boys. They may have struggled in their two previous Premiership matches but, if they continue to play with the same sort of passion and aggression, you sense they’ll turn one or two teams over before too long. But for desperate Sale defence they could well have crossed the whitewash on a couple of occasions. Little came back from the Sharks save for a chip and chase from Chabal which was stymied by Hobson and a neat little cross field kick from Charlie to Cueto in acres of space on the flanks. Sadly there was just too much pace on the chip and the ball and Cueto went into touch.
Bristol were throwing everything but the kitchen sink at the Sharks and the casualties started to mount. Abraham was the first to depart with a nasty gash above they eye. He was replaced by Briggsy at openside. Jason White made a timely return replacing Schoey with Ormsby moving to the donkey row and Jonah was replaced by Coxy after taking a knock to the knee. This disruption took its toll. Sale barely had time to re-organise their defence when they were pinged by Rosey for going off their feet. Barden converted and suddenly from a Bristol point of view the game seemed to be back on.
In the final quarter the game began to become increasingly ragged, not just because of fatigue but also excessive use of the whistle by the officials. Bristol continued to try and run the ball, whereas Sale reverted to the up your jumper tactic without really making any headway. The home side had the opportunity to level the scores with 4 minutes remaining after Sale were once again punished for an infringement at the ruck. Had Barnes been able to take the chance, the parity in the score line would’ve undoubtedly been deserved. On the balance of play Bristol deserved at least a draw, but unfortunately for them it just wasn’t their night.
In the dying moments Barden kicked out on the full from just outside his own 22. Briggsy’s throw to the back of the line was gathered by Seabass and the forwards rumbled into gear, picking and driving their way slowly towards the Bristol line. It looked as if power would eventually determine the ultimate outcome as Sale got closer and closer to the whitewash. Bristol were penalised by Rosey for wheeling the scrum and Sale got the penalty that their forward play had arguably deserved. With only seconds to go Sale retreated: McAlister looked to be taking up a position to kick the penalty and see out the game. There wasn’t anything to be gained from another 3 points, but as long as you’ve got hold of the ball, the other lot can’t score, can they?
Seabass had other ideas and opted for the quick tap and go. Judging from the lack of support he received, it’s probably more than an educated guess to say that his team mates weren’t necessarily expecting it. Obviously with no support he hung on to the ball for grim death, but was penalised as you’d expect. The last thing you’d ever want with a score line so close is to gift the ball to the opposition, but that’s what happened. Fortunately there was neither time nor you suspect an inclination on the Bristol part to race 60 metres up the park at that late stage – better to settle for a much improved performance and a losing bonus point.
So that’s another win, the second away from home and a 100 percent record. I think everyone would’ve settled for that. None the less, it is a little worrying that we’re struggling to score tries. Philippe Saint Andre said after the game that he was pleased with the 4 points, but disappointed with the performance. He also promised tries next week. Let’s hope that’s true - against a team like Gloucester, we’re going to need them. The talent is obviously there and possibly the structures too yet, there seems to be a lack of confidence and willingness to throw caution to the wind and go for it. When you look at our backline and the quality on offer, you’ve got to wonder why they seem so reluctant to back themselves. Other teams would sell the family silver to get what we’ve got. So then, what’s the problem? Answers on a postcard please….
It’s often said that in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Well, apologies to anyone who suffers from a visual impairment like myself, but I have no qualms in saying that when it comes to matters relating to Sale Sharks, I’m as one-eyed as you can possibly get. Every decision that goes against my team rankles, every bad call I take as a personal affront. Yet, even though we came away from the Memorial Ground with 4 points and a new defensive Premiership record, I felt anything but regal. The journey back from any away match is never something to look forward to. Sure, when you win it can seem like your return leg up the motorway is swifter, buoyed by the satisfaction of a job well done. When you lose, well the trip home can take an eternity. Suffice it to say, the trip back from Bristol took a long time and that really sums up the feelings of those who trudged back up the M5 – yes, we were victorious, but sometimes, as I’ve said before, you can’t help but want more.
On paper you’d be forgiven for thinking this was a bit of a mismatch. Fifteen men dressed in blue with a legion of international forwards, a backline to die for and a lofty league position against a team of yeomen languishing at the bottom of the pile with a never-say-die attitude who work for each other as if their very lives depended on it. We all knew what the result would be, didn’t we? We’d all called it - Sale would cruise into overdrive and outmuscle and outclass a belligerent yet valiant Bristol side. The depth and breadth of the respective squads should’ve made the outcome inevitable – and yet it appeared that the game plan was simply ‘go out, and make sure you don’t lose.’ With a squad packed to the brim with talent and potential, wouldn’t it be refreshing if you sensed that there was sufficient confidence within the team for the coaches to just say – ‘right boys, you know you can do this: go out and win, just be positive and play to your strengths.’
Bristol, under Richard Hill, are a team who don’t like taking prisoners. Even without the injured Sidoli and with Roy Winters only making the bench, you knew as the game kicked off that Ward Smith, Budgett and Alfie To’oala would ensure that this was going to be a battle. Even with Ed Barnes playing out of position at 12, rather than his normal customary role at stand off, Bristol looked confident despite getting off to a poor Premiership start.
Bristol were immediately on the back foot from the kick off, knocking on one of McAlister’s trademark hanging kicks. From a Sale perspective, it’s refreshing to see that they no longer opt for the flat 20 yard punt, but are prepared to give the ball some air and chase after it. Granted, there’s a way to go before they’re challenging and winning clean ball from these restarts like they were doing in the Premiership winning season, but it’s good to see the intent there.
Sale were penalised by referee Rose, more of whom later, for not packing down straight. Jarvis cleared to touch from the ensuing penalty taking play to just outside the Sale 22. Sambucetti took the uncontested line out and Beveridge fed the ball out to Barnes who cut back inside towards the Sale flank. He didn’t make too much progress as he was given the traditional Welsh hello, as Lee Thomas smashed him to ground forcing the penalty as he held on. If what happened next is a sign of things to come, then there are reasons to be cheerful in the coming weeks. Peel opted for the quick tap as the Bristol defence retreated expecting a Hogdson punt down the park. He made a full 40 yards taking the ball deep into the Bristol 10 metre area, supported by Tait and Lamont. Spud took the popped pass from Peel and sprinted towards the corner. Although Arscott flew across to cover, it looked a nailed-on score – all Tait had to do was step back inside as the Bristol full back’s momentum meant he couldn’t readjust his centre of gravity. Spud chose instead to pass the ball out to Rory. Arscott made to intercept and knocked the ball and Lamont into touch, snuffing out what had been a very promising move.
From a distance it almost looked like a deliberate knock on from the Bristol full back. Mr Rose didn’t see it that way however and gave the line out to the home side. Sale fans weren’t best pleased, but in truth it was one of the few decisions that went against them all night. Every pantomime needs a villain it seems. Two seasons ago it was Jason Robinson for his deliberate pull back on David Lemi. This year it was David Rose. Howls of derision greeted most of his decisions. Who said a rose always smells sweet? Had I been a neutral, let alone a Bristolian I would’ve shared some of that displeasure. Sale definitely for once got the rub of the green with the officials. Granted, it makes a change, and whether this had any ultimate bearing on the course of the match is debatable, but I don’t expect Rosey’s in line for many free ciders for a while down there.
Although the momentum was undoubtedly with the visitors in the first quarter, they weren’t able to generate many attacking threats. The intent was definitely there. Sale took the opportunity to run the ball whenever the chance arose and in the light of the last couple of matches with the policy of kicking away possession, that in itself was refreshing. Having said that, the Sharks were still guilty of punting the ball away at times, though they did at least manage to retain the ball better than they have been doing, stringing together multiple phases of play without creating that killer opening. What was needed was a bit of luck, something that might tip the balance in their favour. Fortunately it arrived courtesy of the officials.
Another offence at the set piece was called by Rosey – he saw the collapse of the scrum as being solely down to tight head Jason Hobson. From our view in the stands it seemed more than a little harsh as Big Ted had slipped his binding. Bristol fans were suitable aggrieved as they probably saw the same thing we did. Barnes was obviously annoyed at the call and refused to release the ball to Peel, finally kicking away the ball in frustration. Anyone who’s seen David Rose officiate knows that he’s not shy when it comes to dealing the cards.Barnes got 10 minutes for his petulance. Was it an unfair call? Probably, but like Laurie Lee, I’m siding with Rosey. By the way David, did I mention the cheque’s in the post? On joking – I’m strictly a cash in brown envelope sort of guy: you know the drill, knock 3 times and ask for Louis.
Every Bristol cloud has a silver lining if you’re a Sale fan. You sensed the one man advantage was exactly what the Sharks needed at that time. McAlister converted fro around 40 metres with a sweet kick and you sensed they would kick on from there and grab the game by the scruff of the neck. Bristol though play with heart and passion: so much so that you would barely have noticed the absence of their player. Ward Smith and To’oala upped their game and actually started to take play to Sale. Granted the cutting edge wasn’t there, but they began to move the ball around and refused to let Sale pin them in their own 22. This increase in tempo seemed to unnerve the visitors and more and more errors began to creep into the Sale game, whether that be knock ons, or spilling the ball in contact. The Sharks began to look jittery and started to revert to type, hoofing the ball up field.
Peel’s passes, which had until then fizzed from the base of the scrum, started to go a little wayward, either falling behind advancing attacking backs on the flanks or one horrible occasion looping high over Charlie’s head forcing the stand off to scurry back into his own 22 and kick out on the full. Damn those Elvs. The line out, unlike the scrum had until that point functioned effectively without producing quick, clean open field ball, began to stutter as well: the percentage ball to Jonah at 2 or 3 was jettisoned in favour of the longer throw to Chabal or Ormsby at the tail. Bristol were wise to this and dealt with it efficiently.
Although the penalty count was definitely in the visitors favour, the exerted Bristol pressure started to tell, forcing the Sharks into unforced errors. Rosey may have missed the high tackle on the dangerous Lemi, much to the further annoyance of the home fans, but he didn’t miss Bruno straying offside effectively killing the move just outside his own 10 metre line after Neil Brew, Ward Smith and To’oala had stormed up the field dragging a couple of desperate defenders with them. Should that have been a card too? Well, probably if you’re going to be consistent. The lively Graeme Beveridge took a quick tap and darted over by the posts only for Rosey to call it back for taking it from the wrong spot. Marginal wasn’t really in it – it was a harsh call and just fanned the flames of discontent in the Bristol support. Even a Jarvis penalty levelling the scores could do little to quell this sense of injustice.
Bristol returned for the second half, replacing Jarvis with Barden, moving Barnes to fly half. Whatever Richard Hill said to his team at the break seemed to do the trick for they had the majority of play in the third quarter. For all the possession though, Bristol didn’t have the cutting edge. Beveridge and the Arscott brothers saw plenty of the ball but were powerless when it came to breaching the resolute and powerful Sale defence. Wave after wave of Bristol attacks were repelled with clinical efficiency. Defence though, whilst in might save a game, won’t necessarily win it for you. Against a team like Gloucester, let alone Clermont and Munster, Sale will definitely need a little more grunt and go forward. You can’t always rely on penalties and friendly officialdom for points, though McAlister was able to keep the score ticking along with 2 further beautifully struck long range penalties.
In spite of these the momentum remained with the West Country boys. They may have struggled in their two previous Premiership matches but, if they continue to play with the same sort of passion and aggression, you sense they’ll turn one or two teams over before too long. But for desperate Sale defence they could well have crossed the whitewash on a couple of occasions. Little came back from the Sharks save for a chip and chase from Chabal which was stymied by Hobson and a neat little cross field kick from Charlie to Cueto in acres of space on the flanks. Sadly there was just too much pace on the chip and the ball and Cueto went into touch.
Bristol were throwing everything but the kitchen sink at the Sharks and the casualties started to mount. Abraham was the first to depart with a nasty gash above they eye. He was replaced by Briggsy at openside. Jason White made a timely return replacing Schoey with Ormsby moving to the donkey row and Jonah was replaced by Coxy after taking a knock to the knee. This disruption took its toll. Sale barely had time to re-organise their defence when they were pinged by Rosey for going off their feet. Barden converted and suddenly from a Bristol point of view the game seemed to be back on.
In the final quarter the game began to become increasingly ragged, not just because of fatigue but also excessive use of the whistle by the officials. Bristol continued to try and run the ball, whereas Sale reverted to the up your jumper tactic without really making any headway. The home side had the opportunity to level the scores with 4 minutes remaining after Sale were once again punished for an infringement at the ruck. Had Barnes been able to take the chance, the parity in the score line would’ve undoubtedly been deserved. On the balance of play Bristol deserved at least a draw, but unfortunately for them it just wasn’t their night.
In the dying moments Barden kicked out on the full from just outside his own 22. Briggsy’s throw to the back of the line was gathered by Seabass and the forwards rumbled into gear, picking and driving their way slowly towards the Bristol line. It looked as if power would eventually determine the ultimate outcome as Sale got closer and closer to the whitewash. Bristol were penalised by Rosey for wheeling the scrum and Sale got the penalty that their forward play had arguably deserved. With only seconds to go Sale retreated: McAlister looked to be taking up a position to kick the penalty and see out the game. There wasn’t anything to be gained from another 3 points, but as long as you’ve got hold of the ball, the other lot can’t score, can they?
Seabass had other ideas and opted for the quick tap and go. Judging from the lack of support he received, it’s probably more than an educated guess to say that his team mates weren’t necessarily expecting it. Obviously with no support he hung on to the ball for grim death, but was penalised as you’d expect. The last thing you’d ever want with a score line so close is to gift the ball to the opposition, but that’s what happened. Fortunately there was neither time nor you suspect an inclination on the Bristol part to race 60 metres up the park at that late stage – better to settle for a much improved performance and a losing bonus point.
So that’s another win, the second away from home and a 100 percent record. I think everyone would’ve settled for that. None the less, it is a little worrying that we’re struggling to score tries. Philippe Saint Andre said after the game that he was pleased with the 4 points, but disappointed with the performance. He also promised tries next week. Let’s hope that’s true - against a team like Gloucester, we’re going to need them. The talent is obviously there and possibly the structures too yet, there seems to be a lack of confidence and willingness to throw caution to the wind and go for it. When you look at our backline and the quality on offer, you’ve got to wonder why they seem so reluctant to back themselves. Other teams would sell the family silver to get what we’ve got. So then, what’s the problem? Answers on a postcard please….
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Sep 08 Sale v Saracens
A Switch in Nines saves ……
I’m not a great fan of reading newspaper reports about sporting occasions: you’re either left feeling disenchanted and disappointed by the lack of detail, or struck by the fact that the journalist appeared to be watching a different match to you. I prefer to draw my own conclusions about the game I’ve witnessed, even though others will inevitable disagree with the interpretations you apply or the conclusions you reach. In that respect, sport is very much like politics - everyone has an opinion regardless of whether you’ve played the game at the highest level or served as a member of Parliament.
Nevertheless, I can guess the headlines that made it to press on Saturday, following Sale’s narrow victory over Saracens: they’d be as predictable as the rain that falls on Edgeley Park. “Late Hodgson Drop Goal Rescues Sorry Sale” or “Charlie’s Kicking Rescues Stale Sharks.” They would, of course, be accurate and technically correct – that drop goal in the eleventh minute of stoppage time did hand an unlikely, some may even say, undeserved victory to Sale, but that doesn’t really tell the whole story. From what I could see, the result was determined by two half back substitutions, one enforced and the other tactical: had neither of these changes happened, it’s arguable that the result may well have been very different.
If the intention had been to hit the ground running and ‘atone’ for the sins of the London Irish match at the end of last season, then I’m afraid the plan didn’t work. Right from the kick off, Saracens had Sale on the back foot. In fact, they kept Sale penned pretty much in their own half for the first 24 minutes. De Kock and Jackson caused untold damage with their quick thinking and slick passing.
Sarries hit every ruck ferociously and committed numbers to retrieving or stealing the ball at every breakdown. Even Chris Jack playing as a back row forward was putting himself about, scavenging on the ground like a dog that gets a whiff of truffles, or offering himself up as the spare man in one of the many overlaps Saracens managed to conjure out of invention and endeavour. I know many Fezheads aren’t convince that this is his best position and would much prefer Vyvyan at blindside, but Steady Eddie Jones knows a thing or two about rugby: he didn’t get to those dizzying heights of international acclaim without showing more than a little nous and tactical acumen.
Sale’s only answer to this wave of consistent attacking rugby was to kick away possession. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one feeling that hopeless sense of déjà vu. We did too much of this last season and it didn’t work then either. Sure, by hoofing the ball up the park you at least relieve the pressure, but it’s actually quite a negative tactic and the relief it brings is only temporary. Inevitably if you don’t chase after it, it’s going to come straight back at you, particularly when you’ve got as clever and inventive a half back pairing as De Kock and Jackson.
If you also gift the ball to someone as tricky and slippery as Richard Houghton who seemed to be able to evade the majority of tackles that came at him by swivelling and dodging, you’re asking for trouble. All you need to do is to look at the Opta statistics so far this season to get a grasp of this particular problem: Sale are pretty much top of the charts when it comes to kicking out of hand, but in the bargain basement when it comes to the total number of metres made. That pretty much says it all. Sometimes it might be better to take the hit and go to ground and recycle, or even take a ‘punt’ on our star-studded backline and let them have a run out.
You could, I suppose, blame the ELVs for this, by not allowing a defending team to kick for touch if the ball is passed back into the 22. I see that as a bit of a cop-out myself: you might as well blame the goblins too. The rules have changed, like it or lump it, and you have to play the game within the new boundaries, and look for different ways to interpret these laws and exploit them to your advantage. Saracens certainly did.
What you’d have to say about the first 25 minutes is that defensively Sale are a force to be reckoned with. In spite of the consistent pressure from the lively Sarries’ backline and the combined bludgeoning force of Johnson and Borthwick, Sale refused to buckle. There’s almost seems to be a sense of defiance about the Sharks this season - a challenge as if to say, go on try it, you’re not going to get through us. Bodies were put on the line with little thought given to safety. Inevitably though, last ditch defending invariably results in giving away the occasional penalty. It kind of comes with the territory I suppose.
Sarries took the lead after the referee blew for not rolling away from the tackle. Jackson despatched the penalty efficiently and Saracens took a deserved lead after 9 minutes. This was followed by 2 further penalties – one for coming in from the side and the other for handling on the ground. After 24 minutes Saracens had a 9 nil lead and Sale had hardly ventured outside their own half. There’s little point in having a pop at the referee or the other officials: you can’t possibly be all things to all people and, let’s face it, they’re not there to try and win popularity awards.
All you can ever hope for from the officials, unless you’re in possession of certain embarrassing photos or are on nodding terms with the Cosa Nostra, is consistency and a clear interpretation of the rules – nothing more, nothing less. Fair play to Mr Debney, he was consistent, well actually I suppose you’d actually say he was consistently inconsistent, if that’s humanly possible – a rare achievement that united both sets of supporters in their condemnation, and that in itself is no mean feat. Not many officials manage to alienate everyone: you can generally find someone who’s happy somewhere, but I suspect you’d have to search long and hard on that score. Maybe his assistants should’ve been more of a help. Actually no, scrub that, that’s only going to make things messier – as you were Sir.
Defensively as mentioned earlier, Sale were immense. Offensively Sale were not that clever. The scrum struggled during the early stages and couldn’t cope with the power and aggression of the Saracens front row. Big Ted may not have had to face his nemesis in Cobus Visagie, or should that be visage, but Census Johnson proved to be equally problematic. Sale conceded two defensive scrums against the head when Sarries got the shove on. Even when the scrum did its job, there was little forward momentum and a tendency to turn the ball over in contact. No wonder Wiggy struggled to get the ball into the scrum, as by the end of the half when viewed from up in the Cheadle End, the set piece looked more like two mating spiders crabbing their ways sideways.
The line out didn’t fare much better either. Sure enough, the percentage ball to the front of line worked efficiently enough as Chris Jones managed to take most of them cleanly: the long throw to the back of the set piece was less successful: on the 2 occasions that Bruno tried this, Borthwick managed to steal the ball. Unfortunately even when Sale retained the ball they couldn’t manage to generate any attacking threat off the back of this as Sarries backline pushed up quickly quashing any threat. The contrast in the set piece was startling. Every time Borthwick managed to secure his own line out, the ball was down and zipped out by De Kock to Jackson with lightening speed, putting Sale immediately under pressure.
Unfortunately for Saracens an injury to the outstanding De Kock forced them to shuffle their deck. He came off second best in a challenge with Lamont during a rare Sale foray into enemy territory. That enforced substitution as far as I could tell completely changed the nature of the game. Moses Rauluni is no mug yet he doesn’t seem to play with the same speed of thought and adventure as De Kock. Nobody ever likes to see a player get injured, but from a personal point of view I was glad to see the ex-Saffer international leave the pitch. Had he stayed on, then who knows, but with the way he was playing you’d have to suspect the worst.
As Saracens struggled to come to terms with the change in personnel and the change in tactics, Sale began to take some initiative. Both Tait and McAlister began to run the ball out of the 22, much to the relief of the home crowd. The backline that has many a rugby fan drooling started to tantalise, whilst not necessarily delivering what everyone wanted. Anyway, at least we were playing in their half and that was a start. Exerted pressure from the Sale midfield caught Jackson napping and he kicked to touch, forgetting the ball had been passed back into his own 22. From the resulting set piece on the Saracens 10 metre line, Owen was pinged for killing the ball. Charlie duly despatched the penalty, finally getting Sale on to the scoreboard after 32 minutes.
The pressure that Sale began to wield started to tell on the nervy looking Saracens defence. Bolstered by the momentum, Sale and especially McAlister began to open up a little. A beautifully double-miss pass from Big Mac took out both Sorrell and Powell, leaving Doc in acres of space on the wing. Unfortunately he didn’t quite have the legs to finish the move and he was snagged by Rodd Penney’s despairing lunge.
Both Lamont and Tait began to gradually exert more of an influence on the game. In fact it was Rory who forced the knock on that gave Sale an attacking scrum on the Saracens’ 10 metre line. Charlie moved to full back, with McAlister covering the 10 channel and Tait switching to outside centre. The ball was moved quickly through the scrum and out to Tait. He was brought to ground and turned over the ball, but Jack was penalised for not releasing. Charlie converted and narrowed the deficit, but Saracens began to recover some of their earlier composure and once more started to take the game to the Sharks. Johnson powered his way up the centre into Sale’s 22 and Andy Saull took the ball on from there, sidestepping Cockbain. It looked to all intents and purposes that he’d scored beside the posts, but fortunately, from a Sale perspective at least, Mr Debney adjudged that the ball had been knocked on.
Hodgson did get one final chance to even the scores before the whistle blew for halftime. Owen was penalised by the referee for killing the ball, after an attack involving Charlie, Big Mac and Lamont. Unfortunately his kick drifted wide of the uprights, but at least they left the field with the scores looking slightly more respectable than they had 16 minutes earlier.
McAlister took over kicking duties and restarts in the second half. Little seemed to have changed tactically, save for extra height on the ball at restarts, allowing Seabass and Abraham more opportunity to get up the park and challenge for the ball, even if ultimately they didn’t win it. At the back of the scrum, which still struggled against the power and aggression of Saracens, Seabass began to act more conservatively, opting to secure the ball first and foremost, rather than using his body as a battering ram - a tactic Saracens were prepared for. It paid dividends almost immediately as Saracens were penalised twice in the first 6 minutes for killing the ball. McAlister converted both penalties, the second from virtually on the halfway line.
With the score in Sale’s favour, you kind of hoped that we’d take the game to them and try to seize the initiative. Saracens though are a team that shouldn’t be underrated. They are often criticised as being a team of underachievers, but you sense that this season under Steady Eddie, that may be about to change. They don’t wilt under pressure and I suspect will be there or thereabouts at the end of the season. They immediately hit back with a penalty of their own after Wiggy was pinged for feeding the scrum. How many times have we all seen this happen without any consequences? Lots, I hear you say and I have to agree, but old eagle-eyes Debney spotted it and called it. In fairness to Wiggy, how he was supposed to get the ball into the scrum when it was travelling quicker sideways than he could run backwards, I don’t know, but that was effectively his last involvement in the game. He was replaced by Peel after Jackson slotted over the penalty and evened the scores once again.
The introduction of Peel gave Sale the kind of edge that Saracens had had when De Kock was strutting his stuff in the first half. His speed of thought and quick, one-movement pass give Sale an advantage and an extra yard of time. His sense of anticipation is such that he’s on the spot before play has broken down and seems to know what he wants to do with the ball before he stoops to pick it up. When everyone is tuned in to his wavelength and knows his game inside out, Sale should have an extra string to add to its bow. The exerted pressure of high octane, non-stop attacking rugby will force many opposing teams into making mistakes in future, or you’d hope so at least.
The difference he made to the speed and direction of play was immediately obvious. Ball retention went up by a considerable margin and Sale at last were able to string together multiple phases of play and stretch Sarries in all different directions. Still, they couldn’t break the resolute opposition defence. The Fezheads are obviously just as adamant that their defence won’t be breached as the Sharks are. Sale were awarded another penalty 20 minutes into the half when Borthwick took out Chris Jones in the air at an attacking 15 metre line out. Big Mac converted and restored the 3 point margin, but Sarries were soon back on level terms after a bit of handbags between Faure and Visagie when Sale had already been penalised for killing the ball in their own 22. Jackson converted and it was even-stevens again.
As the game moved into its final moments, both teams struggled to find their cutting edges. Saracens were able to string together good periods of play where they managed to keep the ball through several phases, but they couldn’t quite find their teeth. Twice Jackson opted to go for the banker and nail a drop goal, rather than retain the ball and probe for the opening. Fortunately for Sale, both his attempts skewed horribly wide.
Sale too were adept at keeping hold of the ball. In the last 10 minutes each team tried to find that little gap, that chink in the armour that would give them the final advantage, and with it almost certain victory. But like 2 heavyweights, neither side was prepared to yield first. It seemed like the officials had sealed the fate of the match when the assistant referee – remember him, the one I said should become more involved – flagged for what he deemed to be an offence, Serves me right really: next time I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. After a relatively innocuous coming together between Big Mac and Penney, Sale were penalised for deliberate obstruction.
Yes there was a collision, but I think to call it deliberate is a bit rich. McAlister stood his ground that’s all. The ref didn’t call it and seemed happy to play on, but his assistant was adamant. Now Penney did go down rather spectacularly – so much so that one would’ve thought he’d been shot. A quick glance round the stadium revealed that there were no snipers with telescopic sites though. Penney was back on his feet and laughing and high-fiving his colleagues after a quick rub down with the magic sponge. No harm done then? Well actually there was - a kickable penalty in the dying minutes of a closely fought game. Jackson missed by some margin, so maybe justice was done after all. Maybe the little prayer I whispered did the trick, or maybe it was just a rotten kick. Who knows? Who cares? The scores were still even.
With a last throw of the dice, Sale replaced Coxy with new boy Kris Ormsby. The Kiwi immediately showed what his game is all about as he gathered the ball and stormed up the field. From that small cameo, you sort of get the impression that this is a guy who won’t take any prisoners. In the dying minutes of an eternally long stoppage time, Sale threw everything including the sink at Saracens. The volume in the stadium escalated, as the crowd roared on the team hoping to give them that final advantage. It was heart in mouth time, and though exciting to watch, I’m not sure my ticker could put up with too much of that every time.
With the final play of the match, Ormsby seized the ball and burst clear of the despairing Saracens defence. They tried to bring him down, but the guy just kept on going. Finally Sarries managed to stop his momentum, but before they could re-gather and organise their defensive shape, Peel dug the ball out and in no time the ball was out with Charlie under the posts and he dropped the winning kick. There was genuine elation, not just amongst the fans, but on the pitch too – you could be forgiven for thinking the team thought they’d won the cup or something. They were delirious – I needed a paper bag to overcome the hyperventilation.
So, 2 wins in 2 games. I defy anyone to say that’s not a good start to the season. Even those who aren’t always best pleased might have to accept that we’re doing quite well – even if they do so begrudgingly. Having said that though, there are obviously issues that need to be addressed. Why can’t we dominate a team? Why are we finding it so difficult to score tries? Why isn’t our backline scoring for fun and running riot? Well, those are questions that those in charge will have to answer and find solutions to. A win is a win and that’s fair enough, but sometimes you’d just like more. If we can play quite poorly at times and still win, then maybe, just maybe, we’ll play well one day and win with style. We’ve got the players for it: all we need is the performance that everyone knows we’re capable of delivering.
By the way, that’d better not happen at a match that I’m absent from.
I’m not a great fan of reading newspaper reports about sporting occasions: you’re either left feeling disenchanted and disappointed by the lack of detail, or struck by the fact that the journalist appeared to be watching a different match to you. I prefer to draw my own conclusions about the game I’ve witnessed, even though others will inevitable disagree with the interpretations you apply or the conclusions you reach. In that respect, sport is very much like politics - everyone has an opinion regardless of whether you’ve played the game at the highest level or served as a member of Parliament.
Nevertheless, I can guess the headlines that made it to press on Saturday, following Sale’s narrow victory over Saracens: they’d be as predictable as the rain that falls on Edgeley Park. “Late Hodgson Drop Goal Rescues Sorry Sale” or “Charlie’s Kicking Rescues Stale Sharks.” They would, of course, be accurate and technically correct – that drop goal in the eleventh minute of stoppage time did hand an unlikely, some may even say, undeserved victory to Sale, but that doesn’t really tell the whole story. From what I could see, the result was determined by two half back substitutions, one enforced and the other tactical: had neither of these changes happened, it’s arguable that the result may well have been very different.
If the intention had been to hit the ground running and ‘atone’ for the sins of the London Irish match at the end of last season, then I’m afraid the plan didn’t work. Right from the kick off, Saracens had Sale on the back foot. In fact, they kept Sale penned pretty much in their own half for the first 24 minutes. De Kock and Jackson caused untold damage with their quick thinking and slick passing.
Sarries hit every ruck ferociously and committed numbers to retrieving or stealing the ball at every breakdown. Even Chris Jack playing as a back row forward was putting himself about, scavenging on the ground like a dog that gets a whiff of truffles, or offering himself up as the spare man in one of the many overlaps Saracens managed to conjure out of invention and endeavour. I know many Fezheads aren’t convince that this is his best position and would much prefer Vyvyan at blindside, but Steady Eddie Jones knows a thing or two about rugby: he didn’t get to those dizzying heights of international acclaim without showing more than a little nous and tactical acumen.
Sale’s only answer to this wave of consistent attacking rugby was to kick away possession. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one feeling that hopeless sense of déjà vu. We did too much of this last season and it didn’t work then either. Sure, by hoofing the ball up the park you at least relieve the pressure, but it’s actually quite a negative tactic and the relief it brings is only temporary. Inevitably if you don’t chase after it, it’s going to come straight back at you, particularly when you’ve got as clever and inventive a half back pairing as De Kock and Jackson.
If you also gift the ball to someone as tricky and slippery as Richard Houghton who seemed to be able to evade the majority of tackles that came at him by swivelling and dodging, you’re asking for trouble. All you need to do is to look at the Opta statistics so far this season to get a grasp of this particular problem: Sale are pretty much top of the charts when it comes to kicking out of hand, but in the bargain basement when it comes to the total number of metres made. That pretty much says it all. Sometimes it might be better to take the hit and go to ground and recycle, or even take a ‘punt’ on our star-studded backline and let them have a run out.
You could, I suppose, blame the ELVs for this, by not allowing a defending team to kick for touch if the ball is passed back into the 22. I see that as a bit of a cop-out myself: you might as well blame the goblins too. The rules have changed, like it or lump it, and you have to play the game within the new boundaries, and look for different ways to interpret these laws and exploit them to your advantage. Saracens certainly did.
What you’d have to say about the first 25 minutes is that defensively Sale are a force to be reckoned with. In spite of the consistent pressure from the lively Sarries’ backline and the combined bludgeoning force of Johnson and Borthwick, Sale refused to buckle. There’s almost seems to be a sense of defiance about the Sharks this season - a challenge as if to say, go on try it, you’re not going to get through us. Bodies were put on the line with little thought given to safety. Inevitably though, last ditch defending invariably results in giving away the occasional penalty. It kind of comes with the territory I suppose.
Sarries took the lead after the referee blew for not rolling away from the tackle. Jackson despatched the penalty efficiently and Saracens took a deserved lead after 9 minutes. This was followed by 2 further penalties – one for coming in from the side and the other for handling on the ground. After 24 minutes Saracens had a 9 nil lead and Sale had hardly ventured outside their own half. There’s little point in having a pop at the referee or the other officials: you can’t possibly be all things to all people and, let’s face it, they’re not there to try and win popularity awards.
All you can ever hope for from the officials, unless you’re in possession of certain embarrassing photos or are on nodding terms with the Cosa Nostra, is consistency and a clear interpretation of the rules – nothing more, nothing less. Fair play to Mr Debney, he was consistent, well actually I suppose you’d actually say he was consistently inconsistent, if that’s humanly possible – a rare achievement that united both sets of supporters in their condemnation, and that in itself is no mean feat. Not many officials manage to alienate everyone: you can generally find someone who’s happy somewhere, but I suspect you’d have to search long and hard on that score. Maybe his assistants should’ve been more of a help. Actually no, scrub that, that’s only going to make things messier – as you were Sir.
Defensively as mentioned earlier, Sale were immense. Offensively Sale were not that clever. The scrum struggled during the early stages and couldn’t cope with the power and aggression of the Saracens front row. Big Ted may not have had to face his nemesis in Cobus Visagie, or should that be visage, but Census Johnson proved to be equally problematic. Sale conceded two defensive scrums against the head when Sarries got the shove on. Even when the scrum did its job, there was little forward momentum and a tendency to turn the ball over in contact. No wonder Wiggy struggled to get the ball into the scrum, as by the end of the half when viewed from up in the Cheadle End, the set piece looked more like two mating spiders crabbing their ways sideways.
The line out didn’t fare much better either. Sure enough, the percentage ball to the front of line worked efficiently enough as Chris Jones managed to take most of them cleanly: the long throw to the back of the set piece was less successful: on the 2 occasions that Bruno tried this, Borthwick managed to steal the ball. Unfortunately even when Sale retained the ball they couldn’t manage to generate any attacking threat off the back of this as Sarries backline pushed up quickly quashing any threat. The contrast in the set piece was startling. Every time Borthwick managed to secure his own line out, the ball was down and zipped out by De Kock to Jackson with lightening speed, putting Sale immediately under pressure.
Unfortunately for Saracens an injury to the outstanding De Kock forced them to shuffle their deck. He came off second best in a challenge with Lamont during a rare Sale foray into enemy territory. That enforced substitution as far as I could tell completely changed the nature of the game. Moses Rauluni is no mug yet he doesn’t seem to play with the same speed of thought and adventure as De Kock. Nobody ever likes to see a player get injured, but from a personal point of view I was glad to see the ex-Saffer international leave the pitch. Had he stayed on, then who knows, but with the way he was playing you’d have to suspect the worst.
As Saracens struggled to come to terms with the change in personnel and the change in tactics, Sale began to take some initiative. Both Tait and McAlister began to run the ball out of the 22, much to the relief of the home crowd. The backline that has many a rugby fan drooling started to tantalise, whilst not necessarily delivering what everyone wanted. Anyway, at least we were playing in their half and that was a start. Exerted pressure from the Sale midfield caught Jackson napping and he kicked to touch, forgetting the ball had been passed back into his own 22. From the resulting set piece on the Saracens 10 metre line, Owen was pinged for killing the ball. Charlie duly despatched the penalty, finally getting Sale on to the scoreboard after 32 minutes.
The pressure that Sale began to wield started to tell on the nervy looking Saracens defence. Bolstered by the momentum, Sale and especially McAlister began to open up a little. A beautifully double-miss pass from Big Mac took out both Sorrell and Powell, leaving Doc in acres of space on the wing. Unfortunately he didn’t quite have the legs to finish the move and he was snagged by Rodd Penney’s despairing lunge.
Both Lamont and Tait began to gradually exert more of an influence on the game. In fact it was Rory who forced the knock on that gave Sale an attacking scrum on the Saracens’ 10 metre line. Charlie moved to full back, with McAlister covering the 10 channel and Tait switching to outside centre. The ball was moved quickly through the scrum and out to Tait. He was brought to ground and turned over the ball, but Jack was penalised for not releasing. Charlie converted and narrowed the deficit, but Saracens began to recover some of their earlier composure and once more started to take the game to the Sharks. Johnson powered his way up the centre into Sale’s 22 and Andy Saull took the ball on from there, sidestepping Cockbain. It looked to all intents and purposes that he’d scored beside the posts, but fortunately, from a Sale perspective at least, Mr Debney adjudged that the ball had been knocked on.
Hodgson did get one final chance to even the scores before the whistle blew for halftime. Owen was penalised by the referee for killing the ball, after an attack involving Charlie, Big Mac and Lamont. Unfortunately his kick drifted wide of the uprights, but at least they left the field with the scores looking slightly more respectable than they had 16 minutes earlier.
McAlister took over kicking duties and restarts in the second half. Little seemed to have changed tactically, save for extra height on the ball at restarts, allowing Seabass and Abraham more opportunity to get up the park and challenge for the ball, even if ultimately they didn’t win it. At the back of the scrum, which still struggled against the power and aggression of Saracens, Seabass began to act more conservatively, opting to secure the ball first and foremost, rather than using his body as a battering ram - a tactic Saracens were prepared for. It paid dividends almost immediately as Saracens were penalised twice in the first 6 minutes for killing the ball. McAlister converted both penalties, the second from virtually on the halfway line.
With the score in Sale’s favour, you kind of hoped that we’d take the game to them and try to seize the initiative. Saracens though are a team that shouldn’t be underrated. They are often criticised as being a team of underachievers, but you sense that this season under Steady Eddie, that may be about to change. They don’t wilt under pressure and I suspect will be there or thereabouts at the end of the season. They immediately hit back with a penalty of their own after Wiggy was pinged for feeding the scrum. How many times have we all seen this happen without any consequences? Lots, I hear you say and I have to agree, but old eagle-eyes Debney spotted it and called it. In fairness to Wiggy, how he was supposed to get the ball into the scrum when it was travelling quicker sideways than he could run backwards, I don’t know, but that was effectively his last involvement in the game. He was replaced by Peel after Jackson slotted over the penalty and evened the scores once again.
The introduction of Peel gave Sale the kind of edge that Saracens had had when De Kock was strutting his stuff in the first half. His speed of thought and quick, one-movement pass give Sale an advantage and an extra yard of time. His sense of anticipation is such that he’s on the spot before play has broken down and seems to know what he wants to do with the ball before he stoops to pick it up. When everyone is tuned in to his wavelength and knows his game inside out, Sale should have an extra string to add to its bow. The exerted pressure of high octane, non-stop attacking rugby will force many opposing teams into making mistakes in future, or you’d hope so at least.
The difference he made to the speed and direction of play was immediately obvious. Ball retention went up by a considerable margin and Sale at last were able to string together multiple phases of play and stretch Sarries in all different directions. Still, they couldn’t break the resolute opposition defence. The Fezheads are obviously just as adamant that their defence won’t be breached as the Sharks are. Sale were awarded another penalty 20 minutes into the half when Borthwick took out Chris Jones in the air at an attacking 15 metre line out. Big Mac converted and restored the 3 point margin, but Sarries were soon back on level terms after a bit of handbags between Faure and Visagie when Sale had already been penalised for killing the ball in their own 22. Jackson converted and it was even-stevens again.
As the game moved into its final moments, both teams struggled to find their cutting edges. Saracens were able to string together good periods of play where they managed to keep the ball through several phases, but they couldn’t quite find their teeth. Twice Jackson opted to go for the banker and nail a drop goal, rather than retain the ball and probe for the opening. Fortunately for Sale, both his attempts skewed horribly wide.
Sale too were adept at keeping hold of the ball. In the last 10 minutes each team tried to find that little gap, that chink in the armour that would give them the final advantage, and with it almost certain victory. But like 2 heavyweights, neither side was prepared to yield first. It seemed like the officials had sealed the fate of the match when the assistant referee – remember him, the one I said should become more involved – flagged for what he deemed to be an offence, Serves me right really: next time I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. After a relatively innocuous coming together between Big Mac and Penney, Sale were penalised for deliberate obstruction.
Yes there was a collision, but I think to call it deliberate is a bit rich. McAlister stood his ground that’s all. The ref didn’t call it and seemed happy to play on, but his assistant was adamant. Now Penney did go down rather spectacularly – so much so that one would’ve thought he’d been shot. A quick glance round the stadium revealed that there were no snipers with telescopic sites though. Penney was back on his feet and laughing and high-fiving his colleagues after a quick rub down with the magic sponge. No harm done then? Well actually there was - a kickable penalty in the dying minutes of a closely fought game. Jackson missed by some margin, so maybe justice was done after all. Maybe the little prayer I whispered did the trick, or maybe it was just a rotten kick. Who knows? Who cares? The scores were still even.
With a last throw of the dice, Sale replaced Coxy with new boy Kris Ormsby. The Kiwi immediately showed what his game is all about as he gathered the ball and stormed up the field. From that small cameo, you sort of get the impression that this is a guy who won’t take any prisoners. In the dying minutes of an eternally long stoppage time, Sale threw everything including the sink at Saracens. The volume in the stadium escalated, as the crowd roared on the team hoping to give them that final advantage. It was heart in mouth time, and though exciting to watch, I’m not sure my ticker could put up with too much of that every time.
With the final play of the match, Ormsby seized the ball and burst clear of the despairing Saracens defence. They tried to bring him down, but the guy just kept on going. Finally Sarries managed to stop his momentum, but before they could re-gather and organise their defensive shape, Peel dug the ball out and in no time the ball was out with Charlie under the posts and he dropped the winning kick. There was genuine elation, not just amongst the fans, but on the pitch too – you could be forgiven for thinking the team thought they’d won the cup or something. They were delirious – I needed a paper bag to overcome the hyperventilation.
So, 2 wins in 2 games. I defy anyone to say that’s not a good start to the season. Even those who aren’t always best pleased might have to accept that we’re doing quite well – even if they do so begrudgingly. Having said that though, there are obviously issues that need to be addressed. Why can’t we dominate a team? Why are we finding it so difficult to score tries? Why isn’t our backline scoring for fun and running riot? Well, those are questions that those in charge will have to answer and find solutions to. A win is a win and that’s fair enough, but sometimes you’d just like more. If we can play quite poorly at times and still win, then maybe, just maybe, we’ll play well one day and win with style. We’ve got the players for it: all we need is the performance that everyone knows we’re capable of delivering.
By the way, that’d better not happen at a match that I’m absent from.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Sep 08 Newcastle v Sale
Close But No Cigar
It was never going to be the walk in the park that some had dared to predict: even I was feeling buoyant and a little overly optimistic, forecasting a 12 point victory. Mind you, had Tom May not smashed Spud into touch with that try-saving tackle just before half time, I might’ve been on a winner. The bottom line is that we finally broke the Kingston Park hoodoo and got the victory that’s eluded us for the last 16 years. Points, as Hughie Green often repeated, mean prizes. Granted not many Sharks fans left Newcastle salivating at the spectacle they’d just witnessed but, I for one was prepared to cut the boys some slack, after all, it was the first game of a new season, with new rules and a glut of new players. So I drove home feeling relatively chuffed, but with a slight sense of regret that we hadn’t been able to take the game by the scruff of the neck.
The drive up to the north east on the Saturday was ‘entertaining’: it’s not often you get the chance to plough through rivers that had sprung up where once tarmac had stood; but, rugby’s rugby and we had to get there. It didn’t matter that I felt more like Noah than Nelson Piquet: we were on a mission. Given Saturday’s monsoon and the heavy north east rain on the morning of the game, you have to say that the Kingston Park ground staff did a remarkable job. The ground wasn’t the quagmire we had all foreseen – in fact it looked incredibly lush, and really only began to cut up at the set piece. It was all set up for a running, if slightly damp, game of open, running rugby, and on paper at least, our International backline had the edge. Sadly, we don’t play the game on paper and have to settle for nature’s alternative.
The first 5 minutes were nervy, with neither side wanting to over-commit or make the first mistake. From the kick off the Falcons launched the ball into Sale’s 22 and that’s pretty much where it stayed until the players got their sea legs. The ELVs were obviously playing their part: gone was the option of launching the ball into Row Z to clear the pressure. In stead the ball was hoofed up field, only for a new Falcons attack to be launched. In the face of this, Sale’s defence was, as you’d expect, resolute and you could see that they were not in the mood to let the opposition get even a sniff of the try line. No one exemplified this ‘no way, José’ attitude more than Corcho Lobbe, the new Club captain: his drive, determination and leadership on the pitch will serve the team well over the course of the next few months.
The first hint of what the new-look Sale backline could potentially achieve came from Doherty. Following a half break from Peel and a lovely floated pass from Charlie, Doc chipped the ball up the right wing and gave chase. He’s a real speedster in the Stan mould and could well prosper as the season progresses if the team play with their heads up. He managed to somehow pick the ball up off his bootstraps and offload to, Schoey of all players; how on earth he managed to keep up with him I’ll never know, but can only surmise that pre-season training worked wonders. Sadly the ball was knocked on and the threat was temporarily quashed.
The writing on the wall was clear none the less. The Falcons were standing off Charlie for some unknown reason giving him time and space. Whether this was a conscious ploy, or just down to rustiness, was difficult to tell, but it was a dangerous tactic. When Sale started to move the ball at pace and switch directions and run the angles, Newcastle looked all at sea. It was difficult to tell where the threat was likely to come from, with Charlie, Peel, Big Mac, Cueto, Doherty and Tait all taking advance attacking positions.
It looked inevitable that the breakthrough would come sooner rather than later, and it did thanks to a lovely interchange of passes between Charlie and Peel, and a deft shimmy from the fly half who found his opposite number, new boy Rory Clegg, woefully exposed and out of position. Charlie had support from both Seabass on his inside and Doc on the flank, but needed neither as he stepped inside the desperate lunge of May and sprinted over to dab the ball down in the corner. He didn’t manage to convert, even though the infamous KP wind wasn’t swirling as it normally does, but you got the feeling that the Sharks had got the measure of the Falcons and would start to turn it on from there on in.
Unfortunately that didn’t happen. Both teams opted to either hoik the ball in to the air and hope for the opposition to make a mistake or stick with the reliable, but dull tactic of picking and going. Neither side made too much headway in either department. McAlister converted a relatively straightforward penalty after a Falcons’ offside and young Clegg responded with a penalty for the Falcons after Schoey was caught offside. What the game was calling out for was an injection of pace and a bit of variety, but for some reason or other it didn’t come. Newcastle had the edge in the scrum and by and large, Sale seemed to boss the line out with both Briggsy and Jones earning their corn.
Sale conceded another penalty for an infringement at a defensive ruck, after Seabass had called the mark in his own 22, and surprised the crowd, and I suspect himself, by clearing to touch with his left foot and making good distance. The ball broke down during the resultant maul and was turned over. Clegg converted the penalty with a little help from the upright, and it seemed to spur on the Falcons who increasingly began to take the game to Sale. This obviously created some space and Peel and Charlie were the first to take advantage of this. All the action was drawn over to the left flank until Peel switched play and Charlie floated the ball out to Thomas. He spotted Tait on the overlap. It looked odds on that Spud would mark his Sharks’ debut with a try as he steamed towards the corner, but Tom May had other ideas. He clattered into Spud on the 5 metre line taking both man and ball into touch, with a tackle that was reminiscent of Hernandez’ smash of Tuilagi in last year’s Heineken Cup. From the expression on May’s face there was a great sense of satisfaction in smashing his former colleague and obviously a little unfinished business.
The first half petered out with little other of note except a McAlister conversion after Chris Jones had been taken out when trying to steal a Falcons line out. Big Mac converted and the sides went in for the break with Sale leading by 5 points. Kingston Park was eerily quiet and you could sense both sets of supporters were expectant and waiting for things to catch light in the second half. Sadly they didn’t.
Newcastle learned from their loose play in the first half and pushed up, giving neither Charlie nor Big Mac any space or time. They still opted for the high ball, but the chasing pack seemed to lack conviction. When they were prepared to chance their arms and run the ball, they looked far more dangerous. Grindall made a nuisance of himself and Rudd, Alex Tait and May looked for any openings. But for a despairing lunge from Thomas who threw himself on the ball on the Sale try line, Newcastle could well have been on even terms.
Sale rarely threatened during the second half, though not through lack of effort. Rather it was the strong and determined Falcons’ defence that held the Sharks at bay. For all the waves of attack, all that Sale could muster was a McAlister penalty after Newcastle were pinged for handling on the floor. He dispatched this as you would expect. He took all further place kicks and restarts as well, leaving the Sale supporters wondering whether Charlie had picked up a knock. If he had, he seemed to shrug it off, unlike Chabal who was a marked man – literally. So much so he had to leave the field after receiving extensive treatment to what looked like a neck injury. He was replaced by Coxy who slotted into the second row with Jonah moving to 8.
Newcastle upped the pressure and momentum and had the Sharks on the back foot for a good 10 minutes, but they couldn’t find a way through the resolute Sale defence. Even when down a man after Abraham had been binned for a late challenge on Clegg, Sale held firm. There were times when the Falcons had a man over, yet they chose to take the ball to ground. Even stranger was the fact that they opted for a drop goal and settled for 3 points, rather than keeping up the pressure when camped in the Sharks 10 metre area. Maybe they too had realised that today the gates had been bolted well and truly and at least that way they got back in losing bonus point range. Who can tell?
As they say, a win’s a win and all that, and we did get the elusive victory and 4 points. At the time it felt like a disappointment as many believed we could’ve put the game well beyond reach had we gone for width and pace. But it wasn’t meant to be. Looking around the other results, we did ok considering no other team managed to get a try bonus point. Maybe the first day blues got to everybody.
What’s important is the away win and a positive start. If we can build on this platform and get the other monkey off our backs by winning at Castle Grim, then I’ll be a happy bunny. You can’t help but want more – something that would really quicken the pulse and excite. Maybe that’s what’s in store for us over the coming months. Who knows? We can all only hope, but on yesterday’s performance, all you can really say is, close, but no cigar.
It was never going to be the walk in the park that some had dared to predict: even I was feeling buoyant and a little overly optimistic, forecasting a 12 point victory. Mind you, had Tom May not smashed Spud into touch with that try-saving tackle just before half time, I might’ve been on a winner. The bottom line is that we finally broke the Kingston Park hoodoo and got the victory that’s eluded us for the last 16 years. Points, as Hughie Green often repeated, mean prizes. Granted not many Sharks fans left Newcastle salivating at the spectacle they’d just witnessed but, I for one was prepared to cut the boys some slack, after all, it was the first game of a new season, with new rules and a glut of new players. So I drove home feeling relatively chuffed, but with a slight sense of regret that we hadn’t been able to take the game by the scruff of the neck.
The drive up to the north east on the Saturday was ‘entertaining’: it’s not often you get the chance to plough through rivers that had sprung up where once tarmac had stood; but, rugby’s rugby and we had to get there. It didn’t matter that I felt more like Noah than Nelson Piquet: we were on a mission. Given Saturday’s monsoon and the heavy north east rain on the morning of the game, you have to say that the Kingston Park ground staff did a remarkable job. The ground wasn’t the quagmire we had all foreseen – in fact it looked incredibly lush, and really only began to cut up at the set piece. It was all set up for a running, if slightly damp, game of open, running rugby, and on paper at least, our International backline had the edge. Sadly, we don’t play the game on paper and have to settle for nature’s alternative.
The first 5 minutes were nervy, with neither side wanting to over-commit or make the first mistake. From the kick off the Falcons launched the ball into Sale’s 22 and that’s pretty much where it stayed until the players got their sea legs. The ELVs were obviously playing their part: gone was the option of launching the ball into Row Z to clear the pressure. In stead the ball was hoofed up field, only for a new Falcons attack to be launched. In the face of this, Sale’s defence was, as you’d expect, resolute and you could see that they were not in the mood to let the opposition get even a sniff of the try line. No one exemplified this ‘no way, José’ attitude more than Corcho Lobbe, the new Club captain: his drive, determination and leadership on the pitch will serve the team well over the course of the next few months.
The first hint of what the new-look Sale backline could potentially achieve came from Doherty. Following a half break from Peel and a lovely floated pass from Charlie, Doc chipped the ball up the right wing and gave chase. He’s a real speedster in the Stan mould and could well prosper as the season progresses if the team play with their heads up. He managed to somehow pick the ball up off his bootstraps and offload to, Schoey of all players; how on earth he managed to keep up with him I’ll never know, but can only surmise that pre-season training worked wonders. Sadly the ball was knocked on and the threat was temporarily quashed.
The writing on the wall was clear none the less. The Falcons were standing off Charlie for some unknown reason giving him time and space. Whether this was a conscious ploy, or just down to rustiness, was difficult to tell, but it was a dangerous tactic. When Sale started to move the ball at pace and switch directions and run the angles, Newcastle looked all at sea. It was difficult to tell where the threat was likely to come from, with Charlie, Peel, Big Mac, Cueto, Doherty and Tait all taking advance attacking positions.
It looked inevitable that the breakthrough would come sooner rather than later, and it did thanks to a lovely interchange of passes between Charlie and Peel, and a deft shimmy from the fly half who found his opposite number, new boy Rory Clegg, woefully exposed and out of position. Charlie had support from both Seabass on his inside and Doc on the flank, but needed neither as he stepped inside the desperate lunge of May and sprinted over to dab the ball down in the corner. He didn’t manage to convert, even though the infamous KP wind wasn’t swirling as it normally does, but you got the feeling that the Sharks had got the measure of the Falcons and would start to turn it on from there on in.
Unfortunately that didn’t happen. Both teams opted to either hoik the ball in to the air and hope for the opposition to make a mistake or stick with the reliable, but dull tactic of picking and going. Neither side made too much headway in either department. McAlister converted a relatively straightforward penalty after a Falcons’ offside and young Clegg responded with a penalty for the Falcons after Schoey was caught offside. What the game was calling out for was an injection of pace and a bit of variety, but for some reason or other it didn’t come. Newcastle had the edge in the scrum and by and large, Sale seemed to boss the line out with both Briggsy and Jones earning their corn.
Sale conceded another penalty for an infringement at a defensive ruck, after Seabass had called the mark in his own 22, and surprised the crowd, and I suspect himself, by clearing to touch with his left foot and making good distance. The ball broke down during the resultant maul and was turned over. Clegg converted the penalty with a little help from the upright, and it seemed to spur on the Falcons who increasingly began to take the game to Sale. This obviously created some space and Peel and Charlie were the first to take advantage of this. All the action was drawn over to the left flank until Peel switched play and Charlie floated the ball out to Thomas. He spotted Tait on the overlap. It looked odds on that Spud would mark his Sharks’ debut with a try as he steamed towards the corner, but Tom May had other ideas. He clattered into Spud on the 5 metre line taking both man and ball into touch, with a tackle that was reminiscent of Hernandez’ smash of Tuilagi in last year’s Heineken Cup. From the expression on May’s face there was a great sense of satisfaction in smashing his former colleague and obviously a little unfinished business.
The first half petered out with little other of note except a McAlister conversion after Chris Jones had been taken out when trying to steal a Falcons line out. Big Mac converted and the sides went in for the break with Sale leading by 5 points. Kingston Park was eerily quiet and you could sense both sets of supporters were expectant and waiting for things to catch light in the second half. Sadly they didn’t.
Newcastle learned from their loose play in the first half and pushed up, giving neither Charlie nor Big Mac any space or time. They still opted for the high ball, but the chasing pack seemed to lack conviction. When they were prepared to chance their arms and run the ball, they looked far more dangerous. Grindall made a nuisance of himself and Rudd, Alex Tait and May looked for any openings. But for a despairing lunge from Thomas who threw himself on the ball on the Sale try line, Newcastle could well have been on even terms.
Sale rarely threatened during the second half, though not through lack of effort. Rather it was the strong and determined Falcons’ defence that held the Sharks at bay. For all the waves of attack, all that Sale could muster was a McAlister penalty after Newcastle were pinged for handling on the floor. He dispatched this as you would expect. He took all further place kicks and restarts as well, leaving the Sale supporters wondering whether Charlie had picked up a knock. If he had, he seemed to shrug it off, unlike Chabal who was a marked man – literally. So much so he had to leave the field after receiving extensive treatment to what looked like a neck injury. He was replaced by Coxy who slotted into the second row with Jonah moving to 8.
Newcastle upped the pressure and momentum and had the Sharks on the back foot for a good 10 minutes, but they couldn’t find a way through the resolute Sale defence. Even when down a man after Abraham had been binned for a late challenge on Clegg, Sale held firm. There were times when the Falcons had a man over, yet they chose to take the ball to ground. Even stranger was the fact that they opted for a drop goal and settled for 3 points, rather than keeping up the pressure when camped in the Sharks 10 metre area. Maybe they too had realised that today the gates had been bolted well and truly and at least that way they got back in losing bonus point range. Who can tell?
As they say, a win’s a win and all that, and we did get the elusive victory and 4 points. At the time it felt like a disappointment as many believed we could’ve put the game well beyond reach had we gone for width and pace. But it wasn’t meant to be. Looking around the other results, we did ok considering no other team managed to get a try bonus point. Maybe the first day blues got to everybody.
What’s important is the away win and a positive start. If we can build on this platform and get the other monkey off our backs by winning at Castle Grim, then I’ll be a happy bunny. You can’t help but want more – something that would really quicken the pulse and excite. Maybe that’s what’s in store for us over the coming months. Who knows? We can all only hope, but on yesterday’s performance, all you can really say is, close, but no cigar.
Jan 08 Montpellier v Sale
Montpellier v Sale Sharks
There is a light that never goes out
Without wishing to sound like a Marks and Spencer’s advert, I feel I should make something plain. This column isn’t just a review of a game of rugby, a warts and all view of the events of the last week painting a picture of all that happened in the game, it’s a supporter’s column. It does what it says on the tin. Written by and for any Sale Sharks’ fans who should care to read it, it purports to be nothing other than one man’s interpretation of what happened. You might not agree, and that is your right, but I’m still entitled to say what I think. It might not always make for pleasant reading, but you can only write about what you witness and try to be as fair and objective as you can.
I was surprised that the London Irish review attracted such criticism. Frankly, having re-read it, I don’t think the piece was as harsh as some people have claimed: you should’ve heard what the Sale supporters were saying at the Madesjki Stadium if you want to know what criticism truly is. I stand by every word and can honestly say that even though I am an eternal optimist, there was nothing positive to take from that game: that was the most disappointing thing about the day.
I’m not Stephen Jones or Brian Moore: clearly I’m not Mick Cleary either. I never will be, nor would I want to be. I’m a Sale Sharks supporter who follows his team wherever and whenever he can. If the team don’t perform, I have every right as a paying punter to express my opinions. If some take offence at what’s been written, then the answer lies in their own hands: if you disagree, then either don’t read the column or alternatively write one yourself. The only drawback I feel obliged to highlight, is that you won’t get paid for your efforts should you choose to be such a scribe. That may in fact be one of the reasons why you won’t find Stephen Jones putting pen to paper here.
Although I may at times be critical, I will always be back for more. That’s not because I’m a glutton for punishment, it’s because I care. That’s the point about being a supporter – you can’t change your allegiance just because things aren’t going the way you’d like. Supporting a sporting team is all about passion, dedication and commitment: you can’t just walk away or change brands if you’re dissatisfied with the product. You have to be able to take the highs and the lows and still be loyal and true to your team. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I would continue to watch Sale Sharks even if they played on a paddy field.
The Stade Yves Du Manoir is about as far away from a paddy field as you’re ever likely to get. The stadium has only recently been completed and was the home base for the Australian national side during the World Cup. What a fantastic setting and what a superb ground, though I should point out, if anyone wishes to travel there at some future stage, I’d pack the crampons and oxygen tanks. The seats in the Eden Park stand were positioned roughly at the same altitude as some low flying aircraft: if you’ve a fear of heights, then I’d probably give it a miss. Having said that, the view was superb. All in all it is a splendid place in which to watch a rugby match. It’s a shame then that only one team seemed to want to play.
The Hérault side showed back at Edgeley Park earlier in the competition that they were no pushovers. For 35 minutes they had Sale rattled with aggressive and committed rugby. Had it not been for a virtuoso try from Charlie Hodgson, they could’ve gone in at half time on an equal footing. Their home record speaks volumes for itself: they are a proud team who will always fight no matter what the odds are. If anyone thought the win and the bonus point were there for the taking, they were kidding themselves. This was always likely to be the most difficult fixture in the group.
Montpellier are a strong and fiercely competitive side with some quality players. Toleafoa, Britz and Hancke might not be the most recognisable names, but they always give their all for the team. In Picamoles they have arguably one of the future superstars of French rugby. The former under 21 International back row forward might not have made Marc Lièvremont’s final cut for the Six Nations this time, losing out to Vermeulen, Dusautoir, Bonnaire and Quedraogo, but his chance will inevitably come. In his back row battle with Chabal, most agreed he probably shaded it. He was everywhere, ferreting for the ball whenever he could and taking the game to Sale with lung-bursting, bullocking runs.
Montpellier set their stall out from the whistle and pressed the Sharks back with a blitz defence that even Shaun Edwards would’ve been proud of. For the first 20 minutes Sale struggled to get out of their own half. There were brief signs of hope as Hodgson, McAlister and Bell started to throw the ball around, but these were quickly snuffed out by the Héraults. Apart from some daredevil attempts to run the ball out of their own 22, Sale failed to make any headway against the determined Montpellier defence. The best they muster were a couple of penalties which McAlister duly put away, though the Scottish referee’s decision-making was, at best, erratic – more of him later.
Montpellier were just as aggressive in attack with Kuzbik and Sarraméa making a nuisance of themselves. Cueto didn’t take too kindly to Kuzbik’s in-your-face style of play. Admittedly he did play on the edge but it was effective. After a prolonged period of possession, Montpellier were finally able to breach Sale’s defence which had, up until that point, looked comfortable if a little overstretched. A cross-field move from the right flank ended with a deft inside pass from Picamoles to Britz who raced into the corner to touch down. Todeschini converted from the touch line to give Montpellier a deserved lead.
From a Sale supporters’ point of view there wasn’t really a lot to sing and dance about: given the height and rake of the stand, that was perhaps just as well or we may have finished up 30 rows down. I’m pretty sure Sale’s lacklustre showing wasn’t done for the health and welfare of the supporters though. Having said that, McAlister did demonstrate why he is so highly rated in world rugby. Although the team around him wasn’t performing to the standards that he and we expect, he continued to give his all and was finally rewarded with a try that was really conjured out of nothing. He seized upon a rare Hérault misplaced pass and cut inside Lespinas and Stoïca before powering into the corner for a superb individual score. He couldn’t convert from the acute angle, but at least he gave some hope to the travelling fans as the half finished Montpellier 7, Luke McAlister 11.
There was as one might expect a great deal of wailing and gnashing of teeth during the interval. Questions were asked about why Sale seemed to lack spark and fire and a few comments made about how we should be able to despatch a team lie Montpellier with ease. What some may have failed to notice is that Montpellier had played exceptionally well and on the balance of play deserved to have the lead. Had the referee not been so one-eyed they probably would have.
Every one of the travelling contingent expected much more of Sale during the second half. It’s been a peculiarity of their game this season that they only start to play after an ear bashing at half time from Philippe Saint André. Montpellier had tired visibly during the second half at Edgeley Park, and I think many supporters fancied a repeat performance with the Sharks going on to a comfortable win. That didn’t happen – in fact, if anything Montpellier got stronger and it was Sale who appeared to wilt.
Mr McPherson, the referee, obviously played by a different set of rules to everyone else. The crowd were incensed by some of his decisions, prompting one Montpellier supporter to ask just how much we paid him. How Sale managed to win so many penalties and generally be on the right side of so many dubious decisions, I know not. Lilo Martens was clearly in touch when he took the Garryowen from Buada, but the referee seemed to think that the ball was already out when he took it. It wasn’t but he’s the man with the whistle.
For all the possession Sale had, they couldn’t make any inroads into the resolute Hérault defence. Picamoles and Hancke were immense and refused to take a backward step. Even when Sarraméa was carded for deliberately killing the ball, the numerical advantage was not made to pay. All that Sale could muster was another McAlister penalty. Even the injection of fresh legs with Mayor, Bruno and Evans didn’t alter the course or pattern of the game. Sale kicked away possession needlessly and backed off waiting for the counter-attack.
Given the amount of territory and ball that Montpellier had, it was inevitable that they would score. Jason White was brought on, replacing Schofield and Chabal moved to the second row to shore up the defence, but it was to no avail. Cueto was carded at around the same time that Sarraméa returned to the pitch, leaving Sale under pressure and understaffed.
Lund was penalised by the referee for deliberately knocking the ball on – one decision he did actually get right. Montpellier chose to go for the corner rather than the posts and you sensed the worst. A clean line-out take and a bit of grunt and Montpellier were over the Sale line. Deservingly it was that man Picamoles who scored. Todeschini levelled the scores with his conversion and things didn’t look too good if you were a Sale supporter.
The Sharks, urged on by a clearly frustrated McAlister pressed as hard as they could for the last 10 minutes: to guarantee a home quarter and semi final, a win was essential. Montpellier were penalised for not rolling away just inside their own half and Sale were given a penalty. Perhaps it was a sign of the growing desperation that McAlister opted to kick for the posts inspite of the distance. His kick fell just short, but the breathlessness of the last ditch Sale attacks at least gave some glimmer of hope.
Although time was up Sale were awarded a 5 metre scrum after Montpellier knocked on. As hard as Sale tried they could not force the Hérault team to back off and retreat. The referee was patience personified as the scrum continued to collapse or stand up time after time. As Montpellier were desperate to keep the scores as they were and ensure their own qualification and Sale were intent upon stealing a win, it was kind of inevitable that the penalty should finally be awarded.
With the final kick of the match McAlister lofted a lovely floated shot towards the sticks only to see it glance off the upright and bounce out. We all saw it, and so did the Montpellier supporters. Mr McPherson apparently didn’t and asked the fourth official to adjudicate. Bizarre isn’t the word to describe the mood or state of confusion in the stadium. I’ve never personally seen it done before, nor had any of the other supporters I spoke to. Still, the replays clearly showed the kick had bounced out and that was it, game over: Montpellier - 14, Luke McAlister -14.
In the end it was a sad way to finish the league campaign in Europe. Perhaps the most telling part was that you would think Sale had lost given the look on the supporters’ faces. To Montpellier and their fans, the draw was as good as a cup win and the elation was there for all to see. They fully deserved the draw, if not the win. They were undoubtedly the better team on the night and played with a style and plan that frustrated Sale from the off.
I don’t know what people will make of the result, but there will obviously be a bit of a backlash at the disappointing showing. Maybe had the players arrived earlier and not been forced to wait at an airport until 10 o’clock on the night before the match, things might’ve been different. Had we played the whole game the way we played the last 15 minutes, we might’ve come away with 4 points rather than 2. Whatever questions will be raked over during the coming days, the one point not to lose sight of is that wining in France is never easy. If you play against a decent team who never give up or give in, maybe the draw wasn’t that bad a result. But the performances will have to be infinitely better if Sale are to progress any further in this competition.
There is a light that never goes out
Without wishing to sound like a Marks and Spencer’s advert, I feel I should make something plain. This column isn’t just a review of a game of rugby, a warts and all view of the events of the last week painting a picture of all that happened in the game, it’s a supporter’s column. It does what it says on the tin. Written by and for any Sale Sharks’ fans who should care to read it, it purports to be nothing other than one man’s interpretation of what happened. You might not agree, and that is your right, but I’m still entitled to say what I think. It might not always make for pleasant reading, but you can only write about what you witness and try to be as fair and objective as you can.
I was surprised that the London Irish review attracted such criticism. Frankly, having re-read it, I don’t think the piece was as harsh as some people have claimed: you should’ve heard what the Sale supporters were saying at the Madesjki Stadium if you want to know what criticism truly is. I stand by every word and can honestly say that even though I am an eternal optimist, there was nothing positive to take from that game: that was the most disappointing thing about the day.
I’m not Stephen Jones or Brian Moore: clearly I’m not Mick Cleary either. I never will be, nor would I want to be. I’m a Sale Sharks supporter who follows his team wherever and whenever he can. If the team don’t perform, I have every right as a paying punter to express my opinions. If some take offence at what’s been written, then the answer lies in their own hands: if you disagree, then either don’t read the column or alternatively write one yourself. The only drawback I feel obliged to highlight, is that you won’t get paid for your efforts should you choose to be such a scribe. That may in fact be one of the reasons why you won’t find Stephen Jones putting pen to paper here.
Although I may at times be critical, I will always be back for more. That’s not because I’m a glutton for punishment, it’s because I care. That’s the point about being a supporter – you can’t change your allegiance just because things aren’t going the way you’d like. Supporting a sporting team is all about passion, dedication and commitment: you can’t just walk away or change brands if you’re dissatisfied with the product. You have to be able to take the highs and the lows and still be loyal and true to your team. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I would continue to watch Sale Sharks even if they played on a paddy field.
The Stade Yves Du Manoir is about as far away from a paddy field as you’re ever likely to get. The stadium has only recently been completed and was the home base for the Australian national side during the World Cup. What a fantastic setting and what a superb ground, though I should point out, if anyone wishes to travel there at some future stage, I’d pack the crampons and oxygen tanks. The seats in the Eden Park stand were positioned roughly at the same altitude as some low flying aircraft: if you’ve a fear of heights, then I’d probably give it a miss. Having said that, the view was superb. All in all it is a splendid place in which to watch a rugby match. It’s a shame then that only one team seemed to want to play.
The Hérault side showed back at Edgeley Park earlier in the competition that they were no pushovers. For 35 minutes they had Sale rattled with aggressive and committed rugby. Had it not been for a virtuoso try from Charlie Hodgson, they could’ve gone in at half time on an equal footing. Their home record speaks volumes for itself: they are a proud team who will always fight no matter what the odds are. If anyone thought the win and the bonus point were there for the taking, they were kidding themselves. This was always likely to be the most difficult fixture in the group.
Montpellier are a strong and fiercely competitive side with some quality players. Toleafoa, Britz and Hancke might not be the most recognisable names, but they always give their all for the team. In Picamoles they have arguably one of the future superstars of French rugby. The former under 21 International back row forward might not have made Marc Lièvremont’s final cut for the Six Nations this time, losing out to Vermeulen, Dusautoir, Bonnaire and Quedraogo, but his chance will inevitably come. In his back row battle with Chabal, most agreed he probably shaded it. He was everywhere, ferreting for the ball whenever he could and taking the game to Sale with lung-bursting, bullocking runs.
Montpellier set their stall out from the whistle and pressed the Sharks back with a blitz defence that even Shaun Edwards would’ve been proud of. For the first 20 minutes Sale struggled to get out of their own half. There were brief signs of hope as Hodgson, McAlister and Bell started to throw the ball around, but these were quickly snuffed out by the Héraults. Apart from some daredevil attempts to run the ball out of their own 22, Sale failed to make any headway against the determined Montpellier defence. The best they muster were a couple of penalties which McAlister duly put away, though the Scottish referee’s decision-making was, at best, erratic – more of him later.
Montpellier were just as aggressive in attack with Kuzbik and Sarraméa making a nuisance of themselves. Cueto didn’t take too kindly to Kuzbik’s in-your-face style of play. Admittedly he did play on the edge but it was effective. After a prolonged period of possession, Montpellier were finally able to breach Sale’s defence which had, up until that point, looked comfortable if a little overstretched. A cross-field move from the right flank ended with a deft inside pass from Picamoles to Britz who raced into the corner to touch down. Todeschini converted from the touch line to give Montpellier a deserved lead.
From a Sale supporters’ point of view there wasn’t really a lot to sing and dance about: given the height and rake of the stand, that was perhaps just as well or we may have finished up 30 rows down. I’m pretty sure Sale’s lacklustre showing wasn’t done for the health and welfare of the supporters though. Having said that, McAlister did demonstrate why he is so highly rated in world rugby. Although the team around him wasn’t performing to the standards that he and we expect, he continued to give his all and was finally rewarded with a try that was really conjured out of nothing. He seized upon a rare Hérault misplaced pass and cut inside Lespinas and Stoïca before powering into the corner for a superb individual score. He couldn’t convert from the acute angle, but at least he gave some hope to the travelling fans as the half finished Montpellier 7, Luke McAlister 11.
There was as one might expect a great deal of wailing and gnashing of teeth during the interval. Questions were asked about why Sale seemed to lack spark and fire and a few comments made about how we should be able to despatch a team lie Montpellier with ease. What some may have failed to notice is that Montpellier had played exceptionally well and on the balance of play deserved to have the lead. Had the referee not been so one-eyed they probably would have.
Every one of the travelling contingent expected much more of Sale during the second half. It’s been a peculiarity of their game this season that they only start to play after an ear bashing at half time from Philippe Saint André. Montpellier had tired visibly during the second half at Edgeley Park, and I think many supporters fancied a repeat performance with the Sharks going on to a comfortable win. That didn’t happen – in fact, if anything Montpellier got stronger and it was Sale who appeared to wilt.
Mr McPherson, the referee, obviously played by a different set of rules to everyone else. The crowd were incensed by some of his decisions, prompting one Montpellier supporter to ask just how much we paid him. How Sale managed to win so many penalties and generally be on the right side of so many dubious decisions, I know not. Lilo Martens was clearly in touch when he took the Garryowen from Buada, but the referee seemed to think that the ball was already out when he took it. It wasn’t but he’s the man with the whistle.
For all the possession Sale had, they couldn’t make any inroads into the resolute Hérault defence. Picamoles and Hancke were immense and refused to take a backward step. Even when Sarraméa was carded for deliberately killing the ball, the numerical advantage was not made to pay. All that Sale could muster was another McAlister penalty. Even the injection of fresh legs with Mayor, Bruno and Evans didn’t alter the course or pattern of the game. Sale kicked away possession needlessly and backed off waiting for the counter-attack.
Given the amount of territory and ball that Montpellier had, it was inevitable that they would score. Jason White was brought on, replacing Schofield and Chabal moved to the second row to shore up the defence, but it was to no avail. Cueto was carded at around the same time that Sarraméa returned to the pitch, leaving Sale under pressure and understaffed.
Lund was penalised by the referee for deliberately knocking the ball on – one decision he did actually get right. Montpellier chose to go for the corner rather than the posts and you sensed the worst. A clean line-out take and a bit of grunt and Montpellier were over the Sale line. Deservingly it was that man Picamoles who scored. Todeschini levelled the scores with his conversion and things didn’t look too good if you were a Sale supporter.
The Sharks, urged on by a clearly frustrated McAlister pressed as hard as they could for the last 10 minutes: to guarantee a home quarter and semi final, a win was essential. Montpellier were penalised for not rolling away just inside their own half and Sale were given a penalty. Perhaps it was a sign of the growing desperation that McAlister opted to kick for the posts inspite of the distance. His kick fell just short, but the breathlessness of the last ditch Sale attacks at least gave some glimmer of hope.
Although time was up Sale were awarded a 5 metre scrum after Montpellier knocked on. As hard as Sale tried they could not force the Hérault team to back off and retreat. The referee was patience personified as the scrum continued to collapse or stand up time after time. As Montpellier were desperate to keep the scores as they were and ensure their own qualification and Sale were intent upon stealing a win, it was kind of inevitable that the penalty should finally be awarded.
With the final kick of the match McAlister lofted a lovely floated shot towards the sticks only to see it glance off the upright and bounce out. We all saw it, and so did the Montpellier supporters. Mr McPherson apparently didn’t and asked the fourth official to adjudicate. Bizarre isn’t the word to describe the mood or state of confusion in the stadium. I’ve never personally seen it done before, nor had any of the other supporters I spoke to. Still, the replays clearly showed the kick had bounced out and that was it, game over: Montpellier - 14, Luke McAlister -14.
In the end it was a sad way to finish the league campaign in Europe. Perhaps the most telling part was that you would think Sale had lost given the look on the supporters’ faces. To Montpellier and their fans, the draw was as good as a cup win and the elation was there for all to see. They fully deserved the draw, if not the win. They were undoubtedly the better team on the night and played with a style and plan that frustrated Sale from the off.
I don’t know what people will make of the result, but there will obviously be a bit of a backlash at the disappointing showing. Maybe had the players arrived earlier and not been forced to wait at an airport until 10 o’clock on the night before the match, things might’ve been different. Had we played the whole game the way we played the last 15 minutes, we might’ve come away with 4 points rather than 2. Whatever questions will be raked over during the coming days, the one point not to lose sight of is that wining in France is never easy. If you play against a decent team who never give up or give in, maybe the draw wasn’t that bad a result. But the performances will have to be infinitely better if Sale are to progress any further in this competition.
Jan 08 London Irish v Sale
London Irish v Sale Sharks
Frankly Mr Shankly
You can say what you like or shoot me down in flames, but I always believed Bill Shankly had a point when he claimed competitive sport could be more important than the mere issue of life and death. In the heat of the moment, winning can mean everything. Ok, so it might’ve been a glib, off-the-cuff remark, but it encapsulates the very essence of what it means to be a supporter. Obviously there are undoubtedly far more important things to dwell on in life: there are untold tragedies happening on a daily basis both domestically and globally. I accept that if you look at things objectively in the cold light of day, these are the events that should be of greater importance and significance. However when you’re a passionate supporter, sometimes logic can fly out of the window. Supporting your team becomes all-consuming and can dominate the very core of your existence: it can sometimes feel like nothing else is as important.
If you spend much of your hard-earned dosh and devote considerable time to following your Club around the far corners of this green and wet land, then in return all you ask is that your team shares your passion and commitment and gives its all for the common cause: the very least you would expect is that the team turn up in spirit as well as in person. After witnessing Sunday’s inglorious and spineless surrender at the Madejski Stadium, I’m no longer sure that truly is the case. If anyone would’ve ever said to me that I’d one day reach the stage where I’d feel like cutting out the middle man and just throwing my money down the nearest grid, then I’d have laughed in their face. Now, well I’m no longer quite so cock-sure. Perhaps I’ve been deluding myself all these years. Frankly Mr Shankly you might’ve been wrong - it is only a game after all, or at least it appears that way judging by the way some players seemed to approach it.
Any team, no matter how good, would miss the creative spark and influence that someone like Charlie Hodgson brings to the team. Last season alone is testament to that fact. To discover just before kick off that he would be absent with a knee injury was a blow. However, there is strength and depth at Sale and as they say, one man’s loss is another man’s opportunity. It was surprising then to see McAlister chosen in the three quarters. Personally I questioned whether he would’ve been better played at inside centre with Mayor outside him and Thomas inside at 10. The McAlister/Thomas combination has after all just started to bear fruit. Anyway, what do I know? Not a lot really, except that Hodgson plays flatter than any other fly half thereby creating space and time for others. If that’s not an available option, then playing McAlister at 12 I believe would be the alternative creative channel: his ability to run with the ball, his strength and his ability to step off either foot would open up space for others, like Thomas to exploit and make up for Charlie’s absence.
To say it began with not so much a bang as a whimper is being kind beyond the call of duty. Sale never seem to play for the first 20 minutes in any match. Whether this is a conscious ploy to try and grind the opposition down with physicality, or simply down to having too high an opinion of their own abilities, I know not. What I do know is that other teams always take advantage of this and Sale tend to spend half the match playing catch up.
The Sharks took the kick off clumsily, as has been customary all season and failed to clear their lines. The ball was taken into contact and the ruck took for ever to clear - another characteristic of this season’s play. A half break by McAlister failed to lead anywhere as Cueto’s pass was intercepted by Ojo. His devastating dart down by the flank and his clever offload to Paice should’ve resulted in the first try of the game. Only superb tackling back by McAlister prevented it as he clung on to Paice’s back and dragged him to ground. However, Sale’s drift defence was powerless to stop the influential Geraghty, playing in an unaccustomed role at 12, from spinning the ball out wide to Armitage. He drew his man, Mayor, and fed the ball to Tagicakibau. Ripol had no chance of stopping the marauding winger. Armitage converted from out wide and left Sale floundering 7 points adrift with only 2 minutes played. You sensed this was going to be a very long and painful afternoon.
Make no mistakes about it, Sale were not just poor, they were woeful. It’s the worst I’ve seen them play this season. The only thing that was half-decent was the scrum: then again when you have the beef of Sheridan, Bruno and Lewis-Roberts in the front row, you wouldn’t really expect anything else. Everything else was utterly dire. Basic skills were forgotten, the line out was a shambles and our backline adopted the unusual tactic of trying to trap the ball with their feet, rather than catching it. This isn’t football.
It felt like every ball was either knocked on or turned over. Sale couldn’t manage to string more than 2 phases of play together without gifting possession to the Exiles. At every breakdown Sale only committed one or two players to forage for the ball: London Irish responded with three or four, driving the Sale flankers back and always gaining possession. It was actually the first time in a long while that I’ve felt embarrassed by the team’s performance. It was like watching a scratch team. Any independent observer would be forgiven for thinking that the 15 players had never been on the same park together before. As one young Irish supporter in front of me kept shouting –“Sale Sharks, you’re rubbish. Who sponsors you then? Anchor butter?” Obviously that got a laugh, yet it was probably closer to the truth than you could possibly imagine.
Even when Armitage was sin-binned for tripping Cueto, Sale couldn’t make the numerical advantage pay. With such an error strewn display they could conceivably still have lost had the Exiles only had 10 men on the field. Irish are a decent team, but they’re not world beaters. They played good, flowing, heads up rugby and in Geraghty they’ve unearthed a gem. The problem is they were there for the taking. They were made to look better than they were and the reason for that is simple. Sale were inept, clueless and shambolic.
Our only plan this season it appears is to hoist continuous bombs into the opposing half and hope to gain some territorial advantage. I’ve said it so many times I’m beginning to bore myself, but it’s worth saying again because eventually the penny has to drop. Garryowens are only useful if you’re prepared to commit the numbers to chase the ball, or at least challenge and harry the receiver. There’s absolutely no point in kicking away possession and then lolloping up the field after it. You don’t regain possession, you end up out of position and you’re forced on to the back foot. If Sale had a Plan B then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad: the problem is, they often don’t even seem to have a Plan A.
McAlister tried his hardest, of that there’s no doubt. He was always prepared to run with the ball in hand. Unfortunately much of what he tried didn’t come off either due to basic handling errors or the rest of the backs not tuning into his wavelength. It was unfortunate because he, more than anyone else, put in the hard graft and was always looking for openings. He was rewarded for his efforts with a ninth minute penalty after Irish were penalised for not rolling away from the tackle. He could have reduced the gap further on 18 minutes, but his kick floated inches wide of the uprights.
Looked at dispassionately, penalties were probably the only hope that Sale had of winning the match. Their open play was very poor and there was no incisiveness or cutting edge. Even when a try beckoned Sale somehow managed to fluff it. Chabal received the ball 10 metres from the Irish line and straightened his run with one of characteristic bullish charges. He drew his man and just had to offload to his right and the try was a certainty. Even allowing for the fact that the overlapping man was tight head Eifion Roberts, the score looked nailed on. The final pass, however, was wayward: even an acrobat would’ve struggled to get his hands on that ball. Still, it was a slight improvement on passing the ball directly out to the 16th man, the crowd, as had happened a number of times earlier. I know Philippe has often commented on the value of the 16th man – but I didn’t realise he wanted us to play as well.
Just when it seemed things could get no worse, the inevitable happened. Sale once again messed up the lineout in their own 22 and Irish were awarded an attacking scrum. The scrum collapsed twice and the referee awarded Irish a penalty. A quick tap from Hodgson led to a sweeping Irish move across field, as the ball was shipped from Hickey to Geraghty. He stepped inside Mayor and fed a lovely angled pass to Tiesi, giving him a free run for the line. Armitage couldn’t convert but the damage was done. For a defence that had performed manfully during the course of the last 7 games, it was shocking to see just how easy it was for London Irish to carve their way through.
The final 6 minutes of the half lasted an eternity. If there was a game-plan it wasn’t immediately obvious. It wasn’t just the Sale supporters who were scratching their heads: many Exiles fans were actually shocked by the standard of rugby of a team tipped for a top four finish. Looking down at my notepad I realised I must have phased out for the last few minutes and drifted off to a better place, for as Mr Davey blew for the halftime respite, the only words I appeared to have written were dull, dire, dreary, dreadful, disastrous and dross. The prospect of another 40 minutes of that standard of fare was enough to make one want to run for the hills.
Were teacups thrown in the dressing room or boots kicked across the floor? Who knows? They certainly should’ve been. Whatever was said during the break didn’t work. Sale were on the back foot again right from the off. A dreadful pass from Laharrague to McAlister caught the backline flat– well when I say to, I mean behind and somewhere in the vicinity. Needless to say the ball was lost. A quick interchange between Geraghty and Hickey and before you could blink Armitage was in under the posts to rub further salt into the wound.
If the plan had been to batter Irish into submission, paving the way for our backline to run riot later on, then it failed spectacularly. Somebody forgot to tell Kennedy, Casey, Paice, Dermody and Lea’aetoa: if anything they seemed to get stronger during the second half and were even more fired up. Even Hodgson and Armitage were up for a fight with anyone – not the best of ideas when Sheridan’s around, but you’ve got to hand it to them, they were well and truly wired.
Any Sale attempt to run the ball, usually started by either McAlister or Laharrague barely lasted more than a couple of phases before stalling for a multitude of different reasons, all of them bad: a misplaced pass, a knock on, a forward pass or some other disaster. The only hope that Sale had was to try to keep things tight and nick the penalties as they were awarded as Irish were playing on the edge of legality all the time. Trying to play tight is difficult at the best of times, but when you’re having one of those days where nothing goes right, it’s well nigh impossible, and there’s always a looming possibility that you’ll fall for the sucker punch. Had the pass from Geraghty to Armitage not been adjudged to be marginally forward, Irish would’ve secured the bonus point.
McAlister reduced the deficit with a penalty on 46 minutes after the Exiles were penalised for crossing, and successfully kicked another 9 minutes later after Kennedy was penalised for offside. Apart from that Sale rarely threatened the Irish 22. There were, at least, 2 moments to lift the spirits – a half break from Laharrague that Ripol couldn’t get to, and surprisingly a move that almost produced 3 phase rugby but the final pass to Cueto was adjudged to be forward. It was of course, but sometimes you hope the touch judge is looking away and you keep your fingers crossed. It was indicative of the general laissez faire approach that Sale chose to adopt. In fact, it was so lacklustre that even in a two horse contest; the Sharks would’ve finished third.
It was a contest lacking pride, passion and a fighting spirit. The only Sale staff member wholly committed was Robbie Dickson. Had he not been restrained, he would’ve been on that pitch and at Leguizamon’s throat after he pinned Wiggy to the ground for a bit of afters. Maybe Robbie should dust off his kit for Petrarca.
A rare Irish mistake led to a surprise Sale forage into the Exile’s 22. Cueto couldn’t get to the inside pass from McAlister which was a shame as there was space to have nipped in for a try. Still it did result in a 5 metre line out with a Sale throw. I’m sure Briggsy will dream about what happened next for some time: the night-sweats will haunt many a waking hour. With the Irish line at Sale’s mercy, he overthrew and Mordt was able to run the ball to safety.
McAlister slotted away an easy penalty bringing Sale to within losing bonus point range and the supporters’ hearts lifted ever so slightly. In truth it would’ve been unfair had it stayed like that, because Sale didn’t deserve a thing. However, the Sharks don’t believe in taking the easy option. Irish set out their stall and it was obvious from the field-placings that they were determined to deny Sale the bonus point. It was heart in mouth time from then on, as Sale were guaranteed to give away a penalty. Unfortunately that’s what they specialise in. When discipline’s needed, they tend to misplace it.
Sure enough, at a ruck right in front of Sale’s posts, Schofield was pinged for falling on the ball whilst it was clearly still in the ruck. It may have been that Mr Davey penalised him for killing the ball. Such were his gestures by this stage, that it was almost impossible to decipher what he called it for. Forget dramatic signalling, this was positively Shakespearian. Anyway the upshot was Hickey converted the penalty and Sale once again shot themselves in the foot. The match had already been lost, but indiscipline cost Sale the points.
Even Chabal’s bullocking run at the end couldn’t lift the spirits. That ended in an embarrassing fumble and a pass into touch once again – shocking. The crowd groaned, the referee looked at his watch and I …. I just wanted to go home, but I knew I had the prospect of a four hour drive to get there. It was that bad, I just wanted to get away.
The match was in its final play when the opportunity was presented for McAlister to drop Sale into bonus point range again. It didn’t work of course, it rarely does. The similarities with the Bath game were spooky – last minute and the chance to salvage something you didn’t really deserve. The result was the same and in the end it’s fair to say that justice was done. The better team won: the team with the passion, flair and technique ruled the roost.
Next up is Petrarca in the Challenge Cup. It’s a pity Sale’s game isn’t against a team like Gloucester or Wasps. At least it would give them the chance to mix with the big boys again and hopefully begin to salvage some pride and spirit. You have to play what’s in front of you however, so Petrarca it is. Hopefully the memories of the victory in Padova have been blocked from memory. Sale won convincingly over there, but they also conceded unnecessary tries. Philippe Saint Andre accused his players this week of thinking they were better than they actually are. Let’s hope that message has sunk in. There’s no room for arrogance and complacency in rugby. If you go onto a park with that attitude one day the other team will whoop you and you’d deserve it. Let’s just pray it’s not Petrarca.
Frankly Mr Shankly
You can say what you like or shoot me down in flames, but I always believed Bill Shankly had a point when he claimed competitive sport could be more important than the mere issue of life and death. In the heat of the moment, winning can mean everything. Ok, so it might’ve been a glib, off-the-cuff remark, but it encapsulates the very essence of what it means to be a supporter. Obviously there are undoubtedly far more important things to dwell on in life: there are untold tragedies happening on a daily basis both domestically and globally. I accept that if you look at things objectively in the cold light of day, these are the events that should be of greater importance and significance. However when you’re a passionate supporter, sometimes logic can fly out of the window. Supporting your team becomes all-consuming and can dominate the very core of your existence: it can sometimes feel like nothing else is as important.
If you spend much of your hard-earned dosh and devote considerable time to following your Club around the far corners of this green and wet land, then in return all you ask is that your team shares your passion and commitment and gives its all for the common cause: the very least you would expect is that the team turn up in spirit as well as in person. After witnessing Sunday’s inglorious and spineless surrender at the Madejski Stadium, I’m no longer sure that truly is the case. If anyone would’ve ever said to me that I’d one day reach the stage where I’d feel like cutting out the middle man and just throwing my money down the nearest grid, then I’d have laughed in their face. Now, well I’m no longer quite so cock-sure. Perhaps I’ve been deluding myself all these years. Frankly Mr Shankly you might’ve been wrong - it is only a game after all, or at least it appears that way judging by the way some players seemed to approach it.
Any team, no matter how good, would miss the creative spark and influence that someone like Charlie Hodgson brings to the team. Last season alone is testament to that fact. To discover just before kick off that he would be absent with a knee injury was a blow. However, there is strength and depth at Sale and as they say, one man’s loss is another man’s opportunity. It was surprising then to see McAlister chosen in the three quarters. Personally I questioned whether he would’ve been better played at inside centre with Mayor outside him and Thomas inside at 10. The McAlister/Thomas combination has after all just started to bear fruit. Anyway, what do I know? Not a lot really, except that Hodgson plays flatter than any other fly half thereby creating space and time for others. If that’s not an available option, then playing McAlister at 12 I believe would be the alternative creative channel: his ability to run with the ball, his strength and his ability to step off either foot would open up space for others, like Thomas to exploit and make up for Charlie’s absence.
To say it began with not so much a bang as a whimper is being kind beyond the call of duty. Sale never seem to play for the first 20 minutes in any match. Whether this is a conscious ploy to try and grind the opposition down with physicality, or simply down to having too high an opinion of their own abilities, I know not. What I do know is that other teams always take advantage of this and Sale tend to spend half the match playing catch up.
The Sharks took the kick off clumsily, as has been customary all season and failed to clear their lines. The ball was taken into contact and the ruck took for ever to clear - another characteristic of this season’s play. A half break by McAlister failed to lead anywhere as Cueto’s pass was intercepted by Ojo. His devastating dart down by the flank and his clever offload to Paice should’ve resulted in the first try of the game. Only superb tackling back by McAlister prevented it as he clung on to Paice’s back and dragged him to ground. However, Sale’s drift defence was powerless to stop the influential Geraghty, playing in an unaccustomed role at 12, from spinning the ball out wide to Armitage. He drew his man, Mayor, and fed the ball to Tagicakibau. Ripol had no chance of stopping the marauding winger. Armitage converted from out wide and left Sale floundering 7 points adrift with only 2 minutes played. You sensed this was going to be a very long and painful afternoon.
Make no mistakes about it, Sale were not just poor, they were woeful. It’s the worst I’ve seen them play this season. The only thing that was half-decent was the scrum: then again when you have the beef of Sheridan, Bruno and Lewis-Roberts in the front row, you wouldn’t really expect anything else. Everything else was utterly dire. Basic skills were forgotten, the line out was a shambles and our backline adopted the unusual tactic of trying to trap the ball with their feet, rather than catching it. This isn’t football.
It felt like every ball was either knocked on or turned over. Sale couldn’t manage to string more than 2 phases of play together without gifting possession to the Exiles. At every breakdown Sale only committed one or two players to forage for the ball: London Irish responded with three or four, driving the Sale flankers back and always gaining possession. It was actually the first time in a long while that I’ve felt embarrassed by the team’s performance. It was like watching a scratch team. Any independent observer would be forgiven for thinking that the 15 players had never been on the same park together before. As one young Irish supporter in front of me kept shouting –“Sale Sharks, you’re rubbish. Who sponsors you then? Anchor butter?” Obviously that got a laugh, yet it was probably closer to the truth than you could possibly imagine.
Even when Armitage was sin-binned for tripping Cueto, Sale couldn’t make the numerical advantage pay. With such an error strewn display they could conceivably still have lost had the Exiles only had 10 men on the field. Irish are a decent team, but they’re not world beaters. They played good, flowing, heads up rugby and in Geraghty they’ve unearthed a gem. The problem is they were there for the taking. They were made to look better than they were and the reason for that is simple. Sale were inept, clueless and shambolic.
Our only plan this season it appears is to hoist continuous bombs into the opposing half and hope to gain some territorial advantage. I’ve said it so many times I’m beginning to bore myself, but it’s worth saying again because eventually the penny has to drop. Garryowens are only useful if you’re prepared to commit the numbers to chase the ball, or at least challenge and harry the receiver. There’s absolutely no point in kicking away possession and then lolloping up the field after it. You don’t regain possession, you end up out of position and you’re forced on to the back foot. If Sale had a Plan B then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad: the problem is, they often don’t even seem to have a Plan A.
McAlister tried his hardest, of that there’s no doubt. He was always prepared to run with the ball in hand. Unfortunately much of what he tried didn’t come off either due to basic handling errors or the rest of the backs not tuning into his wavelength. It was unfortunate because he, more than anyone else, put in the hard graft and was always looking for openings. He was rewarded for his efforts with a ninth minute penalty after Irish were penalised for not rolling away from the tackle. He could have reduced the gap further on 18 minutes, but his kick floated inches wide of the uprights.
Looked at dispassionately, penalties were probably the only hope that Sale had of winning the match. Their open play was very poor and there was no incisiveness or cutting edge. Even when a try beckoned Sale somehow managed to fluff it. Chabal received the ball 10 metres from the Irish line and straightened his run with one of characteristic bullish charges. He drew his man and just had to offload to his right and the try was a certainty. Even allowing for the fact that the overlapping man was tight head Eifion Roberts, the score looked nailed on. The final pass, however, was wayward: even an acrobat would’ve struggled to get his hands on that ball. Still, it was a slight improvement on passing the ball directly out to the 16th man, the crowd, as had happened a number of times earlier. I know Philippe has often commented on the value of the 16th man – but I didn’t realise he wanted us to play as well.
Just when it seemed things could get no worse, the inevitable happened. Sale once again messed up the lineout in their own 22 and Irish were awarded an attacking scrum. The scrum collapsed twice and the referee awarded Irish a penalty. A quick tap from Hodgson led to a sweeping Irish move across field, as the ball was shipped from Hickey to Geraghty. He stepped inside Mayor and fed a lovely angled pass to Tiesi, giving him a free run for the line. Armitage couldn’t convert but the damage was done. For a defence that had performed manfully during the course of the last 7 games, it was shocking to see just how easy it was for London Irish to carve their way through.
The final 6 minutes of the half lasted an eternity. If there was a game-plan it wasn’t immediately obvious. It wasn’t just the Sale supporters who were scratching their heads: many Exiles fans were actually shocked by the standard of rugby of a team tipped for a top four finish. Looking down at my notepad I realised I must have phased out for the last few minutes and drifted off to a better place, for as Mr Davey blew for the halftime respite, the only words I appeared to have written were dull, dire, dreary, dreadful, disastrous and dross. The prospect of another 40 minutes of that standard of fare was enough to make one want to run for the hills.
Were teacups thrown in the dressing room or boots kicked across the floor? Who knows? They certainly should’ve been. Whatever was said during the break didn’t work. Sale were on the back foot again right from the off. A dreadful pass from Laharrague to McAlister caught the backline flat– well when I say to, I mean behind and somewhere in the vicinity. Needless to say the ball was lost. A quick interchange between Geraghty and Hickey and before you could blink Armitage was in under the posts to rub further salt into the wound.
If the plan had been to batter Irish into submission, paving the way for our backline to run riot later on, then it failed spectacularly. Somebody forgot to tell Kennedy, Casey, Paice, Dermody and Lea’aetoa: if anything they seemed to get stronger during the second half and were even more fired up. Even Hodgson and Armitage were up for a fight with anyone – not the best of ideas when Sheridan’s around, but you’ve got to hand it to them, they were well and truly wired.
Any Sale attempt to run the ball, usually started by either McAlister or Laharrague barely lasted more than a couple of phases before stalling for a multitude of different reasons, all of them bad: a misplaced pass, a knock on, a forward pass or some other disaster. The only hope that Sale had was to try to keep things tight and nick the penalties as they were awarded as Irish were playing on the edge of legality all the time. Trying to play tight is difficult at the best of times, but when you’re having one of those days where nothing goes right, it’s well nigh impossible, and there’s always a looming possibility that you’ll fall for the sucker punch. Had the pass from Geraghty to Armitage not been adjudged to be marginally forward, Irish would’ve secured the bonus point.
McAlister reduced the deficit with a penalty on 46 minutes after the Exiles were penalised for crossing, and successfully kicked another 9 minutes later after Kennedy was penalised for offside. Apart from that Sale rarely threatened the Irish 22. There were, at least, 2 moments to lift the spirits – a half break from Laharrague that Ripol couldn’t get to, and surprisingly a move that almost produced 3 phase rugby but the final pass to Cueto was adjudged to be forward. It was of course, but sometimes you hope the touch judge is looking away and you keep your fingers crossed. It was indicative of the general laissez faire approach that Sale chose to adopt. In fact, it was so lacklustre that even in a two horse contest; the Sharks would’ve finished third.
It was a contest lacking pride, passion and a fighting spirit. The only Sale staff member wholly committed was Robbie Dickson. Had he not been restrained, he would’ve been on that pitch and at Leguizamon’s throat after he pinned Wiggy to the ground for a bit of afters. Maybe Robbie should dust off his kit for Petrarca.
A rare Irish mistake led to a surprise Sale forage into the Exile’s 22. Cueto couldn’t get to the inside pass from McAlister which was a shame as there was space to have nipped in for a try. Still it did result in a 5 metre line out with a Sale throw. I’m sure Briggsy will dream about what happened next for some time: the night-sweats will haunt many a waking hour. With the Irish line at Sale’s mercy, he overthrew and Mordt was able to run the ball to safety.
McAlister slotted away an easy penalty bringing Sale to within losing bonus point range and the supporters’ hearts lifted ever so slightly. In truth it would’ve been unfair had it stayed like that, because Sale didn’t deserve a thing. However, the Sharks don’t believe in taking the easy option. Irish set out their stall and it was obvious from the field-placings that they were determined to deny Sale the bonus point. It was heart in mouth time from then on, as Sale were guaranteed to give away a penalty. Unfortunately that’s what they specialise in. When discipline’s needed, they tend to misplace it.
Sure enough, at a ruck right in front of Sale’s posts, Schofield was pinged for falling on the ball whilst it was clearly still in the ruck. It may have been that Mr Davey penalised him for killing the ball. Such were his gestures by this stage, that it was almost impossible to decipher what he called it for. Forget dramatic signalling, this was positively Shakespearian. Anyway the upshot was Hickey converted the penalty and Sale once again shot themselves in the foot. The match had already been lost, but indiscipline cost Sale the points.
Even Chabal’s bullocking run at the end couldn’t lift the spirits. That ended in an embarrassing fumble and a pass into touch once again – shocking. The crowd groaned, the referee looked at his watch and I …. I just wanted to go home, but I knew I had the prospect of a four hour drive to get there. It was that bad, I just wanted to get away.
The match was in its final play when the opportunity was presented for McAlister to drop Sale into bonus point range again. It didn’t work of course, it rarely does. The similarities with the Bath game were spooky – last minute and the chance to salvage something you didn’t really deserve. The result was the same and in the end it’s fair to say that justice was done. The better team won: the team with the passion, flair and technique ruled the roost.
Next up is Petrarca in the Challenge Cup. It’s a pity Sale’s game isn’t against a team like Gloucester or Wasps. At least it would give them the chance to mix with the big boys again and hopefully begin to salvage some pride and spirit. You have to play what’s in front of you however, so Petrarca it is. Hopefully the memories of the victory in Padova have been blocked from memory. Sale won convincingly over there, but they also conceded unnecessary tries. Philippe Saint Andre accused his players this week of thinking they were better than they actually are. Let’s hope that message has sunk in. There’s no room for arrogance and complacency in rugby. If you go onto a park with that attitude one day the other team will whoop you and you’d deserve it. Let’s just pray it’s not Petrarca.
Dec 07 Leeds v Sale
Leeds Carnegie v Sale Sharks
Wages’ Day
The song title may well belong to Deacon Blue, but the phrase itself goes back to a dim and distant era and was a favourite of my first serious rugby coach. The ‘Big Yin’ wasn’t one for many words, but when he spoke you listened as his hunches and opinions were usually spot on. It’s fair to say that much of what he said was unintelligible to many of the lads – his thick, guttural Gorbals grunt made sure of that, yet if you could get past the Rab Nesbitt enunciation, his thoughts were always apposite and appropriate. Would that he’d been at Headingley?
“Yous spending all yer wages boys before yous earned them. Yous canae turn up and expect tae win, yous gota show these boys respect or yous’ll get a hiding. Yous got that wages’ day mentality, but you’ve no earned it yet, ken?”
For the first twenty minutes at Leeds and for the entire first half in the home Challenge Cup game against Bayonne, those words kept coming back to my mind. No-one has a God-given right to victory, not even a Munster man. Any team that shows such a degree of arrogance is on a very slippery slope and is more than likely to end up being humbled by opposition that, on paper at least, is inferior. No matter how good a team might be, victory can never be earned by simply turning up and thinking you’ve already won before a ball is kicked: a win has to be earned.
My old team mates eventually cottoned on to what he was trying to say, though one or two of the forwards were still asking who Ken was at the end of the season. The moral of the story nevertheless remains as valid today as it was all those years ago and should be heeded by every team, no matter what level they play at – play from the first whistle and don’t expect any favours from anyone, otherwise the Big Yin might come a calling.
Anyone sitting through the first quarter of the game would be excused for thinking that the league positions of the two teams had somehow been reversed. Sale struggled from the kick off and Leeds were the team that actually played with the passion, desire and belief befitting of a top four team. Eric Lund and Adam Balding played as if their lives depended on it – harrying and hustling and forcing Sale to drop some real clangers.
The pattern was set from the kick off when loose play by Sale resulted in an accidental obstruction. From the attacking 22 metre scrum Leeds squeezed every inch of available space and put the Sharks on the back foot for the next 10 minutes. Inspite of frantic, last-ditch Sale defending, you sensed that a Leeds score was on the cards. Brent Cockbain found himself out of position and offside in his desperate attempt to steal the ball at a ruck: it set the trend for the rest of the match, as he seemed to spend most of time offside and a yard off the pace. Hinton couldn’t convert the penalty, but Leeds were definitely still sniffing blood.
From the 22 drop out, Balding took the ball at speed and charged deep into Sale territory. McGee, the stout little tight head, peeled off the back of the ruck and plodded through under the Sale posts unchallenged. Even though there was more than a hint of obstruction involved in the try, a sneaky little block on Jason White, Ashley Rowden didn’t call it. You’ve got to play to the whistle even if you think the decision is wrong. Hinton converted to give Leeds a 7 point lead with only 9 minutes gone and to be fair, they fully deserved it. They looked like a team that meant business and shouldn’t on this evidence be fighting for survival down in the bargain basement.
Leeds kept up the pressure on the stretched Sale defence with Satala, Biggs, Vickerman and ex-Jet Joe Bedford taking every opportunity to run the ball back at pace. Magnus Lund appeared to be the only Sale player who was fired up: obviously playing against your brother does add an edge to your game. He put himself about from the start and looks to be getting back to his very best. It seemed unfair then to penalise him for not rolling away from the tackle when Balding, Dunbar and his own brother sat on top of him, but Mr Rowden didn’t see it that way. In fact, the referee didn’t appear to be seeing very much at all; various infringements that would’ve been picked up by a Spreadbury or a Pearson went unpunished on both sides. Hinton didn’t really care – he just took the gift, converting the penalty and taking the score to 10 nil with barely 13 minutes played.
Of the people on the field, the only one who could’ve been happy with the next ten minutes or so was our friend Ashley. He used his whistle more than any shepherd might do in a day’s work out on the hills with his dogs. Mind you, he had to – the standard and execution of play was particularly poor from both teams; dropped balls, knock-ons, collapsing scrums and more turn-over ball than you could shake a stick at.
Of greater concern though was the Sharks lineout. We struggled to win our own ball through a combination of poor throwing and muddled options and appeared to take an age to get the ball back into play as the players twirled around like line dancers. If there’s a problem the easiest way to put it right is to keep things simple and go for the percentage ball.
At Leeds’ line outs the problems were even worse. Every ball as far as anyone could see had only one target and that was Eric Lund: being about 8 feet tall I suppose he was the obvious choice. Sale always chose the wrong option though and opted to compete with either Hooper or Oakley, which was wasteful in the extreme. Sale never looked likely to steal one of their balls.
The penny finally dropped on 25 minutes when Sale were aggrieved by another mistake by the referee, though in fairness he wasn’t aided by his touch judge who was stood right by the incident. Cueto took the ball in the Sale 22 after neat interplay between Laharrague and Mayor and carried before hoisting up the Garryowen. The ball clearly touched Biggs’ hand before crossing the line. Nevertheless the line out went to Leeds amid Sale’s protestations. There’s none more dangerous than a team that’s scorned. The slight clearly fired up Sale and they started to play more of the kind of rugby you would expect from then on.
Hodgson opened Sale’s account by kicking a penalty on 26 minutes after Leeds had been penalised for not rolling away at a ruck. He converted yet another penalty 8 minutes later after Leeds were pinged for offside by the referee. It could, however, have been better than that: 3 points is better than none but had Cueto spotted the 3 on 1 overlap sooner, following some mesmerising and flowing cross field passing, Sale were a shoe-in for a definite 7 pointer.
The final error-strewn 7 minutes were ones to forget, even for the purists as both teams conspired to make the simple look complicated. Neither team looked capable of keeping the ball for more than 2 phases of play before knocking on or falling over. Neither set of fans was particularly approving either. Sale relapsed into that pre-set pattern of not committing enough men to the ruck and either conceding a turnover or producing incredibly slow ball at the breakdown. Hodgson could at one particular stage have sat down and had a brew whilst he was waiting for the ball to come out to him.
Just when every Sale fan was giving up hope and wondering what to get to drink during the interval, a moment of magic arrived at last. Jones picked up a loose ball from a Leeds ruck just outside their 22 and fed the ball to Cueto. He feigned outside but stepped off his right leg, taking out Vickerman. The ball was passed to Laharrague and finally shipped out to Thomas who skipped over in the corner. It might’ve been an acute angle but Hodgson was obviously wearing his lucky boots: the ball went straight between the uprights taking the half-time score to Leeds 10, Sale 13. Frankly had Leeds had the guile and skill in their three-quarter line they could probably have had at least 2 more tries, but there you go.
The second half began much as the first, with Leeds taking the game to Sale and refusing to believe that a victory was beyond them. In all fairness that was the prediction before the game kicked off: yet predictions are notoriously dodgy. Leeds set up camp in the Sale 22 after another less than convincing Sale restart. When Jones was penalised for not rolling away, Leeds signalled their intent and kicked for the corner rather than the posts. They obviously believed the game was there for the winning.
It’s easy to say in hindsight that it was the wrong choice. You either have to go with your instincts or be guided by your captain, but, the one thing Sale have managed to do extremely well this season is defend their own 5 metre line. Yes they’ve conceded more tries than they would’ve liked, but rarely from pick and go rugby: Sale’s forwards are too strong. Leeds put in an awful lot of effort but for no reward. Had they chose to switch the ball out wide, they may have given themselves other options but they backed their own forwards. Mayor stole the ball at the breakdown and tried to run it from deep, which was a mistake as he was scragged by Eric Lund, but Lee Thomas saved the day by regaining possession and belting the ball out on halfway.
Chances did come Sale’s way but with the way the luck was running it could still have been anyone’s game. Hodgson missed a penalty just inside the Leeds half after Leeds were penalised for not rolling away. Lawson successfully charged down the 22 drop out but held on to the ball in contact and ceded possession. A Hodgson attempted drop goal looked more like one of my attempts as the wind caught it in mid-flight. Even wonder-boy Lee Thomas couldn’t get it quite right when deputising for the injured Hodgson. His attempted penalty from out wide hit the uprights and bounced out hinting to many Sale supporters there that maybe this just wasn’t their day.
However, the Welsh wizard soon put matters to rights with a piece of juggling worthy of the Moscow State Circus. Cueto once more attempted the Garryowen and was able to turn over the Leeds ball, Hodgson took Wiggy’s pass and fed an outside ball to Ripol. He stepped inside and threw a lovely ball out to Thomas approaching at speed on the wing and he somehow managed to tip the ball up in the air with his fingertips, flip it again with his other hand and then gather the ball and plant it in the corner. If that was masterful, his conversion was even better.
Leeds are a tenacious lot though. No sooner had Thomas put daylight in between the teams than Biggs steps up to reel them back in. Fair play to the lad, he’s quick and powerful and can be a tricky little so and so, but 3 Sale defenders should’ve snuffed out that chance straight away. Having said all that, his step back onto his inside leg was masterful. Hinton once again couldn’t convert but the scores were once again too close for comfort.
Having done the Sale back 3 for pace moments before the odds on him not intercepting Hodgson’s cross kick were slim to say the least. He had a five metre start on Chris Mayor and looked favourite to get to the ball first. Mayor was having none of it though. He read Hodgson’s intention and chased after it like a whippet, showing a real poachers’ instinct by throwing himself at the ball from the 5 metre line. Somehow he managed to steal the ball from the arms of Tom Biggs and ground the ball in the corner. It was a fantastic try and was converted once again by Thomas. You sensed that now Sale really did believe the bonus point was there for the taking.
It might not have arrived until the last 5 minutes, but ask any Sale Sharks’ fan and they’ll tell you the trip across the Pennines was worth it. With time running out quickly, Martens managed to dig the ball out at a Leeds ruck and give a quick pass to Hodgson. The fly half’s speed of thought and peripheral vision is such that he can see opportunities where few others can: what’s more, he has the skills and the gumption to go with these instincts. The easy ball would’ve been to either Thomas or Mayor who were both approaching at speed on his left. The Leeds defence were drifting across to cover this eventuality. Hodgson though, looked at the bigger picture and sent out an inch-perfect, double-miss pass to the marauding Ripol who merely had to straighten his run and amble unchallenged under the posts and plant the ball in the same spot where McGee had started proceedings an hour before. There was a sort of karma-like quality to it. Laharrague, not wishing to be outdone, got his name on the score sheet with a deft little conversion, giving Sale an unassailable 19 point lead.
It’s perhaps just as well the lead was substantial, because that man Biggs wasn’t done. Anything Thomas could do, he could match. Another almost carbon-copy like move of chip and chase saw him once again emerge victorious from under a pile of white shirts. How he managed to do it is difficult to fathom as Sale had 3 defenders back covering that eventuality. Anyway, he did and he deserved his score as one of the better Leeds performers on the day.
Now it’s off to London Irish. Not the easiest of places to go at any time. They’re hard to beat on their own turf and have formidable strength in the set piece, particularly their line out with the throwing of David Paice and the jumping skills of Kennedy and Casey. Line outs are not a Sale speciality at the moment, so care will definitely be needed. On the basis of recent results it would appear that Sale should expect to win having won 8 of their last 9 matches in all competitions. Irish by contrast have lost 5 of the last 6 encounters with the Sharks. Does that tell you anything? Well, frankly no, except no-one believes statistics except statisticians, unless it suits them. I prefer to base my predictions on something much more quantifiable. The games that are on paper meant to be formalities like the Montpellier and Worcester clashes are always anything but. I’ll let the number crunchers use their calculators and I’ll stick with my hunches. Like Homer said – Simpson, not the Greek fella – statistics lie: 9 out of 10 people know that!
Wages’ Day
The song title may well belong to Deacon Blue, but the phrase itself goes back to a dim and distant era and was a favourite of my first serious rugby coach. The ‘Big Yin’ wasn’t one for many words, but when he spoke you listened as his hunches and opinions were usually spot on. It’s fair to say that much of what he said was unintelligible to many of the lads – his thick, guttural Gorbals grunt made sure of that, yet if you could get past the Rab Nesbitt enunciation, his thoughts were always apposite and appropriate. Would that he’d been at Headingley?
“Yous spending all yer wages boys before yous earned them. Yous canae turn up and expect tae win, yous gota show these boys respect or yous’ll get a hiding. Yous got that wages’ day mentality, but you’ve no earned it yet, ken?”
For the first twenty minutes at Leeds and for the entire first half in the home Challenge Cup game against Bayonne, those words kept coming back to my mind. No-one has a God-given right to victory, not even a Munster man. Any team that shows such a degree of arrogance is on a very slippery slope and is more than likely to end up being humbled by opposition that, on paper at least, is inferior. No matter how good a team might be, victory can never be earned by simply turning up and thinking you’ve already won before a ball is kicked: a win has to be earned.
My old team mates eventually cottoned on to what he was trying to say, though one or two of the forwards were still asking who Ken was at the end of the season. The moral of the story nevertheless remains as valid today as it was all those years ago and should be heeded by every team, no matter what level they play at – play from the first whistle and don’t expect any favours from anyone, otherwise the Big Yin might come a calling.
Anyone sitting through the first quarter of the game would be excused for thinking that the league positions of the two teams had somehow been reversed. Sale struggled from the kick off and Leeds were the team that actually played with the passion, desire and belief befitting of a top four team. Eric Lund and Adam Balding played as if their lives depended on it – harrying and hustling and forcing Sale to drop some real clangers.
The pattern was set from the kick off when loose play by Sale resulted in an accidental obstruction. From the attacking 22 metre scrum Leeds squeezed every inch of available space and put the Sharks on the back foot for the next 10 minutes. Inspite of frantic, last-ditch Sale defending, you sensed that a Leeds score was on the cards. Brent Cockbain found himself out of position and offside in his desperate attempt to steal the ball at a ruck: it set the trend for the rest of the match, as he seemed to spend most of time offside and a yard off the pace. Hinton couldn’t convert the penalty, but Leeds were definitely still sniffing blood.
From the 22 drop out, Balding took the ball at speed and charged deep into Sale territory. McGee, the stout little tight head, peeled off the back of the ruck and plodded through under the Sale posts unchallenged. Even though there was more than a hint of obstruction involved in the try, a sneaky little block on Jason White, Ashley Rowden didn’t call it. You’ve got to play to the whistle even if you think the decision is wrong. Hinton converted to give Leeds a 7 point lead with only 9 minutes gone and to be fair, they fully deserved it. They looked like a team that meant business and shouldn’t on this evidence be fighting for survival down in the bargain basement.
Leeds kept up the pressure on the stretched Sale defence with Satala, Biggs, Vickerman and ex-Jet Joe Bedford taking every opportunity to run the ball back at pace. Magnus Lund appeared to be the only Sale player who was fired up: obviously playing against your brother does add an edge to your game. He put himself about from the start and looks to be getting back to his very best. It seemed unfair then to penalise him for not rolling away from the tackle when Balding, Dunbar and his own brother sat on top of him, but Mr Rowden didn’t see it that way. In fact, the referee didn’t appear to be seeing very much at all; various infringements that would’ve been picked up by a Spreadbury or a Pearson went unpunished on both sides. Hinton didn’t really care – he just took the gift, converting the penalty and taking the score to 10 nil with barely 13 minutes played.
Of the people on the field, the only one who could’ve been happy with the next ten minutes or so was our friend Ashley. He used his whistle more than any shepherd might do in a day’s work out on the hills with his dogs. Mind you, he had to – the standard and execution of play was particularly poor from both teams; dropped balls, knock-ons, collapsing scrums and more turn-over ball than you could shake a stick at.
Of greater concern though was the Sharks lineout. We struggled to win our own ball through a combination of poor throwing and muddled options and appeared to take an age to get the ball back into play as the players twirled around like line dancers. If there’s a problem the easiest way to put it right is to keep things simple and go for the percentage ball.
At Leeds’ line outs the problems were even worse. Every ball as far as anyone could see had only one target and that was Eric Lund: being about 8 feet tall I suppose he was the obvious choice. Sale always chose the wrong option though and opted to compete with either Hooper or Oakley, which was wasteful in the extreme. Sale never looked likely to steal one of their balls.
The penny finally dropped on 25 minutes when Sale were aggrieved by another mistake by the referee, though in fairness he wasn’t aided by his touch judge who was stood right by the incident. Cueto took the ball in the Sale 22 after neat interplay between Laharrague and Mayor and carried before hoisting up the Garryowen. The ball clearly touched Biggs’ hand before crossing the line. Nevertheless the line out went to Leeds amid Sale’s protestations. There’s none more dangerous than a team that’s scorned. The slight clearly fired up Sale and they started to play more of the kind of rugby you would expect from then on.
Hodgson opened Sale’s account by kicking a penalty on 26 minutes after Leeds had been penalised for not rolling away at a ruck. He converted yet another penalty 8 minutes later after Leeds were pinged for offside by the referee. It could, however, have been better than that: 3 points is better than none but had Cueto spotted the 3 on 1 overlap sooner, following some mesmerising and flowing cross field passing, Sale were a shoe-in for a definite 7 pointer.
The final error-strewn 7 minutes were ones to forget, even for the purists as both teams conspired to make the simple look complicated. Neither team looked capable of keeping the ball for more than 2 phases of play before knocking on or falling over. Neither set of fans was particularly approving either. Sale relapsed into that pre-set pattern of not committing enough men to the ruck and either conceding a turnover or producing incredibly slow ball at the breakdown. Hodgson could at one particular stage have sat down and had a brew whilst he was waiting for the ball to come out to him.
Just when every Sale fan was giving up hope and wondering what to get to drink during the interval, a moment of magic arrived at last. Jones picked up a loose ball from a Leeds ruck just outside their 22 and fed the ball to Cueto. He feigned outside but stepped off his right leg, taking out Vickerman. The ball was passed to Laharrague and finally shipped out to Thomas who skipped over in the corner. It might’ve been an acute angle but Hodgson was obviously wearing his lucky boots: the ball went straight between the uprights taking the half-time score to Leeds 10, Sale 13. Frankly had Leeds had the guile and skill in their three-quarter line they could probably have had at least 2 more tries, but there you go.
The second half began much as the first, with Leeds taking the game to Sale and refusing to believe that a victory was beyond them. In all fairness that was the prediction before the game kicked off: yet predictions are notoriously dodgy. Leeds set up camp in the Sale 22 after another less than convincing Sale restart. When Jones was penalised for not rolling away, Leeds signalled their intent and kicked for the corner rather than the posts. They obviously believed the game was there for the winning.
It’s easy to say in hindsight that it was the wrong choice. You either have to go with your instincts or be guided by your captain, but, the one thing Sale have managed to do extremely well this season is defend their own 5 metre line. Yes they’ve conceded more tries than they would’ve liked, but rarely from pick and go rugby: Sale’s forwards are too strong. Leeds put in an awful lot of effort but for no reward. Had they chose to switch the ball out wide, they may have given themselves other options but they backed their own forwards. Mayor stole the ball at the breakdown and tried to run it from deep, which was a mistake as he was scragged by Eric Lund, but Lee Thomas saved the day by regaining possession and belting the ball out on halfway.
Chances did come Sale’s way but with the way the luck was running it could still have been anyone’s game. Hodgson missed a penalty just inside the Leeds half after Leeds were penalised for not rolling away. Lawson successfully charged down the 22 drop out but held on to the ball in contact and ceded possession. A Hodgson attempted drop goal looked more like one of my attempts as the wind caught it in mid-flight. Even wonder-boy Lee Thomas couldn’t get it quite right when deputising for the injured Hodgson. His attempted penalty from out wide hit the uprights and bounced out hinting to many Sale supporters there that maybe this just wasn’t their day.
However, the Welsh wizard soon put matters to rights with a piece of juggling worthy of the Moscow State Circus. Cueto once more attempted the Garryowen and was able to turn over the Leeds ball, Hodgson took Wiggy’s pass and fed an outside ball to Ripol. He stepped inside and threw a lovely ball out to Thomas approaching at speed on the wing and he somehow managed to tip the ball up in the air with his fingertips, flip it again with his other hand and then gather the ball and plant it in the corner. If that was masterful, his conversion was even better.
Leeds are a tenacious lot though. No sooner had Thomas put daylight in between the teams than Biggs steps up to reel them back in. Fair play to the lad, he’s quick and powerful and can be a tricky little so and so, but 3 Sale defenders should’ve snuffed out that chance straight away. Having said all that, his step back onto his inside leg was masterful. Hinton once again couldn’t convert but the scores were once again too close for comfort.
Having done the Sale back 3 for pace moments before the odds on him not intercepting Hodgson’s cross kick were slim to say the least. He had a five metre start on Chris Mayor and looked favourite to get to the ball first. Mayor was having none of it though. He read Hodgson’s intention and chased after it like a whippet, showing a real poachers’ instinct by throwing himself at the ball from the 5 metre line. Somehow he managed to steal the ball from the arms of Tom Biggs and ground the ball in the corner. It was a fantastic try and was converted once again by Thomas. You sensed that now Sale really did believe the bonus point was there for the taking.
It might not have arrived until the last 5 minutes, but ask any Sale Sharks’ fan and they’ll tell you the trip across the Pennines was worth it. With time running out quickly, Martens managed to dig the ball out at a Leeds ruck and give a quick pass to Hodgson. The fly half’s speed of thought and peripheral vision is such that he can see opportunities where few others can: what’s more, he has the skills and the gumption to go with these instincts. The easy ball would’ve been to either Thomas or Mayor who were both approaching at speed on his left. The Leeds defence were drifting across to cover this eventuality. Hodgson though, looked at the bigger picture and sent out an inch-perfect, double-miss pass to the marauding Ripol who merely had to straighten his run and amble unchallenged under the posts and plant the ball in the same spot where McGee had started proceedings an hour before. There was a sort of karma-like quality to it. Laharrague, not wishing to be outdone, got his name on the score sheet with a deft little conversion, giving Sale an unassailable 19 point lead.
It’s perhaps just as well the lead was substantial, because that man Biggs wasn’t done. Anything Thomas could do, he could match. Another almost carbon-copy like move of chip and chase saw him once again emerge victorious from under a pile of white shirts. How he managed to do it is difficult to fathom as Sale had 3 defenders back covering that eventuality. Anyway, he did and he deserved his score as one of the better Leeds performers on the day.
Now it’s off to London Irish. Not the easiest of places to go at any time. They’re hard to beat on their own turf and have formidable strength in the set piece, particularly their line out with the throwing of David Paice and the jumping skills of Kennedy and Casey. Line outs are not a Sale speciality at the moment, so care will definitely be needed. On the basis of recent results it would appear that Sale should expect to win having won 8 of their last 9 matches in all competitions. Irish by contrast have lost 5 of the last 6 encounters with the Sharks. Does that tell you anything? Well, frankly no, except no-one believes statistics except statisticians, unless it suits them. I prefer to base my predictions on something much more quantifiable. The games that are on paper meant to be formalities like the Montpellier and Worcester clashes are always anything but. I’ll let the number crunchers use their calculators and I’ll stick with my hunches. Like Homer said – Simpson, not the Greek fella – statistics lie: 9 out of 10 people know that!
Apr 07 Harlequins v Sale
Harlequins v Sale Sharks
Regrets, I’ve had a few!
I could have written this final column as soon as I got back from my visit to the Hairy Queens, but decided that it was best to calm down a little, relax and let my blood pressure drop. Was I angry at the performance? Actually, no, it wasn’t that.
Three things annoyed me intensely. Firstly the attitude of our management in offering up our youngsters as pragmatic sacrifices, and secondly the refusal, yet again, to give Steve Hanley a game and lastly attitude of some of our fans, who on the face of things, will happily kick a dog when it’s down. Was it a good performance? No, but that for me is forgivable. Were the selections justifiable? No, and that for me is not.
I have been a constant champion of our young lads and have consistently called for them to be given more game time this season. You can have all the talent and potential in the world, but that counts for nothing unless you have the experience to back it up. How do you get the experience? You get it through time spent on the pitch playing alongside your senior colleagues. Why haven’t we seen more of these young men this season? Well, because we’ve been told by Philippe St Andre that he would only introduce them when he felt they ready. So, were they all suddenly and miraculously ready on Saturday? Had they all taken ‘experience’ pills?
Of course not. You can’t throw together a team of nineteen, twenty and twenty one year olds and expect them to take on a full-strength Quins side with the likes of Andrew Mehrtens and Andre Voss. More to the point, you can’t throw them all on at once. It’s just not right. It was all but inevitable that we’d get a drubbing. Yes it was a little bit embarrassing, especially as the brother-in-law’s a Quins fan. Still, I can live with that. What worries and saddens me more is the potential damage this might’ve done to the lads. How long is it going to take for them to get their confidence back? I spoke to one or two of them after the game and they looked haunted. They apologised for the performance. I think if any apologies are due, then they should come from elsewhere. The responsibility for any long-term psychological effects on the youngsters rests firmly with the management.
No-one who was at the Stoop could ever doubt their spirit, determination and grit. They gave their all and that is all a supporter can ever ask. Coxy came on when we were already 37 points down, but you’d never have known that from his manner. That’s what comes from experience. Some of the younger lads’ heads dropped and you can understand why.
I just hope that some of the older lads gave them support and a comforting shoulder. They will learn from this, without any doubt, but it shouldn’t have happened. We were told afterwards that some of the older players were exhausted after a long and gruelling season. I can accept that, but what I cannot accept is that my team rest players as a favour to England. I’m sorry, but for me charity begins at home. I pay to watch my team and believe we already give more than enough to the RFU.
Steve Hanley is one of life’s good guys. He’s also the Premiership’s leading try scorer, yet he’s barely had a look in this season. He’s big, blisteringly quick and a real handful when he’s flying down the wing but for some reason he never seems to get a chance to showcase these qualities. Why is this? Why isn’t he given a chance when the game was crying out for someone like him? I wish I knew the answer. He’s exactly the type of wise old head that the lads could have done with on Saturday. A man to cajole, encourage and also inspire. It must be extremely frustrating to sit and watch and not be given a chance. Let’s hope he finally gets the chance to shine next season.
I’m no apologist for the Club, nor am I a ‘luvvy’ as someone has kindly called me: what I am is a passionate supporter of my team. As a supporter I accept the lows as well as taking the highs should they come around. This is a professional sport in which no result is ever guaranteed. If you lose, you learn from the experience and then move on. You don’t demand your money back, nor moan like drains on message boards. These young lads were sacrificed at the weekend and have probably had all confidence knocked out of them. The last thing they need is for their supporters to publicly criticise them. If you want to have a go at anyone, then vent your spleen on the management – the ones who make the decisions. If you truly believe in your team then vote with your feet and get on down to the Caldy Sevens this weekend and cheer on these same youngsters. They need your support and deserve it.
Regrets, I’ve had a few!
I could have written this final column as soon as I got back from my visit to the Hairy Queens, but decided that it was best to calm down a little, relax and let my blood pressure drop. Was I angry at the performance? Actually, no, it wasn’t that.
Three things annoyed me intensely. Firstly the attitude of our management in offering up our youngsters as pragmatic sacrifices, and secondly the refusal, yet again, to give Steve Hanley a game and lastly attitude of some of our fans, who on the face of things, will happily kick a dog when it’s down. Was it a good performance? No, but that for me is forgivable. Were the selections justifiable? No, and that for me is not.
I have been a constant champion of our young lads and have consistently called for them to be given more game time this season. You can have all the talent and potential in the world, but that counts for nothing unless you have the experience to back it up. How do you get the experience? You get it through time spent on the pitch playing alongside your senior colleagues. Why haven’t we seen more of these young men this season? Well, because we’ve been told by Philippe St Andre that he would only introduce them when he felt they ready. So, were they all suddenly and miraculously ready on Saturday? Had they all taken ‘experience’ pills?
Of course not. You can’t throw together a team of nineteen, twenty and twenty one year olds and expect them to take on a full-strength Quins side with the likes of Andrew Mehrtens and Andre Voss. More to the point, you can’t throw them all on at once. It’s just not right. It was all but inevitable that we’d get a drubbing. Yes it was a little bit embarrassing, especially as the brother-in-law’s a Quins fan. Still, I can live with that. What worries and saddens me more is the potential damage this might’ve done to the lads. How long is it going to take for them to get their confidence back? I spoke to one or two of them after the game and they looked haunted. They apologised for the performance. I think if any apologies are due, then they should come from elsewhere. The responsibility for any long-term psychological effects on the youngsters rests firmly with the management.
No-one who was at the Stoop could ever doubt their spirit, determination and grit. They gave their all and that is all a supporter can ever ask. Coxy came on when we were already 37 points down, but you’d never have known that from his manner. That’s what comes from experience. Some of the younger lads’ heads dropped and you can understand why.
I just hope that some of the older lads gave them support and a comforting shoulder. They will learn from this, without any doubt, but it shouldn’t have happened. We were told afterwards that some of the older players were exhausted after a long and gruelling season. I can accept that, but what I cannot accept is that my team rest players as a favour to England. I’m sorry, but for me charity begins at home. I pay to watch my team and believe we already give more than enough to the RFU.
Steve Hanley is one of life’s good guys. He’s also the Premiership’s leading try scorer, yet he’s barely had a look in this season. He’s big, blisteringly quick and a real handful when he’s flying down the wing but for some reason he never seems to get a chance to showcase these qualities. Why is this? Why isn’t he given a chance when the game was crying out for someone like him? I wish I knew the answer. He’s exactly the type of wise old head that the lads could have done with on Saturday. A man to cajole, encourage and also inspire. It must be extremely frustrating to sit and watch and not be given a chance. Let’s hope he finally gets the chance to shine next season.
I’m no apologist for the Club, nor am I a ‘luvvy’ as someone has kindly called me: what I am is a passionate supporter of my team. As a supporter I accept the lows as well as taking the highs should they come around. This is a professional sport in which no result is ever guaranteed. If you lose, you learn from the experience and then move on. You don’t demand your money back, nor moan like drains on message boards. These young lads were sacrificed at the weekend and have probably had all confidence knocked out of them. The last thing they need is for their supporters to publicly criticise them. If you want to have a go at anyone, then vent your spleen on the management – the ones who make the decisions. If you truly believe in your team then vote with your feet and get on down to the Caldy Sevens this weekend and cheer on these same youngsters. They need your support and deserve it.
Apr 07 Sale v Bath
Sale Sharks v Bath Rugby
Say a little prayer for you
I suppose it was inevitable that we would eventually win a game. The odds may have been against us given our woeful luck and lack of a cutting edge, but nevertheless, we all knew it was a more than just a possibility. That it should happen in the way it did, also came as no surprise: a fairytale end to a glittering career! Maybe it was written in the stars or perhaps it was divine intervention: who can tell? Certainly not me, that’s for sure.
I’m not one for astrology, nor unfortunately have I a faith or belief, but it was undoubtedly divine and decidedly ironic that the final result should’ve been determined in the final moments by a man who was making his final appearance for the team he has graced for seven years. Stand up Billy Whizz. We all salute you. You brought pace, charisma, athleticism, strength and determination to the rugby field, all underpinned with a dignity, humility and grace: I doubt we will ever see your like again. Although, if you know anyone who fits the bill and comes cheaply, send their CVs to Edgeley Park as soon as possible
Now, before we all get too caught up in the world of self-congratulatory, rose-tinted reminiscence and touchy-feeliness, I feel I’m obliged to pour some cold water on the proceedings.
I think we should remember that this wasn’t exactly a stellar performance by any means. I know we won, and I know the victory was achieved because of a moment of brilliance but, it wouldn’t have sent shudders of fear through any of the teams in the Premiership. It was certainly workmanlike but, it just wasn’t inspiring to watch.
For the first twenty minutes we looked to have a real sense of purpose. Young Foden, playing in his preferred position at scrum-half, dictated the play and gave us quick, flat ball and a sense of urgency that has been desperately lacking for much of the season.
He combined well with Thomas at stand-off and stretched the Bath defence. We were able to put together numerous phases of play, pull the opposition across the park and actually keep hold of the ball which made a really pleasant change. However, after the injury to Chris Mayor and the resultant personnel changes, we reverted to type. Slow ball from both scrum and ruck, continual handling errors, a lack of numbers at the breakdown, forwards caught out of position and plenty lateral movement with little cutting edge: the old, old story.
We only managed to get any momentum back when Foden returned to scrum-half after the break and managed to get the backs moving. Hopefully when our new backs coach arrives and we have a more settled side, we can look forward to more of this. We won, but for once the luck was with us. Thank goodness Tony Spreadbury had a night off, or maybe we wouldn’t have been so lucky.
Although the headlines will rightly be stolen by Jason Robinson and his match-winning try, four of our other players shone for me. Chris Jones showed his England credentials with some blistering bursts in the loose: playing in his preferred second row position, he made numerous breaks over the gain-line. His speed and athleticism are second to none as is his ability to steal line-out ball, even against second-row beasts like Borthwick and Grewcock.
Ben Foden also showed why he is so highly rated. He’s not the finished article yet by any means, but with the correct coaching and an extended run at 9, hopefully alongside Sir Charles of Hodgson, he will only get better. His pass has improved over the course of the year. It’s much flatter now and quicker. He has an eye for the gap and a startling turn of pace. He has all the credentials to potentially become a very fine player indeed. All that’s needed is patience.
Selorm Kuadey made his league debut and demonstrated what anyone who’s watched the Jets could’ve told you: this young lad has bags of potential and, but for injury, should probably have come into first team reckoning earlier. He’s got pace to burn; he reads a game well, is strong and courageous and is not afraid to put his head in where it hurts. His try was nothing more than just desserts for the work-rate and commitment he put in.
“Corcho” Lobbe was magnificent again, and for me, our best player on the night. He’s shone all season and continued to impress in spite of weariness and over-use. He’s outstanding in both attack and defence and is always committed to the cause, covering every square foot of grass and sand.
His best quality for me though is his leadership, not just of the pack, but of the whole team. He continually advises and encourages those around him. At one point he told Selorm precisely where to stand for a 22 drop out and the ball landed exactly at that spot, right in Kuadey’s hands. He’s been our best player this season by a long way and has all the credentials to make a perfect captain.
And, though he’s never one to grab or make the headlines, I think a special word is also due for Barry Stewart. He’s demonstrated over the years that he is a top professional who goes about his business in a quiet but effective manner. It was fitting that he should end his career with a win and with an ovation from the crowd.
Those who met him at the impromptu presentation in the car park by the Supporters Club will tell you what a kind, gentle and gracious man he is. He will be missed by the Sharks, and hopefully our pointless loss will prove to be someone else’s gain. If only I had the money, I’d pay his wages myself.
So, one more match to go, then it’s time to build for the next campaign. While Leicester, Wasps and Gloucester prepare for the future using their elasticated and seemingly endless salary cap allowance, we have decided to cut back. We already have one of the smallest squads in the Premiership, but have so far lost the services of nine of our players. We have only confirmed two new arrivals so far. As we appear to be running on a shoestring, it would appear we won’t be able to sign the best Europe or the Super 14 can offer. We don’t have the financial clout to compete.
I won’t wring my hands with sorrow at this because I feel we have sufficient talent already within the squad. Certainly we need more bodies, but we have youngsters in the Jets who should, no, must be given an opportunity to shine. We’ve already seen the impact that the likes of Foden, Kuadey, Cox, Jones and Tait have made. They will be stars given the opportunity. The same applies to Matt Riley, David Blair, Mike Hills, Neil Briggs, Martin Halsall and many others, not to mention Andy Vilk.
You don’t always have to sign a big name: even if this has an impact on immediate gate receipts, it’s only a short term solution. You have to build for the future. I seem to remember a similar furore surrounding the promotion to the first team of the likes of Charlie and Cuets. The question was, were they up to it? Well the answer, I think, was self-evident. Of course they were, and of course these lads are.
Wasps have been prepared to go with youth and play Rees, Palmer and Cipriani, and Gloucester have done the same with Allen, Bailey and Lamb. Why can’t we? Well, that’s the sixty four thousand dollar question. There has to be a willingness from the management of the team to go with this policy. I’ve just got a gut feeling that there’s a reluctance to go with this flow and give youth its head. I sincerely hope I’m wrong.
Say a little prayer for you
I suppose it was inevitable that we would eventually win a game. The odds may have been against us given our woeful luck and lack of a cutting edge, but nevertheless, we all knew it was a more than just a possibility. That it should happen in the way it did, also came as no surprise: a fairytale end to a glittering career! Maybe it was written in the stars or perhaps it was divine intervention: who can tell? Certainly not me, that’s for sure.
I’m not one for astrology, nor unfortunately have I a faith or belief, but it was undoubtedly divine and decidedly ironic that the final result should’ve been determined in the final moments by a man who was making his final appearance for the team he has graced for seven years. Stand up Billy Whizz. We all salute you. You brought pace, charisma, athleticism, strength and determination to the rugby field, all underpinned with a dignity, humility and grace: I doubt we will ever see your like again. Although, if you know anyone who fits the bill and comes cheaply, send their CVs to Edgeley Park as soon as possible
Now, before we all get too caught up in the world of self-congratulatory, rose-tinted reminiscence and touchy-feeliness, I feel I’m obliged to pour some cold water on the proceedings.
I think we should remember that this wasn’t exactly a stellar performance by any means. I know we won, and I know the victory was achieved because of a moment of brilliance but, it wouldn’t have sent shudders of fear through any of the teams in the Premiership. It was certainly workmanlike but, it just wasn’t inspiring to watch.
For the first twenty minutes we looked to have a real sense of purpose. Young Foden, playing in his preferred position at scrum-half, dictated the play and gave us quick, flat ball and a sense of urgency that has been desperately lacking for much of the season.
He combined well with Thomas at stand-off and stretched the Bath defence. We were able to put together numerous phases of play, pull the opposition across the park and actually keep hold of the ball which made a really pleasant change. However, after the injury to Chris Mayor and the resultant personnel changes, we reverted to type. Slow ball from both scrum and ruck, continual handling errors, a lack of numbers at the breakdown, forwards caught out of position and plenty lateral movement with little cutting edge: the old, old story.
We only managed to get any momentum back when Foden returned to scrum-half after the break and managed to get the backs moving. Hopefully when our new backs coach arrives and we have a more settled side, we can look forward to more of this. We won, but for once the luck was with us. Thank goodness Tony Spreadbury had a night off, or maybe we wouldn’t have been so lucky.
Although the headlines will rightly be stolen by Jason Robinson and his match-winning try, four of our other players shone for me. Chris Jones showed his England credentials with some blistering bursts in the loose: playing in his preferred second row position, he made numerous breaks over the gain-line. His speed and athleticism are second to none as is his ability to steal line-out ball, even against second-row beasts like Borthwick and Grewcock.
Ben Foden also showed why he is so highly rated. He’s not the finished article yet by any means, but with the correct coaching and an extended run at 9, hopefully alongside Sir Charles of Hodgson, he will only get better. His pass has improved over the course of the year. It’s much flatter now and quicker. He has an eye for the gap and a startling turn of pace. He has all the credentials to potentially become a very fine player indeed. All that’s needed is patience.
Selorm Kuadey made his league debut and demonstrated what anyone who’s watched the Jets could’ve told you: this young lad has bags of potential and, but for injury, should probably have come into first team reckoning earlier. He’s got pace to burn; he reads a game well, is strong and courageous and is not afraid to put his head in where it hurts. His try was nothing more than just desserts for the work-rate and commitment he put in.
“Corcho” Lobbe was magnificent again, and for me, our best player on the night. He’s shone all season and continued to impress in spite of weariness and over-use. He’s outstanding in both attack and defence and is always committed to the cause, covering every square foot of grass and sand.
His best quality for me though is his leadership, not just of the pack, but of the whole team. He continually advises and encourages those around him. At one point he told Selorm precisely where to stand for a 22 drop out and the ball landed exactly at that spot, right in Kuadey’s hands. He’s been our best player this season by a long way and has all the credentials to make a perfect captain.
And, though he’s never one to grab or make the headlines, I think a special word is also due for Barry Stewart. He’s demonstrated over the years that he is a top professional who goes about his business in a quiet but effective manner. It was fitting that he should end his career with a win and with an ovation from the crowd.
Those who met him at the impromptu presentation in the car park by the Supporters Club will tell you what a kind, gentle and gracious man he is. He will be missed by the Sharks, and hopefully our pointless loss will prove to be someone else’s gain. If only I had the money, I’d pay his wages myself.
So, one more match to go, then it’s time to build for the next campaign. While Leicester, Wasps and Gloucester prepare for the future using their elasticated and seemingly endless salary cap allowance, we have decided to cut back. We already have one of the smallest squads in the Premiership, but have so far lost the services of nine of our players. We have only confirmed two new arrivals so far. As we appear to be running on a shoestring, it would appear we won’t be able to sign the best Europe or the Super 14 can offer. We don’t have the financial clout to compete.
I won’t wring my hands with sorrow at this because I feel we have sufficient talent already within the squad. Certainly we need more bodies, but we have youngsters in the Jets who should, no, must be given an opportunity to shine. We’ve already seen the impact that the likes of Foden, Kuadey, Cox, Jones and Tait have made. They will be stars given the opportunity. The same applies to Matt Riley, David Blair, Mike Hills, Neil Briggs, Martin Halsall and many others, not to mention Andy Vilk.
You don’t always have to sign a big name: even if this has an impact on immediate gate receipts, it’s only a short term solution. You have to build for the future. I seem to remember a similar furore surrounding the promotion to the first team of the likes of Charlie and Cuets. The question was, were they up to it? Well the answer, I think, was self-evident. Of course they were, and of course these lads are.
Wasps have been prepared to go with youth and play Rees, Palmer and Cipriani, and Gloucester have done the same with Allen, Bailey and Lamb. Why can’t we? Well, that’s the sixty four thousand dollar question. There has to be a willingness from the management of the team to go with this policy. I’ve just got a gut feeling that there’s a reluctance to go with this flow and give youth its head. I sincerely hope I’m wrong.
Apr 07 Sale v Leicester
Sale Sharks v Leicester Tigers
Three wheels on my wagon
A week apparently is a long time in politics. Tell that to a Shark. A week at Edgeley Park can, by comparison, seem to last an eternity. First our Club captain announces his retirement in rather acrimonious circumstances, then we find out that one of our front row stalwarts is by all accounts being shunted out the back door unceremoniously, and finally the team conspire to once again snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Oh joy of joys. No wonder we’re all despondent and downcast. What price loyalty? What price professionalism? What price a backs coach? Sorry to moan - my weekend, as you’ll probably have guessed, was a real blast.
We should actually be celebrating the career of one of rugby’s icons this week, recognising his incredible achievements in both codes and thanking our lucky stars that we were privileged enough to witness these. Instead all the talk has been about contract wranglings and people have been asking themselves, did he fall or was he pushed? How sad and depressing is that? Many of us believe Billy Whizz should’ve played on for at least another year, but he has decided he will retire and we will and should, of course, respect that.
The news was of course very sad, both for Sale and for England. Yet it wasn’t entirely unexpected. There had been rumours for several weeks that this might happen, due to a breakdown in communication between the Club and the player. Both sides have come out since and stated their views on what did or didn’t happen and why the whole deal ultimately collapsed.
As fans I guess we’ll never know the whole truth. However, what I find most distressing and upsetting of all, is the fact that the dirty linen had to be so publicly laundered. Whether you prefer to lay the blame at Jason’s door or the Club’s, the fact remains, matters should’ve been sorted out many months ago in private and the end of a glittering and illustrious career shouldn’t have been tarnished by an unnecessary public squabble. I’ll remember Billy for his rugby, and his rugby alone. I hope others will do the same.
It would also appear that Barry Stewart, our own Scottish ‘Bear’, is set to leave Sale Sharks this summer, after the Club has failed to offer him a new contract. If this news is true, then it is terribly sad. What’s even sadder is the fact that this news had to be broken to supporters by Barry’s own mother and father.
Personally I find that astonishing. He came to Sale after a serious injury and insurance issues which prevented him from ever plying his trade in his own country again, and has fought back to become an invaluable member of our squad. In all the years I have watched him, I’ve never seen him give anything other than full and total commitment, nor take a backward step. He is a consummate professional. What’s more, he is a gentleman and is liked and appreciated by one and all.
Are loyalty and professionalism mutually exclusive concepts? Well, you can accuse me of naivety and living in an ivory tower, but I don’t think they are, nor should they be. I know what we watch week in, week out is effectively a regional franchise, not a rugby club in its traditional form, but nonetheless I feel that loyalty and commitment should be rewarded and appreciated.
If the Club is seen to act with honour and integrity, I’m sure profits will continue to rise and the business expand. If it’s not, then recruitment of new players is going to become increasingly difficult as it’s hard to commit to a Club you can’t necessarily trust. Let’s just hope that good sense prevails and Bear stays at Sale to fight another day.
Back on the field, we slumped to yet another last gasp defeat to this season’s nemesis, Leicester Tigers. They played their second string. We played the best available. It was a tense and fiercely fought game and exciting because both teams came to the match with different agendas: the Tigers to ensure a top four finish and a play-off place, Sale to stave off relegation. That we didn’t manage to take the game by the scruff of the neck and dominate from the first whistle, won’t come as any great surprise to anyone who’s watched the team over the course of the season. Our pack may well dominate games but we appear to have no penetration.
We mullered them in the scrum, pushing them backwards continually. Had the normally eagle-eyed Tony Spreadbury spotted the constant infringements and lack of binding earlier, then we would’ve been awarded numerous penalties. As it was, it took seventy five minutes until he spotted one. The problem is, whatever platform our pack can build is of no use if our backs can’t do anything with the ball, or worse than that, don’t know what to do with it once they receive it.
That unfortunately has been the trademark of our game this year – a lack of invention and a cutting edge in our back play. We never look like we’re likely to score a try. I don’t blame the players. Far from it. Every one of them gave their all for the cause on Friday night and that much was appreciated by the fans. We have some of the finest backs in English rugby, though a few of them never get a chance to shine, yet something is obviously wrong. They might lose form, but they don’t become bad players overnight. The problem, therefore, must lie elsewhere.
As far as I can see the problem lies in the coaching. To improve, we need new ideas and different strategies. Until this is done, all I can foresee is more and more lateral rugby with lots of possession and a distinct lack of penetration. That shouldn’t happen to a team ultimately managed by a legendary and predatory winger.
Many of us would’ve hoped that the experience at the Liberty Stadium would have taught us valuable lessons. When you have a narrow lead with minutes to go, you don’t gift the ball to the opposition, you simply retain possession by any means available. So why did we not take longer with the conversion of the penalty try and why did we not find touch with our clearance? Perhaps it’s simply down to naivety, though frankly most of our lads are long-enough in the tooth not to use that as an excuse. The younger boys can and should be forgiven, though let’s hope that this time the lessons are learned and not forgotten.
So all in all, a week best forgotten. The wagon might be just about rolling along, but if another wheel comes off, then the Cherokees will definitely capture us. We’re just about safe from the prospect of relegation, but another point wouldn’t go amiss. Better still, let’s have ten more points and open up and play heads up rugby. We have the players, so let’s do the business. In the meantime, we need to strengthen the squad, give some of the younger lads their head and hope that the ‘back door’ is firmly locked and bolted. We don’t want any more of our established players shunted out quietly like Barry Stewart. To try to do it once is appalling, but to attempt to do it again would be unforgivable.
Three wheels on my wagon
A week apparently is a long time in politics. Tell that to a Shark. A week at Edgeley Park can, by comparison, seem to last an eternity. First our Club captain announces his retirement in rather acrimonious circumstances, then we find out that one of our front row stalwarts is by all accounts being shunted out the back door unceremoniously, and finally the team conspire to once again snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Oh joy of joys. No wonder we’re all despondent and downcast. What price loyalty? What price professionalism? What price a backs coach? Sorry to moan - my weekend, as you’ll probably have guessed, was a real blast.
We should actually be celebrating the career of one of rugby’s icons this week, recognising his incredible achievements in both codes and thanking our lucky stars that we were privileged enough to witness these. Instead all the talk has been about contract wranglings and people have been asking themselves, did he fall or was he pushed? How sad and depressing is that? Many of us believe Billy Whizz should’ve played on for at least another year, but he has decided he will retire and we will and should, of course, respect that.
The news was of course very sad, both for Sale and for England. Yet it wasn’t entirely unexpected. There had been rumours for several weeks that this might happen, due to a breakdown in communication between the Club and the player. Both sides have come out since and stated their views on what did or didn’t happen and why the whole deal ultimately collapsed.
As fans I guess we’ll never know the whole truth. However, what I find most distressing and upsetting of all, is the fact that the dirty linen had to be so publicly laundered. Whether you prefer to lay the blame at Jason’s door or the Club’s, the fact remains, matters should’ve been sorted out many months ago in private and the end of a glittering and illustrious career shouldn’t have been tarnished by an unnecessary public squabble. I’ll remember Billy for his rugby, and his rugby alone. I hope others will do the same.
It would also appear that Barry Stewart, our own Scottish ‘Bear’, is set to leave Sale Sharks this summer, after the Club has failed to offer him a new contract. If this news is true, then it is terribly sad. What’s even sadder is the fact that this news had to be broken to supporters by Barry’s own mother and father.
Personally I find that astonishing. He came to Sale after a serious injury and insurance issues which prevented him from ever plying his trade in his own country again, and has fought back to become an invaluable member of our squad. In all the years I have watched him, I’ve never seen him give anything other than full and total commitment, nor take a backward step. He is a consummate professional. What’s more, he is a gentleman and is liked and appreciated by one and all.
Are loyalty and professionalism mutually exclusive concepts? Well, you can accuse me of naivety and living in an ivory tower, but I don’t think they are, nor should they be. I know what we watch week in, week out is effectively a regional franchise, not a rugby club in its traditional form, but nonetheless I feel that loyalty and commitment should be rewarded and appreciated.
If the Club is seen to act with honour and integrity, I’m sure profits will continue to rise and the business expand. If it’s not, then recruitment of new players is going to become increasingly difficult as it’s hard to commit to a Club you can’t necessarily trust. Let’s just hope that good sense prevails and Bear stays at Sale to fight another day.
Back on the field, we slumped to yet another last gasp defeat to this season’s nemesis, Leicester Tigers. They played their second string. We played the best available. It was a tense and fiercely fought game and exciting because both teams came to the match with different agendas: the Tigers to ensure a top four finish and a play-off place, Sale to stave off relegation. That we didn’t manage to take the game by the scruff of the neck and dominate from the first whistle, won’t come as any great surprise to anyone who’s watched the team over the course of the season. Our pack may well dominate games but we appear to have no penetration.
We mullered them in the scrum, pushing them backwards continually. Had the normally eagle-eyed Tony Spreadbury spotted the constant infringements and lack of binding earlier, then we would’ve been awarded numerous penalties. As it was, it took seventy five minutes until he spotted one. The problem is, whatever platform our pack can build is of no use if our backs can’t do anything with the ball, or worse than that, don’t know what to do with it once they receive it.
That unfortunately has been the trademark of our game this year – a lack of invention and a cutting edge in our back play. We never look like we’re likely to score a try. I don’t blame the players. Far from it. Every one of them gave their all for the cause on Friday night and that much was appreciated by the fans. We have some of the finest backs in English rugby, though a few of them never get a chance to shine, yet something is obviously wrong. They might lose form, but they don’t become bad players overnight. The problem, therefore, must lie elsewhere.
As far as I can see the problem lies in the coaching. To improve, we need new ideas and different strategies. Until this is done, all I can foresee is more and more lateral rugby with lots of possession and a distinct lack of penetration. That shouldn’t happen to a team ultimately managed by a legendary and predatory winger.
Many of us would’ve hoped that the experience at the Liberty Stadium would have taught us valuable lessons. When you have a narrow lead with minutes to go, you don’t gift the ball to the opposition, you simply retain possession by any means available. So why did we not take longer with the conversion of the penalty try and why did we not find touch with our clearance? Perhaps it’s simply down to naivety, though frankly most of our lads are long-enough in the tooth not to use that as an excuse. The younger boys can and should be forgiven, though let’s hope that this time the lessons are learned and not forgotten.
So all in all, a week best forgotten. The wagon might be just about rolling along, but if another wheel comes off, then the Cherokees will definitely capture us. We’re just about safe from the prospect of relegation, but another point wouldn’t go amiss. Better still, let’s have ten more points and open up and play heads up rugby. We have the players, so let’s do the business. In the meantime, we need to strengthen the squad, give some of the younger lads their head and hope that the ‘back door’ is firmly locked and bolted. We don’t want any more of our established players shunted out quietly like Barry Stewart. To try to do it once is appalling, but to attempt to do it again would be unforgivable.
Mar 07 International Break
Hairspray and Hail Mary’s
I had a dream the other night. Actually, if I’m honest, it was more of a nightmare. I bumped into Kingsley Jones in the Old Arcade Bar in Cardiff and over the course of a few beers we talked about how disappointing the season had been and how the squad depletion had reached crisis point. Being a man of a generous disposition, I offered to come out of retirement, root out my old boots and come to the rescue in a manner worthy of the shiniest knight.
Dreams, unfortunately, never reflect reality. Maybe I’d better put my offer into some sort of perspective.
I didn’t have the most illustrious rugby career, and at best could only have been described as an ‘enthusiastic’ stand-off who talked a good game, but never really walked the walk. What I lacked in talent, flair and ability I more than made up for with gangliness, stupidity and an inability to realise when I was beaten. Like many a talented fly half, I liked to play really flat. The problem was I never quite cracked how far a stand-off should actually ‘stand off’.
As a consequence I tended to be carried from the field more times than I walked from it. Given that, you’d have thought he’d have bitten my arm off, but no, in my dream Kingsley was dignified but firm in his response. Did he accept my offer to play? Well, to his credit, he did try to keep a straight face but nearly choked on his pint. The only words he could muster were, ‘yes things have been tough, but we’re not that desperate’.
That for me sums up the whole of this season, disappointing and frustrating, but certainly not disastrous as many of the doom and gloom merchants would have us all believe. I certainly felt that we were equipped to take on Europe this season, especially after the way we blew Biarritz away in the pre-seasons. But, in spite of what any Munsterman says, no-one has a God-given right to anything, let alone the Premiership or the Heineken Cup.
Sometimes things are not meant to be, and we just have to accept and move on. That’s not to say that we can’t all have a good moan and grumble along the way, but we just have to lick our wounds, prepare for the next campaign, focus on the positives and move on.
The most important thing of all to remember is that for many like myself, rugby is about far more than just results. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather win than poke myself in the eye with a stick, but rugby is all about commitment, passion and camaraderie: it’s about the people you meet, the friends you make and the places you go to. It’s essentially a way of life that I wouldn’t change for anything, whether we play in the Premiership or on a field in Gatley.
We were obviously right at the back of the queue this year when the luck was handed out, if in fact we were actually in the queue at all. Any team would’ve been rocked by what has happened. Yet, we’ve still managed to compete even though we are undoubtedly running on empty. This is in spite of the fact that we’ve had to use the same group of players week after week. Some of these guys must be held together with hairspray and Hail Marys. No-one could have asked any more of them: they’ve pushed their bodies to the limits and then beyond, and I, for one have nothing but respect and admiration for that.
We need to garner sufficient points from our last three matches and ensure we stay in the top flight and, with a little more luck next time round, go out and show what a top class unit we still are. We have top quality coaches who’ve been there and done it at the highest level.
We have the players, without a doubt, and will no doubt bolster the squad over the coming months. We already know we are signing Scott Lawson and Rory Lamont, but I believe there will be others. I’ll personally sell my car and the family if it helps secure the services of Juan Martin Hernandez. Well, maybe not the car. Still, our coaches have a way of unearthing hidden gems: look at Sebastien Bruno and Corcho, how many of us had heard of them before they came? Even Seabass wasn’t a name that tripped off the tongue for many when he came, but look at him now.
We also have within our Academy a group of young players who are itching to make their mark at a senior level. Given that we have to work within such tight financial constraints, this seems the obvious way to go. You only need look to Ben Foden who has shown what he can do at this level. He might be off to pastures new, but it’s worth remembering that the grass isn’t always necessarily greener. Sean Cox and David Tait are also examples of the talent we have available to us. All three have already taken the big step up the ladder and acquitted themselves admirably.
Yet there are others who’ve yet to have their day in the sun. David Blair, Mike Hills, Matt Riley, Selorm Kuadey, Ben Lloyd and Martin Halsall are all excellent young prospects who I would love to see gracing the field for the senior side. It’s worked at Gloucester, who’s to say it won’t work for us?
Next season will provide perhaps the biggest test of all. We have the World Cup to look forward to, though personally I’ll probably watch it from behind the sofa and wince every time one of our lads is tackled. We’ll just have to pray that they come back fit, well and still capable of standing.
Then who’s to say that there won’t be more ‘friendlies’ arranged to boost the coffers down at HQ, should Francis Baron decide he wants another extension? On top of all of this, we still have the small matter of the Championship and possibly European competition to contend with. It’s going to be really tough but I think we’ve got the squad to deal with.
Anyway, if things get desperate again next year, my offer still holds good. I’m not as quick as I was for sure, but I’ve still got that suicidal streak running through my veins that makes Lewis Moody’s look positively conservative. All you need do is call.
I had a dream the other night. Actually, if I’m honest, it was more of a nightmare. I bumped into Kingsley Jones in the Old Arcade Bar in Cardiff and over the course of a few beers we talked about how disappointing the season had been and how the squad depletion had reached crisis point. Being a man of a generous disposition, I offered to come out of retirement, root out my old boots and come to the rescue in a manner worthy of the shiniest knight.
Dreams, unfortunately, never reflect reality. Maybe I’d better put my offer into some sort of perspective.
I didn’t have the most illustrious rugby career, and at best could only have been described as an ‘enthusiastic’ stand-off who talked a good game, but never really walked the walk. What I lacked in talent, flair and ability I more than made up for with gangliness, stupidity and an inability to realise when I was beaten. Like many a talented fly half, I liked to play really flat. The problem was I never quite cracked how far a stand-off should actually ‘stand off’.
As a consequence I tended to be carried from the field more times than I walked from it. Given that, you’d have thought he’d have bitten my arm off, but no, in my dream Kingsley was dignified but firm in his response. Did he accept my offer to play? Well, to his credit, he did try to keep a straight face but nearly choked on his pint. The only words he could muster were, ‘yes things have been tough, but we’re not that desperate’.
That for me sums up the whole of this season, disappointing and frustrating, but certainly not disastrous as many of the doom and gloom merchants would have us all believe. I certainly felt that we were equipped to take on Europe this season, especially after the way we blew Biarritz away in the pre-seasons. But, in spite of what any Munsterman says, no-one has a God-given right to anything, let alone the Premiership or the Heineken Cup.
Sometimes things are not meant to be, and we just have to accept and move on. That’s not to say that we can’t all have a good moan and grumble along the way, but we just have to lick our wounds, prepare for the next campaign, focus on the positives and move on.
The most important thing of all to remember is that for many like myself, rugby is about far more than just results. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather win than poke myself in the eye with a stick, but rugby is all about commitment, passion and camaraderie: it’s about the people you meet, the friends you make and the places you go to. It’s essentially a way of life that I wouldn’t change for anything, whether we play in the Premiership or on a field in Gatley.
We were obviously right at the back of the queue this year when the luck was handed out, if in fact we were actually in the queue at all. Any team would’ve been rocked by what has happened. Yet, we’ve still managed to compete even though we are undoubtedly running on empty. This is in spite of the fact that we’ve had to use the same group of players week after week. Some of these guys must be held together with hairspray and Hail Marys. No-one could have asked any more of them: they’ve pushed their bodies to the limits and then beyond, and I, for one have nothing but respect and admiration for that.
We need to garner sufficient points from our last three matches and ensure we stay in the top flight and, with a little more luck next time round, go out and show what a top class unit we still are. We have top quality coaches who’ve been there and done it at the highest level.
We have the players, without a doubt, and will no doubt bolster the squad over the coming months. We already know we are signing Scott Lawson and Rory Lamont, but I believe there will be others. I’ll personally sell my car and the family if it helps secure the services of Juan Martin Hernandez. Well, maybe not the car. Still, our coaches have a way of unearthing hidden gems: look at Sebastien Bruno and Corcho, how many of us had heard of them before they came? Even Seabass wasn’t a name that tripped off the tongue for many when he came, but look at him now.
We also have within our Academy a group of young players who are itching to make their mark at a senior level. Given that we have to work within such tight financial constraints, this seems the obvious way to go. You only need look to Ben Foden who has shown what he can do at this level. He might be off to pastures new, but it’s worth remembering that the grass isn’t always necessarily greener. Sean Cox and David Tait are also examples of the talent we have available to us. All three have already taken the big step up the ladder and acquitted themselves admirably.
Yet there are others who’ve yet to have their day in the sun. David Blair, Mike Hills, Matt Riley, Selorm Kuadey, Ben Lloyd and Martin Halsall are all excellent young prospects who I would love to see gracing the field for the senior side. It’s worked at Gloucester, who’s to say it won’t work for us?
Next season will provide perhaps the biggest test of all. We have the World Cup to look forward to, though personally I’ll probably watch it from behind the sofa and wince every time one of our lads is tackled. We’ll just have to pray that they come back fit, well and still capable of standing.
Then who’s to say that there won’t be more ‘friendlies’ arranged to boost the coffers down at HQ, should Francis Baron decide he wants another extension? On top of all of this, we still have the small matter of the Championship and possibly European competition to contend with. It’s going to be really tough but I think we’ve got the squad to deal with.
Anyway, if things get desperate again next year, my offer still holds good. I’m not as quick as I was for sure, but I’ve still got that suicidal streak running through my veins that makes Lewis Moody’s look positively conservative. All you need do is call.
Mar 07 Sale v Leicester
Sale Sharks v Leicester Tigers, EDF
Saturday Night Sunday Mourning
It was billed as the ‘big one’, unless of course, you were Welsh. A heavyweight contest between two of the finest teams in the English game: a re-run, of sorts, of the Premiership Final with both teams desperate for victory for their own unique reasons. Unsurprisingly, that wasn’t a view shared by many of the Blues and Ospreys fans dotted around the magnificent Millenium Stadium.
Many preferred to stay in the bars whilst the Sharks took on the all-conquering Tigers. Some of the hardier souls ventured out into the sunshine. They were, as they openly said, not particularly interested in the game, but saw it more as a warm-up before the main event: a sort of Anglicised hors d’oeuvre to whet the appetite in anticipation of the main Welsh beef course.
It’s funny how the EDF Cup affects us all. It has this peculiar ability to polarise national opinion. For the Welsh it’s the opportunity to show the others just how superior they think Celtic rugby really is. For the English it represents at best, a backdoor way into the Heineken Cup and at worst, another unnecessary addition to the fixture congestion of the English game. I couldn’t possibly comment of course. Still, I’d paid for both matches so I was determined to stay on and wait for a bit of Welsh pudding.
The match did, in some ways at least, live up to its billing, in that it was the heavyweight contest promised, but, in many other ways, it disappointed. There was undoubtedly endeavour and purpose to the Sharks’ play, but the finesse was never quite there. It seemed obvious from the first whistle that this was a game neither side wanted to lose. Consequently it was never really likely that we would get rugby that would set the pulse racing: in fact for forty minutes the pulse could barely summon anything other than the shallowest of beats. Both sides set about battering each other in to submission as a few Blues and Ospreys fans snoozed nearby.
I have to accept that it wasn’t exactly pretty to watch, but I would take issue with one or two of the more derogatory reports I’ve read in the Welsh Press. In an exhaustive and comprehensive 200 word assessment of the match we were told the game was ‘mind-numbingly predictable’ and the style of play was ‘symptomatic of all that’s wrong with the Guinness Premiership’. They don’t believe in pulling their punches down in the valleys, do they? Granted, it wasn’t scintillating, but for once we tried to run the ball with Larry pulling the strings in the three quarters.
We were able to compete with the Tigers inspite of a one-eyed referee who was clearly having one of those days and a pitch that was truly dreadful. I lost count of the number of times both sets of players lost their footing. Had Big Ted not had a sudden rush of blood, we probably could’ve reached half time still within touching distance. Fair play to Mr Owens who got that decision right, though the tackle was so telegraphed and late that Mr Magoo could’ve spotted it.
At least Big Ted managed to bring Alesana Tuilagi down, which was an achievement the rest of the team singularly struggled to accomplish for the rest of the game. From the penalty and resulting line-out Leicester, and Tuilagi, ran the ball and simply steamrollered through the Sharks midfield, touching down by the posts. After that it was always likely to be an uphill struggle.
Whatever was said at the interval worked wonders: the Sharks came out inspired and determined and took the game to Leicester. We started to play as a team and started to move the ball quickly out to the flanks - we really managed to stretch the Tigers’ defence. Larry began to vary his game and put in what I think was his best display of the season: hopefully that should go some way to silencing the critics who’ve done nothing but pan him. Then again, you can’t please some of the people all of the time. It’s just a pity he took a knock and had to be replaced.
Seabass reverted to his more accustomed role as leader and warrior and brushed aside a despairing lunge from Moody and a tackle from Murphy, straight out of Riverdance, to touch down in the corner. Although Larry missed the conversion we continued to pressurise the Tigers defence and had them on the back foot for much of the opening quarter. We could’ve and should’ve scored, or at the very least been awarded a penalty after an infringement on Maggie, but the referee decided to take control and centre stage and from then our fate was sealed.
I don’t believe that referees can be responsible for a team winning or losing a game but they can undoubtedly have a defining influence on the outcome. Nigel Owens was poor and his handling of the game was one of the worst I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. Everyone I spoke to agreed on that, if nothing else. He was responsible for at least nine of the points we conceded and cost us the chance of pushing Leicester right to the very end. Could we have won? I can’t say. Should we have won? Probably not on balance, but, who knows, things may well have been different if the right calls had been made by the officials.
In spite of these shackles the team still managed to rally. Whatever else might be said, no-one should ever doubt the commitment of our players. They fought and struggled for every ball in the dying minutes of the game. Nacho powered through in the corner, and we pinned the Tigers back in their own ten metres, but sadly it all came too late.
So there’ll be no Heineken Cup for us next season then. Maybe there won’t be one anyway. I am saddened by this, without any doubt, but where there’s life there’s hope. Perhaps the return trip to the Parc des Princes will have to be put on ice, but there’s always the European Shield to look forward to and the possibility of trips to pastures new.
In the meantime, it’s back to the business of assuring our Premiership status for the next campaign. Northampton may have lost on Sunday and be favourites for the drop, but nothing is set in stone. Our destiny lies in our own hands. We have to get points against either Bath or Harlequins. We need probably five more points to be safe. Personally, I’d rather get them against the Tigers on Good Friday. We now owe them one.
I almost forgot – puddings. Well, I have to say that Welsh desserts can be highly recommended. The Ospreys and Blues match was a joy to watch. It may be of course that I was simply more relaxed and had no vested interest, but the game was a cracker with Ospreys winning comfortably in the end. It had all the makings of a contest, until surprise, surprise, the referee stepped in with his size twelves. Wayne Barnes dealt out the cards quicker than the slickest croupier, killing off the game before it really had a chance to get started. The only consolation was, at least he was English. Shall we call it an honourable draw?
Saturday Night Sunday Mourning
It was billed as the ‘big one’, unless of course, you were Welsh. A heavyweight contest between two of the finest teams in the English game: a re-run, of sorts, of the Premiership Final with both teams desperate for victory for their own unique reasons. Unsurprisingly, that wasn’t a view shared by many of the Blues and Ospreys fans dotted around the magnificent Millenium Stadium.
Many preferred to stay in the bars whilst the Sharks took on the all-conquering Tigers. Some of the hardier souls ventured out into the sunshine. They were, as they openly said, not particularly interested in the game, but saw it more as a warm-up before the main event: a sort of Anglicised hors d’oeuvre to whet the appetite in anticipation of the main Welsh beef course.
It’s funny how the EDF Cup affects us all. It has this peculiar ability to polarise national opinion. For the Welsh it’s the opportunity to show the others just how superior they think Celtic rugby really is. For the English it represents at best, a backdoor way into the Heineken Cup and at worst, another unnecessary addition to the fixture congestion of the English game. I couldn’t possibly comment of course. Still, I’d paid for both matches so I was determined to stay on and wait for a bit of Welsh pudding.
The match did, in some ways at least, live up to its billing, in that it was the heavyweight contest promised, but, in many other ways, it disappointed. There was undoubtedly endeavour and purpose to the Sharks’ play, but the finesse was never quite there. It seemed obvious from the first whistle that this was a game neither side wanted to lose. Consequently it was never really likely that we would get rugby that would set the pulse racing: in fact for forty minutes the pulse could barely summon anything other than the shallowest of beats. Both sides set about battering each other in to submission as a few Blues and Ospreys fans snoozed nearby.
I have to accept that it wasn’t exactly pretty to watch, but I would take issue with one or two of the more derogatory reports I’ve read in the Welsh Press. In an exhaustive and comprehensive 200 word assessment of the match we were told the game was ‘mind-numbingly predictable’ and the style of play was ‘symptomatic of all that’s wrong with the Guinness Premiership’. They don’t believe in pulling their punches down in the valleys, do they? Granted, it wasn’t scintillating, but for once we tried to run the ball with Larry pulling the strings in the three quarters.
We were able to compete with the Tigers inspite of a one-eyed referee who was clearly having one of those days and a pitch that was truly dreadful. I lost count of the number of times both sets of players lost their footing. Had Big Ted not had a sudden rush of blood, we probably could’ve reached half time still within touching distance. Fair play to Mr Owens who got that decision right, though the tackle was so telegraphed and late that Mr Magoo could’ve spotted it.
At least Big Ted managed to bring Alesana Tuilagi down, which was an achievement the rest of the team singularly struggled to accomplish for the rest of the game. From the penalty and resulting line-out Leicester, and Tuilagi, ran the ball and simply steamrollered through the Sharks midfield, touching down by the posts. After that it was always likely to be an uphill struggle.
Whatever was said at the interval worked wonders: the Sharks came out inspired and determined and took the game to Leicester. We started to play as a team and started to move the ball quickly out to the flanks - we really managed to stretch the Tigers’ defence. Larry began to vary his game and put in what I think was his best display of the season: hopefully that should go some way to silencing the critics who’ve done nothing but pan him. Then again, you can’t please some of the people all of the time. It’s just a pity he took a knock and had to be replaced.
Seabass reverted to his more accustomed role as leader and warrior and brushed aside a despairing lunge from Moody and a tackle from Murphy, straight out of Riverdance, to touch down in the corner. Although Larry missed the conversion we continued to pressurise the Tigers defence and had them on the back foot for much of the opening quarter. We could’ve and should’ve scored, or at the very least been awarded a penalty after an infringement on Maggie, but the referee decided to take control and centre stage and from then our fate was sealed.
I don’t believe that referees can be responsible for a team winning or losing a game but they can undoubtedly have a defining influence on the outcome. Nigel Owens was poor and his handling of the game was one of the worst I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. Everyone I spoke to agreed on that, if nothing else. He was responsible for at least nine of the points we conceded and cost us the chance of pushing Leicester right to the very end. Could we have won? I can’t say. Should we have won? Probably not on balance, but, who knows, things may well have been different if the right calls had been made by the officials.
In spite of these shackles the team still managed to rally. Whatever else might be said, no-one should ever doubt the commitment of our players. They fought and struggled for every ball in the dying minutes of the game. Nacho powered through in the corner, and we pinned the Tigers back in their own ten metres, but sadly it all came too late.
So there’ll be no Heineken Cup for us next season then. Maybe there won’t be one anyway. I am saddened by this, without any doubt, but where there’s life there’s hope. Perhaps the return trip to the Parc des Princes will have to be put on ice, but there’s always the European Shield to look forward to and the possibility of trips to pastures new.
In the meantime, it’s back to the business of assuring our Premiership status for the next campaign. Northampton may have lost on Sunday and be favourites for the drop, but nothing is set in stone. Our destiny lies in our own hands. We have to get points against either Bath or Harlequins. We need probably five more points to be safe. Personally, I’d rather get them against the Tigers on Good Friday. We now owe them one.
I almost forgot – puddings. Well, I have to say that Welsh desserts can be highly recommended. The Ospreys and Blues match was a joy to watch. It may be of course that I was simply more relaxed and had no vested interest, but the game was a cracker with Ospreys winning comfortably in the end. It had all the makings of a contest, until surprise, surprise, the referee stepped in with his size twelves. Wayne Barnes dealt out the cards quicker than the slickest croupier, killing off the game before it really had a chance to get started. The only consolation was, at least he was English. Shall we call it an honourable draw?
Mar 07 Northampton v Sale
Northampton Saints v Sale Sharks
The Charge of the White Brigade?
Has the penny eventually dropped? Has the squad finally realised that, though they may have been Champions last season, that in itself does not bestow any God-given right to absolution from the relegation abyss this year? Well, on the evidence of yesterday’s performance at Franklins Gardens, the answer must be yes. But, you would have to say, that’s a qualified yes: as Sharks fans everywhere will testify, there is no thing as an absolute with our team.
The game started well enough, save for a needless penalty given away, which Stephen Myler duly despatched. Rather than kick behind the opposing defence, as we’ve done consistently and pointlessly over the course of the season, we actually started to run the ball, Seabass broke off the base of a scrum, took the ball into contact and offloaded to “Juju” Lahararrague, who ran the ball wide to feed Foden, thence to Ripol who raced over in the far corner for our first try. Daniel Larrachea couldn’t convert what was a difficult touchline kick, but still, all seemed well.
For some inexplicable reason we then sat back and invited Northampton on to us. The problem with that is, when you play against backs of the class of Spencer, Reihana and Cohen, there is always a feeling, lodged deeply in the gut, that this tactic is going to backfire: and backfire it did, twice, to tries from Spencer and Cohen. All we could muster in reply was a penalty from Larry, shortly before he was replaced after taking a knock early on in the game.
Lee Thomas missed with his penalty attempt shortly after replacing Larry. On the stroke of half-time, Foden bizarrely opted for a quick tap and go rather than take the points on offer after being awarded a penalty, by every Welshmen’s favourite referee, Chris White. Needless to say, it didn’t work; whatever gap he thought he saw wasn’t there. The ball was turned over easily and we went in 7 points down.
In truth, we were lucky the points difference was that small. Had Saints taken their opportunities and made one or two better decisions, they could’ve been out of sight by the break. It was difficult to tell at that point whose heads were hanging lower- the team’s or the supporters’?
Sale re-emerged for the second half full of fire, with Seabass and Bell fearlessly taking the ball over the gain line time and time again. Unfortunately, we couldn’t break down the resolute Saints defence, who were prepared to fight for their lives, and all we got in return was a penalty, which Thomas converted.
Once again we appeared to take our foot off the pedal and invited Northampton back on to us. Granted, the tactic worked, but for the travelling fans it didn’t make for comfortable viewing. Northampton seemed to be camped on our five metre line for what felt like an eternity, launching wave after wave of attacks. Our defence stood up and repelled all that was thrown at it, but inevitably this came at a cost. Big Ted was carded for killing the ball just in front of the posts. Myler’s nerve held steady and once again, we fell 7 points adrift.
I’d like to think what happened next was down to us, the supporters, and our rousing, if tuneless, rendition of Hey Jude, duly adapted of course. We showed the players that we still had the passion and belief. All we asked was, had they? Alright, that’s a bit far-fetched, I grant you, but who knows? It could’ve been –who’s to say it wasn’t? Then again, maybe it was the raft of changes made by our management team and the never-say-die attitude of our captain on the day, Seabass.
Richard Wigglesworth replaced an ineffectual Foden at scrum half and immediately got the undermanned pack moving. Foden moved to wing in place of Chris Mayor, who’d had a similarly unproductive day, and he offered pace and a threat down the flank that had been missing for much of the game. Saints found themselves stretched after that and didn’t have sufficient cover in the midfield to counter any attack that Sale could mount.
Northampton fans will tell you it was a fluke, and maybe some Sharks fans will tell you it was lucky. I’ll disagree with both. What happened next was sublime and inspired. If you can’t break through a defence, then go over it. Seabass, our granite man, burst through the midfield shrugging off two tackles and, rather than take the ball into contact, spotted that their backline was flat and deftly chipped the ball over their last defender with Cantona-esque ease. He reclaimed the bouncing ball, offloading to Chris Bell who then grounded the ball directly under the posts. Is it any wonder we call him talismanic?
Lee Thomas converted and that was effectively game over and two points in the bag. I’m not sure if that’s what we wanted, or expected from the match, but I’ll happily take it as it was two points at the expense of one of our relegation rivals. All we need now is one more win from our last three remaining fixtures, and we’ll be guaranteed Premiership rugby next season. Will we achieve this? I hope so, but remember, this is Sale Sharks we’re talking about so, fasten your seatbelts and hang on.
We weren’t ejected onto the streets after the game, as we had been in Swansea and Watford, but were allowed free access to the wonderful facilities on offer at Franklins Gardens. Most of us trooped into the bars to watch the last of the Six Nations rugby, some of the kids played tag rugby on the pitch. What a different world some people live in. Should any child try that at Edgeley Park they’d be served with an immediate Asbo and probably birched.
Save the exception of one Heineken Cup win, Northampton are one of the Premiership’s perennial under-achievers and yet can still attract crowds of over thirteen thousand on a regular basis. We, as Champions, struggle to attract the fair-weather fans, let alone fill our ground. Why? Well, you only need to look around grounds like the Gardens, Sixways or The Stoop to see why. The answer is blindingly obvious. Welcome all supporters and make the experience enjoyable and memorable.
The best grounds are all places with a rich rugby tradition where all supporters, be they of deep or shallow pockets, are given the opportunity to spend time, relax and enjoy themselves in a friendly, welcoming environment, where players mix happily with supporters. They provide top notch facilities that have both local and civic backing. Northampton Council is, by all accounts, proud to support and be associated with the rugby Club. If only this were true of Edgeley Park or Stockport Council.
What’s good for the fans is also good for the Club. More importantly, it’s also good for the local community where these same supporters spend their hard-earned dosh. Perhaps some of the people who make or break decisions would do well to remember this.
The Charge of the White Brigade?
Has the penny eventually dropped? Has the squad finally realised that, though they may have been Champions last season, that in itself does not bestow any God-given right to absolution from the relegation abyss this year? Well, on the evidence of yesterday’s performance at Franklins Gardens, the answer must be yes. But, you would have to say, that’s a qualified yes: as Sharks fans everywhere will testify, there is no thing as an absolute with our team.
The game started well enough, save for a needless penalty given away, which Stephen Myler duly despatched. Rather than kick behind the opposing defence, as we’ve done consistently and pointlessly over the course of the season, we actually started to run the ball, Seabass broke off the base of a scrum, took the ball into contact and offloaded to “Juju” Lahararrague, who ran the ball wide to feed Foden, thence to Ripol who raced over in the far corner for our first try. Daniel Larrachea couldn’t convert what was a difficult touchline kick, but still, all seemed well.
For some inexplicable reason we then sat back and invited Northampton on to us. The problem with that is, when you play against backs of the class of Spencer, Reihana and Cohen, there is always a feeling, lodged deeply in the gut, that this tactic is going to backfire: and backfire it did, twice, to tries from Spencer and Cohen. All we could muster in reply was a penalty from Larry, shortly before he was replaced after taking a knock early on in the game.
Lee Thomas missed with his penalty attempt shortly after replacing Larry. On the stroke of half-time, Foden bizarrely opted for a quick tap and go rather than take the points on offer after being awarded a penalty, by every Welshmen’s favourite referee, Chris White. Needless to say, it didn’t work; whatever gap he thought he saw wasn’t there. The ball was turned over easily and we went in 7 points down.
In truth, we were lucky the points difference was that small. Had Saints taken their opportunities and made one or two better decisions, they could’ve been out of sight by the break. It was difficult to tell at that point whose heads were hanging lower- the team’s or the supporters’?
Sale re-emerged for the second half full of fire, with Seabass and Bell fearlessly taking the ball over the gain line time and time again. Unfortunately, we couldn’t break down the resolute Saints defence, who were prepared to fight for their lives, and all we got in return was a penalty, which Thomas converted.
Once again we appeared to take our foot off the pedal and invited Northampton back on to us. Granted, the tactic worked, but for the travelling fans it didn’t make for comfortable viewing. Northampton seemed to be camped on our five metre line for what felt like an eternity, launching wave after wave of attacks. Our defence stood up and repelled all that was thrown at it, but inevitably this came at a cost. Big Ted was carded for killing the ball just in front of the posts. Myler’s nerve held steady and once again, we fell 7 points adrift.
I’d like to think what happened next was down to us, the supporters, and our rousing, if tuneless, rendition of Hey Jude, duly adapted of course. We showed the players that we still had the passion and belief. All we asked was, had they? Alright, that’s a bit far-fetched, I grant you, but who knows? It could’ve been –who’s to say it wasn’t? Then again, maybe it was the raft of changes made by our management team and the never-say-die attitude of our captain on the day, Seabass.
Richard Wigglesworth replaced an ineffectual Foden at scrum half and immediately got the undermanned pack moving. Foden moved to wing in place of Chris Mayor, who’d had a similarly unproductive day, and he offered pace and a threat down the flank that had been missing for much of the game. Saints found themselves stretched after that and didn’t have sufficient cover in the midfield to counter any attack that Sale could mount.
Northampton fans will tell you it was a fluke, and maybe some Sharks fans will tell you it was lucky. I’ll disagree with both. What happened next was sublime and inspired. If you can’t break through a defence, then go over it. Seabass, our granite man, burst through the midfield shrugging off two tackles and, rather than take the ball into contact, spotted that their backline was flat and deftly chipped the ball over their last defender with Cantona-esque ease. He reclaimed the bouncing ball, offloading to Chris Bell who then grounded the ball directly under the posts. Is it any wonder we call him talismanic?
Lee Thomas converted and that was effectively game over and two points in the bag. I’m not sure if that’s what we wanted, or expected from the match, but I’ll happily take it as it was two points at the expense of one of our relegation rivals. All we need now is one more win from our last three remaining fixtures, and we’ll be guaranteed Premiership rugby next season. Will we achieve this? I hope so, but remember, this is Sale Sharks we’re talking about so, fasten your seatbelts and hang on.
We weren’t ejected onto the streets after the game, as we had been in Swansea and Watford, but were allowed free access to the wonderful facilities on offer at Franklins Gardens. Most of us trooped into the bars to watch the last of the Six Nations rugby, some of the kids played tag rugby on the pitch. What a different world some people live in. Should any child try that at Edgeley Park they’d be served with an immediate Asbo and probably birched.
Save the exception of one Heineken Cup win, Northampton are one of the Premiership’s perennial under-achievers and yet can still attract crowds of over thirteen thousand on a regular basis. We, as Champions, struggle to attract the fair-weather fans, let alone fill our ground. Why? Well, you only need to look around grounds like the Gardens, Sixways or The Stoop to see why. The answer is blindingly obvious. Welcome all supporters and make the experience enjoyable and memorable.
The best grounds are all places with a rich rugby tradition where all supporters, be they of deep or shallow pockets, are given the opportunity to spend time, relax and enjoy themselves in a friendly, welcoming environment, where players mix happily with supporters. They provide top notch facilities that have both local and civic backing. Northampton Council is, by all accounts, proud to support and be associated with the rugby Club. If only this were true of Edgeley Park or Stockport Council.
What’s good for the fans is also good for the Club. More importantly, it’s also good for the local community where these same supporters spend their hard-earned dosh. Perhaps some of the people who make or break decisions would do well to remember this.
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.
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.
Mar 07 Saracens v Sale
Rainy days and Sundays!
Sitting high up in the rafters of Vicarage Road yesterday, with a view of the game that was only marginally better than that enjoyed by the press, I was struck by two thoughts: Edgeley Park is definitely not the worst ground in the Premiership, and that I’d been here before. No, I don’t mean Vicarage Road, either. I’m sure everyone’s had that same experience, that sense of déjà vu. I’d definitely seen this before. Strangely though, my previous experience wasn’t at a rugby match, so I might as well confess now.
Many years ago, I actually paid to watch Joe Bugner fight. Now, I appreciate that the words ‘Bugner’ and ‘fight’ are contradictory and should rarely be uttered in the same sentence, but hey, I was young and foolish then. Everybody does something they live to regret: it’s part of growing up I suppose. As you could imagine, it was an all-action bout, involving lots of sweat, the occasional grunt and many, many clinches. I can’t remember a punch being thrown in anger though.
It was a turgid affair and a complete and utter waste of money. The only saving grace was the banter of the other unfortunates who witnessed the so-called event. One chap at the side of the hall bellowed, ‘turn the lights off - I want to go to sleep’, but he was shouted down by another guy at the back who retorted, ‘No, leave them on, I’m trying to read!’ It all came flooding back to me yesterday.
It was billed as a match-up of two heavy weights, and that’s what we got, but unlike the boxing, at least we did get to see a few punches thrown. The conditions were atrocious and the pitch every bit as bad as Edgeley Park’s. With the rain lashing down and the wind gusting furiously, it was never going to be a classic game for the purists. Both Sale and Sarries set their stalls out immediately: it was going to be a game dominated by the tight five, a good old-fashioned slugfest with the result ultimately determined by power, aggression, set-piece dominance and penalties.
Watching from the roof and craning my neck to look around the giant pillar in front of me that held up the stand, it seemed that the match was only ever going to be decided either by mistakes or by whose nerve cracked first. Could we make advances into their twenty two with tactical kicking and then nail our penalties?
Or would Sarries beat us at our own game and run the ball back, relying on the trusty boot of Glen Jackson to steal the points? Well, suffice it to say, we missed four of our penalties, tried to run the ball out of our 22 and conceded a try and kicked the ball dead when going for the corner and the bonus point in the dying moments. They managed to hold their nerve much better than we did and Jackson kicked all five of his penalties.
Much will be made of that over-used word ‘indiscipline’. In fact it’s the one word that the radio commentator behind me used repeatedly, again and again, like a broken record. ‘Sale’s indiscipline is costing them dearly…Sale’s indiscipline will see them lose a man to the bin soon…’
Yes there was ‘indiscipline’, if that is what you would choose to call it, but personally, I’d rather say it as I saw it, which was reacting to provocation. Whilst that might not help the team cause, it is never the less understandable.
Deano did wrestle Kris Chesney to the floor, but only after being lamped by a left hook, and Andy Sheridan did let Cobus Visagie have one, but only after he had stamped on a Sale player at the breakdown.
Neither example is to be admired, but in context it was understandable. It’s just a pity, once again, that the officials don’t appear to have the strength of will or authority to ‘stamp’ it out. You play within the law and push the boundaries as far as you can without getting penalised, like London Irish did last week. But, if you push beyond those boundaries and you still don’t get penalised, what then? Does it become a free for all? If so, can I have Big Ted on my side?
I think we all have to admit that things have gone badly for us this season. Yet, I believe it’s too easy just to blame it on injuries, especially those to crucial players. With the exception of the pre-season game in Biarritz, we haven’t played well, even when Charlie was fit. Something is wrong and something is missing, though I don’t know what it is. What I do know is that adversity brings out the best in some and the injuries and loss of form has meant that we’ve been blooding some of the younger lads, who’ve all stepped up to be counted.
Sean Cox, once again, proved he has a wise head on young shoulders and has the big game temperament. He managed to stay calm and focused when others around him didn’t, though I did see him having ‘words’ with Simon Raiwalui.
David Tait came in at short notice to make his first Premiership start in place of the talismanic Corcho, and what a fine game he had, too. It’s difficult to believe that he hasn’t been playing at this level for years.
The same could be said of Ben Foden who, as ever, gave his all both at scrum half and on the wing: he’s a fine player with a good rugby brain, who, if handled correctly, could go onto achieve great things.
Anyway, we trudged away from the ground, wet, cold and miserable having lost our eighth game out of nine. The journey back was as awful as it always seems to be when you lose, particularly when the weather was so bad. The world and his wife seemed to want to leave Watford at the same time as us. I can’t for the life of me think why. They were obviously as baffled by the one way system, which pens you in and won’t let you out, as we were. Yet, just when you think everything in the world is wrong and that fate bares a vindictive grudge against you, something happens that forces you to re-evaluate your views and pulls you up by the bootstraps.
We pulled into a service station for a brief respite from the deluge and the traffic, and were surprised when we were joined by the players: normally they’ve the good sense to choose somewhere where I’m not. Many believe, and I’m as guilty as the rest of you, that nobody can possibly feel as bad as the supporters after another defeat. Well, both you and I are wrong. The players looked absolutely devastated and embarrassed about the defeat. Why, I can’t really say or understand as they never give less than total commitment in every game.
They are, one and all, passionate about their rugby and the Club and obviously feel that they’ve let the supporters down. Well, I don’t know about you, but they haven’t let me down. All I have ever wanted is for a player to give his all for the team and to have great pride in the team shirt that’s on his back. I’ve never doubted that this is what we got from them, but now I have proof positive. Watch out Worcester Warriors.
Sitting high up in the rafters of Vicarage Road yesterday, with a view of the game that was only marginally better than that enjoyed by the press, I was struck by two thoughts: Edgeley Park is definitely not the worst ground in the Premiership, and that I’d been here before. No, I don’t mean Vicarage Road, either. I’m sure everyone’s had that same experience, that sense of déjà vu. I’d definitely seen this before. Strangely though, my previous experience wasn’t at a rugby match, so I might as well confess now.
Many years ago, I actually paid to watch Joe Bugner fight. Now, I appreciate that the words ‘Bugner’ and ‘fight’ are contradictory and should rarely be uttered in the same sentence, but hey, I was young and foolish then. Everybody does something they live to regret: it’s part of growing up I suppose. As you could imagine, it was an all-action bout, involving lots of sweat, the occasional grunt and many, many clinches. I can’t remember a punch being thrown in anger though.
It was a turgid affair and a complete and utter waste of money. The only saving grace was the banter of the other unfortunates who witnessed the so-called event. One chap at the side of the hall bellowed, ‘turn the lights off - I want to go to sleep’, but he was shouted down by another guy at the back who retorted, ‘No, leave them on, I’m trying to read!’ It all came flooding back to me yesterday.
It was billed as a match-up of two heavy weights, and that’s what we got, but unlike the boxing, at least we did get to see a few punches thrown. The conditions were atrocious and the pitch every bit as bad as Edgeley Park’s. With the rain lashing down and the wind gusting furiously, it was never going to be a classic game for the purists. Both Sale and Sarries set their stalls out immediately: it was going to be a game dominated by the tight five, a good old-fashioned slugfest with the result ultimately determined by power, aggression, set-piece dominance and penalties.
Watching from the roof and craning my neck to look around the giant pillar in front of me that held up the stand, it seemed that the match was only ever going to be decided either by mistakes or by whose nerve cracked first. Could we make advances into their twenty two with tactical kicking and then nail our penalties?
Or would Sarries beat us at our own game and run the ball back, relying on the trusty boot of Glen Jackson to steal the points? Well, suffice it to say, we missed four of our penalties, tried to run the ball out of our 22 and conceded a try and kicked the ball dead when going for the corner and the bonus point in the dying moments. They managed to hold their nerve much better than we did and Jackson kicked all five of his penalties.
Much will be made of that over-used word ‘indiscipline’. In fact it’s the one word that the radio commentator behind me used repeatedly, again and again, like a broken record. ‘Sale’s indiscipline is costing them dearly…Sale’s indiscipline will see them lose a man to the bin soon…’
Yes there was ‘indiscipline’, if that is what you would choose to call it, but personally, I’d rather say it as I saw it, which was reacting to provocation. Whilst that might not help the team cause, it is never the less understandable.
Deano did wrestle Kris Chesney to the floor, but only after being lamped by a left hook, and Andy Sheridan did let Cobus Visagie have one, but only after he had stamped on a Sale player at the breakdown.
Neither example is to be admired, but in context it was understandable. It’s just a pity, once again, that the officials don’t appear to have the strength of will or authority to ‘stamp’ it out. You play within the law and push the boundaries as far as you can without getting penalised, like London Irish did last week. But, if you push beyond those boundaries and you still don’t get penalised, what then? Does it become a free for all? If so, can I have Big Ted on my side?
I think we all have to admit that things have gone badly for us this season. Yet, I believe it’s too easy just to blame it on injuries, especially those to crucial players. With the exception of the pre-season game in Biarritz, we haven’t played well, even when Charlie was fit. Something is wrong and something is missing, though I don’t know what it is. What I do know is that adversity brings out the best in some and the injuries and loss of form has meant that we’ve been blooding some of the younger lads, who’ve all stepped up to be counted.
Sean Cox, once again, proved he has a wise head on young shoulders and has the big game temperament. He managed to stay calm and focused when others around him didn’t, though I did see him having ‘words’ with Simon Raiwalui.
David Tait came in at short notice to make his first Premiership start in place of the talismanic Corcho, and what a fine game he had, too. It’s difficult to believe that he hasn’t been playing at this level for years.
The same could be said of Ben Foden who, as ever, gave his all both at scrum half and on the wing: he’s a fine player with a good rugby brain, who, if handled correctly, could go onto achieve great things.
Anyway, we trudged away from the ground, wet, cold and miserable having lost our eighth game out of nine. The journey back was as awful as it always seems to be when you lose, particularly when the weather was so bad. The world and his wife seemed to want to leave Watford at the same time as us. I can’t for the life of me think why. They were obviously as baffled by the one way system, which pens you in and won’t let you out, as we were. Yet, just when you think everything in the world is wrong and that fate bares a vindictive grudge against you, something happens that forces you to re-evaluate your views and pulls you up by the bootstraps.
We pulled into a service station for a brief respite from the deluge and the traffic, and were surprised when we were joined by the players: normally they’ve the good sense to choose somewhere where I’m not. Many believe, and I’m as guilty as the rest of you, that nobody can possibly feel as bad as the supporters after another defeat. Well, both you and I are wrong. The players looked absolutely devastated and embarrassed about the defeat. Why, I can’t really say or understand as they never give less than total commitment in every game.
They are, one and all, passionate about their rugby and the Club and obviously feel that they’ve let the supporters down. Well, I don’t know about you, but they haven’t let me down. All I have ever wanted is for a player to give his all for the team and to have great pride in the team shirt that’s on his back. I’ve never doubted that this is what we got from them, but now I have proof positive. Watch out Worcester Warriors.
Feb 07 Sale v London Irish
Twinkle, Twinkle little star
What do you get if you play a winger at full-back, a scrum half and centre on the wings, a lock at blindside and a hooker at openside? The answer …….. a dour, miserable and dreary spectacle. I wouldn’t say it was the worst game I’ve seen at Edgeley Park: that ‘honour’ goes to Sharks against Leicester on a miserable, wet February night in 2004, closely followed by the debacle against Newcastle earlier this season, but boy, it wasn’t good.
I left the ground feeling deflated and thoroughly depressed, thinking, is this really the best we can come up with? If the answer’s yes, then maybe Worcester Warriors needn’t panic as much as they have been.
With all due respect to London Irish, this was a game we should and could have won. This isn’t the Irish team of last year. Few who saw their demolition of Wasps at the tail end of last season would question what a lethal team they were. Yet, this year things haven’t gone according to plan. Their forwards are more than a match for most and their backline can still be devastating, but the two have rarely performed at the same time on the same day. It was ours for the taking, but for some reason it looked like we didn’t believe we could.
It started well enough and for the first fifteen minutes or so we looked lively. The front five were combative and aggressive and the set piece seemed to be functioning well. Lee Thomas tried to get the whole backline moving and did his best to keep the ball alive.
Mark Cueto looked fired up and was obviously prepared to run any ball that came his way back into the Exiles’ half. Foden and Mayor, despite playing out of position, looked pumped and tackled and ran the ball well. Two penalties to the good, and then for some inexplicable reason, everything ground to a halt.
London Irish set their stall out right from the start. It was a limited game plan, but given the absence of the influential and wily Mike Catt and the classy Argentinian centre, Gonzalo Tiesi, it was wholly understandable. They came to contain Sale and to spoil and disrupt play at each and every opportunity.
Bob Casey and Nick Kennedy, are two second rows who’ve been round the block more times than the local bobby. They know what they can get away with and when to do it. If there was an opportunity to slow the play down or disrupt it, then they did it. Fair play to them as well. If they were playing for us I’d applaud them.
But, sometimes you can take things too far. In all my time watching rugby, I can never remember as much time wasting. They went down like ninepins, often when under pressure and successfully killed off any momentum we managed to build. It would’ve been nice if the referee had penalised this blatant time-wasting, but, poor chap, it obviously wasn’t one of his better days.
When Sale came out early for the second half, the players looked like they’d received an earful and consequently, I thought we’d step up a gear and start to play as we all know we can. The half had barely started when a dreadful, though thankfully rare, pass from Corcho to Cuets resulted in a penalty and Irish extended their lead.
Was that the pivotal moment of the match, as some people have said? I’m not sure, but it was symptomatic of our overall performance – nervy, twitchy and seriously lacking in confidence. Corcho has been sublime this year and has often dragged us through when things haven’t gone well. It’s all too easy to rely on the few, but responsibility should be shared by everyone.
Sale couldn’t be faulted for lack of effort but that effort was all one-dimensional and the ball delivery was always far too slow. The Irish were there to defend and that’s precisely what they did to great effect. We just couldn’t find a way through and frankly, never looked likely to. We certainly weren’t helped by the referee, Mr Debney, who must have super-glued his left arm to his side at half time. He awarded penalty after penalty against us, but consistently failed to spot the Irish infringements. Maybe they were just that bit more subtle.
With ten minutes to go, Foden switched to scrum half, Wiggy to stand off and Stan came on as a winger, and what a difference it made. Suddenly we had pace and momentum. Quick ball from both the scrum and the ruck, and hey presto, you have a completely different game on your hands: the wonder is why we never started with that formation in the first half. It was a pity we couldn’t turn our possession into points during this period. Andy Sheridan powered over in the corner but the ball apparently was held up, according to the referee at least. In the dying minutes after consistent pressure, Sale had the Exiles pined in the corner with Chris Jones stood on his own on the opposite touchline screaming for the cross-field ball. No-one, except the crowd saw him.
Next up we play Sarries away. I can’t say I like the sound of that one. They’ve got over their injury woes and are starting to play aggressive and attacking rugby consistently. If we play with the starting formation of the Irish game, I fear we’re about to be on the wrong end of a hiding.
I realise you can only play with the players you have available, which in Sale’s case is basically anyone still standing, but we all witnessed in that ten minute cameo that players generally do play best in their preferred positions. Ask Andy Robinson, or maybe not, as he didn’t believe in it and it did for him. So, ask Brian Ashton instead. Give these lads a chance, especially the young ones. They are tomorrow’s stars, so let them shine and let’s see if one or two of them shine as brightly as their publicity suggests.
What do you get if you play a winger at full-back, a scrum half and centre on the wings, a lock at blindside and a hooker at openside? The answer …….. a dour, miserable and dreary spectacle. I wouldn’t say it was the worst game I’ve seen at Edgeley Park: that ‘honour’ goes to Sharks against Leicester on a miserable, wet February night in 2004, closely followed by the debacle against Newcastle earlier this season, but boy, it wasn’t good.
I left the ground feeling deflated and thoroughly depressed, thinking, is this really the best we can come up with? If the answer’s yes, then maybe Worcester Warriors needn’t panic as much as they have been.
With all due respect to London Irish, this was a game we should and could have won. This isn’t the Irish team of last year. Few who saw their demolition of Wasps at the tail end of last season would question what a lethal team they were. Yet, this year things haven’t gone according to plan. Their forwards are more than a match for most and their backline can still be devastating, but the two have rarely performed at the same time on the same day. It was ours for the taking, but for some reason it looked like we didn’t believe we could.
It started well enough and for the first fifteen minutes or so we looked lively. The front five were combative and aggressive and the set piece seemed to be functioning well. Lee Thomas tried to get the whole backline moving and did his best to keep the ball alive.
Mark Cueto looked fired up and was obviously prepared to run any ball that came his way back into the Exiles’ half. Foden and Mayor, despite playing out of position, looked pumped and tackled and ran the ball well. Two penalties to the good, and then for some inexplicable reason, everything ground to a halt.
London Irish set their stall out right from the start. It was a limited game plan, but given the absence of the influential and wily Mike Catt and the classy Argentinian centre, Gonzalo Tiesi, it was wholly understandable. They came to contain Sale and to spoil and disrupt play at each and every opportunity.
Bob Casey and Nick Kennedy, are two second rows who’ve been round the block more times than the local bobby. They know what they can get away with and when to do it. If there was an opportunity to slow the play down or disrupt it, then they did it. Fair play to them as well. If they were playing for us I’d applaud them.
But, sometimes you can take things too far. In all my time watching rugby, I can never remember as much time wasting. They went down like ninepins, often when under pressure and successfully killed off any momentum we managed to build. It would’ve been nice if the referee had penalised this blatant time-wasting, but, poor chap, it obviously wasn’t one of his better days.
When Sale came out early for the second half, the players looked like they’d received an earful and consequently, I thought we’d step up a gear and start to play as we all know we can. The half had barely started when a dreadful, though thankfully rare, pass from Corcho to Cuets resulted in a penalty and Irish extended their lead.
Was that the pivotal moment of the match, as some people have said? I’m not sure, but it was symptomatic of our overall performance – nervy, twitchy and seriously lacking in confidence. Corcho has been sublime this year and has often dragged us through when things haven’t gone well. It’s all too easy to rely on the few, but responsibility should be shared by everyone.
Sale couldn’t be faulted for lack of effort but that effort was all one-dimensional and the ball delivery was always far too slow. The Irish were there to defend and that’s precisely what they did to great effect. We just couldn’t find a way through and frankly, never looked likely to. We certainly weren’t helped by the referee, Mr Debney, who must have super-glued his left arm to his side at half time. He awarded penalty after penalty against us, but consistently failed to spot the Irish infringements. Maybe they were just that bit more subtle.
With ten minutes to go, Foden switched to scrum half, Wiggy to stand off and Stan came on as a winger, and what a difference it made. Suddenly we had pace and momentum. Quick ball from both the scrum and the ruck, and hey presto, you have a completely different game on your hands: the wonder is why we never started with that formation in the first half. It was a pity we couldn’t turn our possession into points during this period. Andy Sheridan powered over in the corner but the ball apparently was held up, according to the referee at least. In the dying minutes after consistent pressure, Sale had the Exiles pined in the corner with Chris Jones stood on his own on the opposite touchline screaming for the cross-field ball. No-one, except the crowd saw him.
Next up we play Sarries away. I can’t say I like the sound of that one. They’ve got over their injury woes and are starting to play aggressive and attacking rugby consistently. If we play with the starting formation of the Irish game, I fear we’re about to be on the wrong end of a hiding.
I realise you can only play with the players you have available, which in Sale’s case is basically anyone still standing, but we all witnessed in that ten minute cameo that players generally do play best in their preferred positions. Ask Andy Robinson, or maybe not, as he didn’t believe in it and it did for him. So, ask Brian Ashton instead. Give these lads a chance, especially the young ones. They are tomorrow’s stars, so let them shine and let’s see if one or two of them shine as brightly as their publicity suggests.
Feb 07 Wasps v Sale
You know when you’ve been Dayglo’d
If we only had a Mediterranean climate, double summer time and decent wine, oh, and rugby matches that only lasted forty minutes, I’d be as happy as a lamb. Sadly we have none of these and as a consequence the world seemed a much darker place on the road back from Adams Park. All that effort and not even a bonus point. It just doesn’t get any better, does it?
Never mind, you’ve got to keep a stiff upper lip and look for the positives. For forty minutes yesterday we played some of our best rugby of the season, kick-started mainly by Billy Whizz himself, Jason Robinson. I might have to eat humble pie on that one and apologise to English rugby and the RFU: perhaps playing for your country doesn’t detract from your Club game.
Then again, maybe I won’t because I still think I’m right on that one, but Jason looked like the speedster of yesteryear, running dangerous lines and carving the Wasps defence apart. If only he straightened his line when he jinked his way through their three-quarters instead of passing to Quates, I think we would have had another try. Never the less, it was a delight to behold and something we should cherish. Sadly, I think we all have to expect that he can’t keep that pace up for a full match anymore.
During the first half we managed to do what has been missing for most of this season – we kept the ball alive, with deft and sometimes spell-binding off-loading. Corcho had yet another stormer, continually hunting and harassing. Andy Titterell showed his attacking, marauding side, and just what a good eye he has for a gap in any defence.
Maggie showed himself to be the predator once again and reminded us just what had been missing at Gloucester. Chris Jones had a cracking game at blindside, stealing ball at both line out and ruck and flicked a splendid ball in the tackle to Quates who stormed over for our first try.
The Wasps’ fans I spoke to after the game assured me the pass was forward, but being seated in the place always afforded to the away fans – behind the posts and the big screen - I wasn’t really in a position to argue. Maybe the try shouldn’t have been awarded.
Anyway the referee, the smiling paramedic Tony Spreadbury, wasn’t exactly kind to us, missing blatant obstructions, trips, tackles on men without the ball and hands in at rucks. So, all’s probably fair in love and war, sometimes you get the shouts and sometimes you don’t.
Whether we opted for a different game plan in the second half, or whether Wasps were simply able to shore up their defences that much better, I can’t tell. Whatever reason, we struggled to get hold of the ball after the break. Rees and Haskell caused us a few problems. Voyce, too, continued to elude tackles and was instrumental in much of their good work.
By the fourth quarter, we looked a very jaded side. Even the introduction of our other talisman, Seabass, didn’t do much to lift the gathering gloom. His cameo role was short and not so sweet: a dropped high ball, a tussle with the old adversary and an injury. Not much to shout about really.
But, there will be some who will shout. Did he stamp, or didn’t he? The answer is yes and what’s more, I’d have done the same. He was grabbed by the ankle by Mr Sunshine, Lawrence “Dayglo” Dallaglio, who was lying in an offside position and interfering with play. He latched on to Seabass’ ankle like a limpet and wouldn’t let go, inspite of a bit of encouragement; stopping Seabass joining the ruck and the ball was turned over.
Will Chabal be cited for this? Well I hope not, but let’s face it, we’ve not had the best of luck so far. It all depends on whether the Citing Officer, you know the one I mean, the guy who gets paid to spot infringements by Sale Sharks players, is made aware of it. With any luck he might be on holiday.
Even though we scored a lovely try towards the end through an excellent lineout steal and the deft footwork of Andy Vilk, the mood was not going to lift. Our standing in the tables doesn’t make for very heartening reading. We’re currently in seventh position with 33 points, nine points behind fourth place Gloucester, who also have a game in hand. At the beginning of the season, I predicted another Championship, now we’ll be lucky to make the play-offs.
But, it’s not over until the fat lady sings. Does anyone know a generously proportioned woman with the voice of an angel?
If we only had a Mediterranean climate, double summer time and decent wine, oh, and rugby matches that only lasted forty minutes, I’d be as happy as a lamb. Sadly we have none of these and as a consequence the world seemed a much darker place on the road back from Adams Park. All that effort and not even a bonus point. It just doesn’t get any better, does it?
Never mind, you’ve got to keep a stiff upper lip and look for the positives. For forty minutes yesterday we played some of our best rugby of the season, kick-started mainly by Billy Whizz himself, Jason Robinson. I might have to eat humble pie on that one and apologise to English rugby and the RFU: perhaps playing for your country doesn’t detract from your Club game.
Then again, maybe I won’t because I still think I’m right on that one, but Jason looked like the speedster of yesteryear, running dangerous lines and carving the Wasps defence apart. If only he straightened his line when he jinked his way through their three-quarters instead of passing to Quates, I think we would have had another try. Never the less, it was a delight to behold and something we should cherish. Sadly, I think we all have to expect that he can’t keep that pace up for a full match anymore.
During the first half we managed to do what has been missing for most of this season – we kept the ball alive, with deft and sometimes spell-binding off-loading. Corcho had yet another stormer, continually hunting and harassing. Andy Titterell showed his attacking, marauding side, and just what a good eye he has for a gap in any defence.
Maggie showed himself to be the predator once again and reminded us just what had been missing at Gloucester. Chris Jones had a cracking game at blindside, stealing ball at both line out and ruck and flicked a splendid ball in the tackle to Quates who stormed over for our first try.
The Wasps’ fans I spoke to after the game assured me the pass was forward, but being seated in the place always afforded to the away fans – behind the posts and the big screen - I wasn’t really in a position to argue. Maybe the try shouldn’t have been awarded.
Anyway the referee, the smiling paramedic Tony Spreadbury, wasn’t exactly kind to us, missing blatant obstructions, trips, tackles on men without the ball and hands in at rucks. So, all’s probably fair in love and war, sometimes you get the shouts and sometimes you don’t.
Whether we opted for a different game plan in the second half, or whether Wasps were simply able to shore up their defences that much better, I can’t tell. Whatever reason, we struggled to get hold of the ball after the break. Rees and Haskell caused us a few problems. Voyce, too, continued to elude tackles and was instrumental in much of their good work.
By the fourth quarter, we looked a very jaded side. Even the introduction of our other talisman, Seabass, didn’t do much to lift the gathering gloom. His cameo role was short and not so sweet: a dropped high ball, a tussle with the old adversary and an injury. Not much to shout about really.
But, there will be some who will shout. Did he stamp, or didn’t he? The answer is yes and what’s more, I’d have done the same. He was grabbed by the ankle by Mr Sunshine, Lawrence “Dayglo” Dallaglio, who was lying in an offside position and interfering with play. He latched on to Seabass’ ankle like a limpet and wouldn’t let go, inspite of a bit of encouragement; stopping Seabass joining the ruck and the ball was turned over.
Will Chabal be cited for this? Well I hope not, but let’s face it, we’ve not had the best of luck so far. It all depends on whether the Citing Officer, you know the one I mean, the guy who gets paid to spot infringements by Sale Sharks players, is made aware of it. With any luck he might be on holiday.
Even though we scored a lovely try towards the end through an excellent lineout steal and the deft footwork of Andy Vilk, the mood was not going to lift. Our standing in the tables doesn’t make for very heartening reading. We’re currently in seventh position with 33 points, nine points behind fourth place Gloucester, who also have a game in hand. At the beginning of the season, I predicted another Championship, now we’ll be lucky to make the play-offs.
But, it’s not over until the fat lady sings. Does anyone know a generously proportioned woman with the voice of an angel?
Feb 07 International Break Part 2
You’ve lost that grubbing feeling
Last weekend the sun shone on Twickenham. The Gods smiled down on English rugby and everything in the garden was rosy. Jonny, the talisman, was apparently back where he belonged, at the centre of the action, calling the shots and dictating play. England looked like a force to be reckoned with and we, well those amongst us who care about international rugby, had hope, belief and an expectation that we were on our way to becoming the dominant force in global rugby once more.
Well, the honeymoon’s over. In nine days, England have transformed from magical and marauding to mundane and mediocre. If I were a newly-wed, I’d definitely feel short-changed and probably ask for my money back.
Last week England’s pack swatted away a makeshift and under-powered Scottish side with consummate ease. It was like pushing on an open door. Unfortunately, this tactic was never going to work against the Italians: you always knew the door was always likely to be locked. The Italian pack is big, strong and very wiley and will fight for every inch of turf and possession. If you meet force with equal force, you’re left with inertia and ultimately boring rugby. No wonder the dreaded Mexican wave started up.
England didn’t appear to have a contingency plan and so continued to batter away, more in hope than expectation. It’s at times like these that you look to your leaders on the pitch for inspiration; you need someone to mix things up and try something different.
Jonny might be the ultimate kicking machine and a ferocious tackler but he can’t control and alter a game like Dan Carter or run lines and find space like Stephen Larkham. His kicking out of hand was poor by his standards and his vision and invention was sadly lacking.
England’s three quarters looked ordinary and pedestrian. They were short on ideas and it showed. The Italians came with a very limited game plan; containment was the name of the game. It was only after half time that they started to play with any sense of belief. They were the dominant force in the second half and had the lion’s share of possession. If they only had a place kicker like Jonny, then I think they could well have won the game.
With the greatest respect to the Italians, this was a match England should’ve won at a canter, yet they struggled. They now have to travel to a packed Croke Park, to take on an Irish team that will be smarting from the loss to France. If England play like they did against the Italians, then they’re likely to get a good hiding.
This week, the RFU released its discussion document on the future of professional rugby, called ‘The Way Forward Project’. The RFU has previously conducted its affairs in a bullish and blustering way. In many ways its approach to confrontation is not dissimilar to our forward play – forceful, one-directional and blinkered. So, it’s reassuring in some ways that it is willing to listen to other ’stakeholders’ about the issues that affect elite rugby.
However, the majority of top flight Clubs have already agreed in principle to accept any necessary restructuring of the season structure and central management of the elite squad in return for ring-fencing. Only Sale Sharks and Leicester Tigers have been prepared to raise their heads above the parapet and voice their concerns.
Although it would be in everyone’s interest to reach a successful solution or compromise, I am concerned that the one stakeholder that doesn’t seem to have a voice, the supporter, will be overlooked and ignored yet again. Supporters are an integral part of the game; as Josh Lewsey said, “they put the bread on the table”. Without us and our money, the game would die. We need to be represented and we need to be listened to.
Everyone involved at all levels in rugby wants lasting resolution to the club or country situation, but the most important question is how far are the Clubs willing to go to appease the governing body? If the solution involves franchises then many supporters, myself included, will not support it. As Benjamin Franklin wisely said, “even peace can be purchased at too high a price.”
.
Last weekend the sun shone on Twickenham. The Gods smiled down on English rugby and everything in the garden was rosy. Jonny, the talisman, was apparently back where he belonged, at the centre of the action, calling the shots and dictating play. England looked like a force to be reckoned with and we, well those amongst us who care about international rugby, had hope, belief and an expectation that we were on our way to becoming the dominant force in global rugby once more.
Well, the honeymoon’s over. In nine days, England have transformed from magical and marauding to mundane and mediocre. If I were a newly-wed, I’d definitely feel short-changed and probably ask for my money back.
Last week England’s pack swatted away a makeshift and under-powered Scottish side with consummate ease. It was like pushing on an open door. Unfortunately, this tactic was never going to work against the Italians: you always knew the door was always likely to be locked. The Italian pack is big, strong and very wiley and will fight for every inch of turf and possession. If you meet force with equal force, you’re left with inertia and ultimately boring rugby. No wonder the dreaded Mexican wave started up.
England didn’t appear to have a contingency plan and so continued to batter away, more in hope than expectation. It’s at times like these that you look to your leaders on the pitch for inspiration; you need someone to mix things up and try something different.
Jonny might be the ultimate kicking machine and a ferocious tackler but he can’t control and alter a game like Dan Carter or run lines and find space like Stephen Larkham. His kicking out of hand was poor by his standards and his vision and invention was sadly lacking.
England’s three quarters looked ordinary and pedestrian. They were short on ideas and it showed. The Italians came with a very limited game plan; containment was the name of the game. It was only after half time that they started to play with any sense of belief. They were the dominant force in the second half and had the lion’s share of possession. If they only had a place kicker like Jonny, then I think they could well have won the game.
With the greatest respect to the Italians, this was a match England should’ve won at a canter, yet they struggled. They now have to travel to a packed Croke Park, to take on an Irish team that will be smarting from the loss to France. If England play like they did against the Italians, then they’re likely to get a good hiding.
This week, the RFU released its discussion document on the future of professional rugby, called ‘The Way Forward Project’. The RFU has previously conducted its affairs in a bullish and blustering way. In many ways its approach to confrontation is not dissimilar to our forward play – forceful, one-directional and blinkered. So, it’s reassuring in some ways that it is willing to listen to other ’stakeholders’ about the issues that affect elite rugby.
However, the majority of top flight Clubs have already agreed in principle to accept any necessary restructuring of the season structure and central management of the elite squad in return for ring-fencing. Only Sale Sharks and Leicester Tigers have been prepared to raise their heads above the parapet and voice their concerns.
Although it would be in everyone’s interest to reach a successful solution or compromise, I am concerned that the one stakeholder that doesn’t seem to have a voice, the supporter, will be overlooked and ignored yet again. Supporters are an integral part of the game; as Josh Lewsey said, “they put the bread on the table”. Without us and our money, the game would die. We need to be represented and we need to be listened to.
Everyone involved at all levels in rugby wants lasting resolution to the club or country situation, but the most important question is how far are the Clubs willing to go to appease the governing body? If the solution involves franchises then many supporters, myself included, will not support it. As Benjamin Franklin wisely said, “even peace can be purchased at too high a price.”
.
Feb 07 International Break Part 1
I’m not the one and only!
I’d fully expected the two week Premiership rest window to be quiet and uneventful this year: a peaceful and gentle lull in an eventful season, where players, other than our Internationals, got a chance to put their feet up and recover from the ludicrous fixture congestion thrust upon them by the lords and masters at the RFU. Had these same people not decreed that we play three games in two weeks, perhaps it wouldn’t have been necessary. Still, that’s another argument.
Yet, it’s been anything but quiet and uneventful. First the news broke that we were to lose our Chief Executive at the end of the season and then a succession of our players made the back pages after outstanding International displays. It seems you can’t keep Sale Sharks out of the news these days!
Niels de Vos will leave the Sharks in May this year, after five years in charge. It may have come as a ‘shock’ to some, but many, myself included, believed the writing was on the wall as soon as his name began to be linked with UK Athletics. I’m sure everyone both within the Club and outside wishes him the very best when he takes up his new position. He’s been at the helm in building the Club and the business. He took us from being a small club in Cheshire to Premiership Champions, and I’m sure we all thank him.
If he can do for UK Athletics what he’s done for Sale then perhaps some of our Olympic expectations might yet be fulfilled. Let’s all hope that the new Chief Executive carries on Niels’ good work and continues to work with the supporters to carry the Club onwards and upwards.
Back on the rugby field, the Six Nations kicked off in style with the return of the ‘anointed one’, Jonny Wilkinson. There has always been a love affair between the Twickenham faithful and Jonny and Saturday’s performance will have done nothing to diminish his God-like status, though personally I thought Harry Ellis should’ve taken the Man of the Match award.
To give Jonny his due, he produced as fine a fly half performance as I’ve seen since our own injured stand-off took Leicester Tigers apart in the Premiership final. Would that Charlie could be part of an England team where players were played in their natural positions, or that Charlie and Jonny could play on the same team?
Jason Robinson, our own Billy Whizz, produced an excellent performance in his international comeback, scoring two tries and demonstrating to all that he’s not lost the skill and the trickery that made him so dangerous. Many commentators have always believed that his best position is on the wing and that his talents are wasted at full back. Yesterday’s performance would tend to reinforce that opinion.
Magnus Lund was played in his proper role at openside for the first time in his short England career. He played excellently throughout the game, turning over ball, hunting down the opposition and scoring a lovely overlap try in the closing stages. He looked every inch the finished article and achieved all this without constantly giving away penalties like Lewis Moody. I’m sure he’ll have a long and illustrious international career.
England may have their chosen one, but so do Sale Sharks and France. Sebastien Chabal, our own bearded warrior who bears more than a passing resemblance to a certain son of Nazareth, put in a towering performance as France comfortably beat Italy at the Stadio Flaminio. Bernard Laporte has been reluctant to play Seabass in his preferred position at number 8, often overlooking him in favour of Immanuel Harinordoquy.
But after Chabal’s blazing showing in the Heineken Cup against Stade Francais, the French coach eventually saw what has been blindingly obvious to most of us for a long time. Seabass is an awesome player. His display on Saturday rightly won him the RBS Man of the Match award. The only blight on the horizon was the sight of him limping off with ten minutes remaining. Hopefully the damage isn’t too great and he’ll be fit to play again soon.
They weren’t the only Sharks to make the England headlines this week either. Dean Schofield, our aggressive and combative lock, scored a try in a gritty England ‘Saxons’ win against Italy on Friday, and David Tait, our young versatile back row forward, scored two tries in the England under 20s, 35 points to 5 victory over Scotland.
It’s often said that no news is good news. By and large that’s true, but sometimes, some news can also be good news. In a season that’s been beset by bad news, it’s nice to have something to smile about. Let’s hope that the trend continues and that we’re still smiling at the end of the Six Nations when our players return uninjured and fit. So, enjoy it while you can but remember to keep your fingers crossed.
I’d fully expected the two week Premiership rest window to be quiet and uneventful this year: a peaceful and gentle lull in an eventful season, where players, other than our Internationals, got a chance to put their feet up and recover from the ludicrous fixture congestion thrust upon them by the lords and masters at the RFU. Had these same people not decreed that we play three games in two weeks, perhaps it wouldn’t have been necessary. Still, that’s another argument.
Yet, it’s been anything but quiet and uneventful. First the news broke that we were to lose our Chief Executive at the end of the season and then a succession of our players made the back pages after outstanding International displays. It seems you can’t keep Sale Sharks out of the news these days!
Niels de Vos will leave the Sharks in May this year, after five years in charge. It may have come as a ‘shock’ to some, but many, myself included, believed the writing was on the wall as soon as his name began to be linked with UK Athletics. I’m sure everyone both within the Club and outside wishes him the very best when he takes up his new position. He’s been at the helm in building the Club and the business. He took us from being a small club in Cheshire to Premiership Champions, and I’m sure we all thank him.
If he can do for UK Athletics what he’s done for Sale then perhaps some of our Olympic expectations might yet be fulfilled. Let’s all hope that the new Chief Executive carries on Niels’ good work and continues to work with the supporters to carry the Club onwards and upwards.
Back on the rugby field, the Six Nations kicked off in style with the return of the ‘anointed one’, Jonny Wilkinson. There has always been a love affair between the Twickenham faithful and Jonny and Saturday’s performance will have done nothing to diminish his God-like status, though personally I thought Harry Ellis should’ve taken the Man of the Match award.
To give Jonny his due, he produced as fine a fly half performance as I’ve seen since our own injured stand-off took Leicester Tigers apart in the Premiership final. Would that Charlie could be part of an England team where players were played in their natural positions, or that Charlie and Jonny could play on the same team?
Jason Robinson, our own Billy Whizz, produced an excellent performance in his international comeback, scoring two tries and demonstrating to all that he’s not lost the skill and the trickery that made him so dangerous. Many commentators have always believed that his best position is on the wing and that his talents are wasted at full back. Yesterday’s performance would tend to reinforce that opinion.
Magnus Lund was played in his proper role at openside for the first time in his short England career. He played excellently throughout the game, turning over ball, hunting down the opposition and scoring a lovely overlap try in the closing stages. He looked every inch the finished article and achieved all this without constantly giving away penalties like Lewis Moody. I’m sure he’ll have a long and illustrious international career.
England may have their chosen one, but so do Sale Sharks and France. Sebastien Chabal, our own bearded warrior who bears more than a passing resemblance to a certain son of Nazareth, put in a towering performance as France comfortably beat Italy at the Stadio Flaminio. Bernard Laporte has been reluctant to play Seabass in his preferred position at number 8, often overlooking him in favour of Immanuel Harinordoquy.
But after Chabal’s blazing showing in the Heineken Cup against Stade Francais, the French coach eventually saw what has been blindingly obvious to most of us for a long time. Seabass is an awesome player. His display on Saturday rightly won him the RBS Man of the Match award. The only blight on the horizon was the sight of him limping off with ten minutes remaining. Hopefully the damage isn’t too great and he’ll be fit to play again soon.
They weren’t the only Sharks to make the England headlines this week either. Dean Schofield, our aggressive and combative lock, scored a try in a gritty England ‘Saxons’ win against Italy on Friday, and David Tait, our young versatile back row forward, scored two tries in the England under 20s, 35 points to 5 victory over Scotland.
It’s often said that no news is good news. By and large that’s true, but sometimes, some news can also be good news. In a season that’s been beset by bad news, it’s nice to have something to smile about. Let’s hope that the trend continues and that we’re still smiling at the end of the Six Nations when our players return uninjured and fit. So, enjoy it while you can but remember to keep your fingers crossed.
Jan 07 Gloucester v Sale
Cometh the hour, cometh the men!
If you were to base your opinions about sports events purely upon the newspaper headlines in this weekend’s papers, you would probably think that Sale Sharks were given a lesson in rugby’s harsh realities at Castle Grim (Kingsholm) on Saturday. However, if you were lucky enough to watch the match, then you would know that these headlines only tell half the story.
Without a doubt the better side won: Gloucester played simple rugby, with power, pace, consistency and intensity, illustrating perfectly the beauty and benefits of resting and rotating your squad. Would that we were in that position?
Sadly the luxury of player rotation is not an option open to us because of the unbelievable run of injuries that has decimated our squad. This devastation has meant that we have to rely upon the same old faces, week in, week out, to put their bodies on the line. Is it any wonder these players look shattered?
I’ve now reached the stage where results for me are secondary; I’m satisfied and happy if we can finish a game with players still able to walk. It’s a truly sad state of affairs and something I never envisaged when we started out in this year’s Premiership campaign. Yet, although not everything in this garden is particularly rosy, there are signs of life, little green shoots if you prefer, that give hope and encouragement in what has become an increasingly barren landscape.
Given the restrictions of the salary cap, the future of any top class rugby team lies with its youth system and its Academy. The Gloucester game was a perfect illustration of this. Three of our try scorers, Foden, Schofield and Mayor either came through or were drafted into our Academy structure, and the fourth one, Rhys Jones, another Jets player, made his debut at full back.
Ben Foden is a player who continues to impress and improve with every game he plays. He scored yet another poacher’s try and harried, pressed and broke the gain line time after time. He did all this in spite of taking a heavy knock early in the game. There may still be one or two who question certain aspects of his game, but his commitment and determination can never be doubted. He plays to win, and he looked devastated after the game.
The same could be said of Chris Mayor. He, too, has had his critics, but for my money put in his best performance of the season. He looked sharp, tackled ferociously, ran some good lines and scored a beauty of a try. Chris is a player who seems to have been around an eternity, but people tend to overlook the fact that he’s still only 24. There’s plenty more to come from him.
Dean Schofield’s contribution on the field often goes unnoticed, perhaps even unappreciated by some. Yet he always produces and gives his best every time he plays. He adds physicality and athleticism in the second row and his grit and desire has at last rightly gained him recognition from the England selectors. The look of determination on his face as he raced over for his try said it all. No one, not even the rejuvenated and re-invigorated Mike Tindall, was going to stop him crossing that whitewash.
Rhys Jones made his first ever Premiership start for Sale Sharks at full back on Saturday at Kingsholm and looked like he belonged there. He played with confidence, composure and an assurance that was astounding for a nineteen year old. His open play was good, his place kicking and his kicking out of hand were excellent and his tackling was superb: at one point just before half-time he took out Adam Balding, a big burly back-row forward with a thundering tackle that surprised not only the Sale fans but most of the Shed too. Great things had been expected of Rhys, and on this evidence you can see why.
Although we left Kingsholm disappointed, this was tempered with enthusiasm and a certain degree of hope. We may have been rocked by injuries, and we may be losing matches which we would’ve won last season but our scouts and coaches have managed to unearth some real talent. We have good young players who will continue to improve with increasing game time: Foden, Jones, Mayor, Cox, Tait, Hills, Riley, Halsall, and Briggs are all players who will be essential to the future development of Sale Sharks.
Should the RFU get its way, with what is essentially a back-door plan to bring in central contracts, then these are the type of players we will be watching every week, until such time as England come knocking for more and either take them away from us or return them broken. Will we be happy to watch these boys represent Sale Sharks? Of course we will. Will the Clubs still expect us to pay the same prices once central contracts rob us of our elite players? I expect they will. Will we? Now, there’s the question.
If you were to base your opinions about sports events purely upon the newspaper headlines in this weekend’s papers, you would probably think that Sale Sharks were given a lesson in rugby’s harsh realities at Castle Grim (Kingsholm) on Saturday. However, if you were lucky enough to watch the match, then you would know that these headlines only tell half the story.
Without a doubt the better side won: Gloucester played simple rugby, with power, pace, consistency and intensity, illustrating perfectly the beauty and benefits of resting and rotating your squad. Would that we were in that position?
Sadly the luxury of player rotation is not an option open to us because of the unbelievable run of injuries that has decimated our squad. This devastation has meant that we have to rely upon the same old faces, week in, week out, to put their bodies on the line. Is it any wonder these players look shattered?
I’ve now reached the stage where results for me are secondary; I’m satisfied and happy if we can finish a game with players still able to walk. It’s a truly sad state of affairs and something I never envisaged when we started out in this year’s Premiership campaign. Yet, although not everything in this garden is particularly rosy, there are signs of life, little green shoots if you prefer, that give hope and encouragement in what has become an increasingly barren landscape.
Given the restrictions of the salary cap, the future of any top class rugby team lies with its youth system and its Academy. The Gloucester game was a perfect illustration of this. Three of our try scorers, Foden, Schofield and Mayor either came through or were drafted into our Academy structure, and the fourth one, Rhys Jones, another Jets player, made his debut at full back.
Ben Foden is a player who continues to impress and improve with every game he plays. He scored yet another poacher’s try and harried, pressed and broke the gain line time after time. He did all this in spite of taking a heavy knock early in the game. There may still be one or two who question certain aspects of his game, but his commitment and determination can never be doubted. He plays to win, and he looked devastated after the game.
The same could be said of Chris Mayor. He, too, has had his critics, but for my money put in his best performance of the season. He looked sharp, tackled ferociously, ran some good lines and scored a beauty of a try. Chris is a player who seems to have been around an eternity, but people tend to overlook the fact that he’s still only 24. There’s plenty more to come from him.
Dean Schofield’s contribution on the field often goes unnoticed, perhaps even unappreciated by some. Yet he always produces and gives his best every time he plays. He adds physicality and athleticism in the second row and his grit and desire has at last rightly gained him recognition from the England selectors. The look of determination on his face as he raced over for his try said it all. No one, not even the rejuvenated and re-invigorated Mike Tindall, was going to stop him crossing that whitewash.
Rhys Jones made his first ever Premiership start for Sale Sharks at full back on Saturday at Kingsholm and looked like he belonged there. He played with confidence, composure and an assurance that was astounding for a nineteen year old. His open play was good, his place kicking and his kicking out of hand were excellent and his tackling was superb: at one point just before half-time he took out Adam Balding, a big burly back-row forward with a thundering tackle that surprised not only the Sale fans but most of the Shed too. Great things had been expected of Rhys, and on this evidence you can see why.
Although we left Kingsholm disappointed, this was tempered with enthusiasm and a certain degree of hope. We may have been rocked by injuries, and we may be losing matches which we would’ve won last season but our scouts and coaches have managed to unearth some real talent. We have good young players who will continue to improve with increasing game time: Foden, Jones, Mayor, Cox, Tait, Hills, Riley, Halsall, and Briggs are all players who will be essential to the future development of Sale Sharks.
Should the RFU get its way, with what is essentially a back-door plan to bring in central contracts, then these are the type of players we will be watching every week, until such time as England come knocking for more and either take them away from us or return them broken. Will we be happy to watch these boys represent Sale Sharks? Of course we will. Will the Clubs still expect us to pay the same prices once central contracts rob us of our elite players? I expect they will. Will we? Now, there’s the question.
Jan 07 Sale v Ospreys
Reasons to be cheerful …..!
Well, that’s that then – the end of our Heineken Cup campaign for this season, and, if the French succeed in getting their way, probably next season too. The biggest disappointment for Sale fans was that it ended in a whimper rather than a bang, yet, in what effectively amounted to a dead rubber, it wasn’t really that surprising.
Still, given the way our season has panned out, with the injuries, the fixture congestion and the ‘black cat’ syndrome that has dogged the Club from the very beginning, we exited European competition with our heads held high. We played with pride and passion, performing magnificently against a team that took gamesmanship to a completely different level, aided and abetted by a referee who must surely by now have been awarded the freedom of Swansea.
We may be out, but we’re certainly not down. I would urge all those who left Edgeley Park on Saturday evening dejected and disappointed to embrace the positives and see this defeat not as the beginning of the end, but the end of the beginning. The European chapter may be closed but the rest of the story is yet to be written. There still are reasons to be cheerful.
Even though our squad has been decimated to an extent that would cause most Clubs to implode, we still manage to produce performances week after week. It’s fair to say that we don’t have the swagger of last year, and that our back play doesn’t sparkle, but we have a talented squad of players who can and do step up every time they are asked to do so.
We have talent a plenty in our younger ranks. Coxy is strong, aggressive and a born leader. David Tait, who, let’s not forget is barely 19, is big, mobile and extremely versatile in any back row position. Briggsy is a compact, talented hooker who can also fill in at flanker. Ben Lloyd is fiery and combative and can play both second and back row. Hillsy, who is a former under 21 flanker, is quick around the park and bursting with fire and ambition. With young lads of this calibre, the future will always be bright. They now have opportunities to stake their place for first team action, and I’m sure they will not be found wanting.
In Corcho, Pop Eye and Eifion “The Fridge” Roberts, we have unearthed stars of both the present and the future. Eifion has come up against many hardened, experienced props this season and has always delivered. He will only get better with experience and once he’s fully mastered the dark arts of front row play, we will have a seriously good prop on our books.
Ben Foden has played in every game this season, and shown his versatility on both wings. The Ospreys game was only his third start at scrum half. He’s strong, big, can tackle like a demon and is seriously fast. He can deliver quick ball from the scrum and ruck, always has an eye for a gap and never gives less than his best. If he can develop and improve his passing game then I believe he can become England’s first choice number 9 for many years to come. On Saturday he came up against Justin Marshall, the vastly experienced, former All Black captain, and more than held his own. Maybe, at last, we have unearthed the rightful successor to Brush?
Corcho is the find of the season and is rightly coveted by all the big European Clubs. He’s versatile, powerful, fearless and aggressive and never gives up. He was magnificent on Saturday and for me was our best performer. He’s effective both in the loose and the tight and always strives to fire up his team mates. With Corcho in the side, there is always hope.
Before the end of the season we can expect to welcome back many of our big name injured players: Nacho, John Henry, Bomber, Big Ted, Quates, Elvis and Robbo. All have been missed and will add experience and class to our struggling squad. We need a few older heads to supplement the younger shoulders.
Leicester Tigers have qualified for the Heineken Cup quarter finals, ironically at the expense of the Ospreys, and this could work to our advantage. It’s unlikely they will risk injury to their first choice 22 in the EDF semi final, with the match against Stade Francais only days away. It’s more likely that they’ll go with a weaker squad like last year in the game against Wasps. If you intend to try to take the Premiership/Heineken Cup double, then, I’m afraid the EDF Cup pales into insignificance.
Finally, we can get back to the Premiership and to referees we know, if not necessarily trust. It’s all too easy to blame the officials for any loss and I try, wherever possible, not to do it. But, Saturday’s display from both the referee and touch judges was the worst display I’ve ever been unfortunate enough to witness; woeful, inept, inexcusable and downright dangerous. We may well have lost had others officiated, but I’m sure any other referee would’ve been able to spot the constant infringing by the Ospreys: offside, killing the ball, lying on the wrong side, not rolling away, high tackles, coming in from the side, not retreating 10 metres – all of these went unpunished.
Perhaps the biggest sin of all, and for me the most inexcusable, was the failure to halt play when Osprey’s Mike Powell was down and obviously seriously injured. The referee’s primary duty is to ensure the welfare and safety of the players on the field. In spite of the pleas from the crowd and the players, the officials unbelievably let play continue for a good few minutes. It brought back unpleasant memories of Graham Bond’s injury. I never thought that I’d ever witness such an incident again. I just hope that the young lad is alright and will be fit to play again.
So, even though we have failed to make the quarter finals of this year’s Heineken Cup, there is still hope and a light at the end of the tunnel. We may yet win the EDF Cup and I’m sure we’ll make our way into the play-offs. All we need is belief and some good luck for a change. For all those who feel dispirited and downbeat, remember, the future’s bright, just not necessarily orange.
Well, that’s that then – the end of our Heineken Cup campaign for this season, and, if the French succeed in getting their way, probably next season too. The biggest disappointment for Sale fans was that it ended in a whimper rather than a bang, yet, in what effectively amounted to a dead rubber, it wasn’t really that surprising.
Still, given the way our season has panned out, with the injuries, the fixture congestion and the ‘black cat’ syndrome that has dogged the Club from the very beginning, we exited European competition with our heads held high. We played with pride and passion, performing magnificently against a team that took gamesmanship to a completely different level, aided and abetted by a referee who must surely by now have been awarded the freedom of Swansea.
We may be out, but we’re certainly not down. I would urge all those who left Edgeley Park on Saturday evening dejected and disappointed to embrace the positives and see this defeat not as the beginning of the end, but the end of the beginning. The European chapter may be closed but the rest of the story is yet to be written. There still are reasons to be cheerful.
Even though our squad has been decimated to an extent that would cause most Clubs to implode, we still manage to produce performances week after week. It’s fair to say that we don’t have the swagger of last year, and that our back play doesn’t sparkle, but we have a talented squad of players who can and do step up every time they are asked to do so.
We have talent a plenty in our younger ranks. Coxy is strong, aggressive and a born leader. David Tait, who, let’s not forget is barely 19, is big, mobile and extremely versatile in any back row position. Briggsy is a compact, talented hooker who can also fill in at flanker. Ben Lloyd is fiery and combative and can play both second and back row. Hillsy, who is a former under 21 flanker, is quick around the park and bursting with fire and ambition. With young lads of this calibre, the future will always be bright. They now have opportunities to stake their place for first team action, and I’m sure they will not be found wanting.
In Corcho, Pop Eye and Eifion “The Fridge” Roberts, we have unearthed stars of both the present and the future. Eifion has come up against many hardened, experienced props this season and has always delivered. He will only get better with experience and once he’s fully mastered the dark arts of front row play, we will have a seriously good prop on our books.
Ben Foden has played in every game this season, and shown his versatility on both wings. The Ospreys game was only his third start at scrum half. He’s strong, big, can tackle like a demon and is seriously fast. He can deliver quick ball from the scrum and ruck, always has an eye for a gap and never gives less than his best. If he can develop and improve his passing game then I believe he can become England’s first choice number 9 for many years to come. On Saturday he came up against Justin Marshall, the vastly experienced, former All Black captain, and more than held his own. Maybe, at last, we have unearthed the rightful successor to Brush?
Corcho is the find of the season and is rightly coveted by all the big European Clubs. He’s versatile, powerful, fearless and aggressive and never gives up. He was magnificent on Saturday and for me was our best performer. He’s effective both in the loose and the tight and always strives to fire up his team mates. With Corcho in the side, there is always hope.
Before the end of the season we can expect to welcome back many of our big name injured players: Nacho, John Henry, Bomber, Big Ted, Quates, Elvis and Robbo. All have been missed and will add experience and class to our struggling squad. We need a few older heads to supplement the younger shoulders.
Leicester Tigers have qualified for the Heineken Cup quarter finals, ironically at the expense of the Ospreys, and this could work to our advantage. It’s unlikely they will risk injury to their first choice 22 in the EDF semi final, with the match against Stade Francais only days away. It’s more likely that they’ll go with a weaker squad like last year in the game against Wasps. If you intend to try to take the Premiership/Heineken Cup double, then, I’m afraid the EDF Cup pales into insignificance.
Finally, we can get back to the Premiership and to referees we know, if not necessarily trust. It’s all too easy to blame the officials for any loss and I try, wherever possible, not to do it. But, Saturday’s display from both the referee and touch judges was the worst display I’ve ever been unfortunate enough to witness; woeful, inept, inexcusable and downright dangerous. We may well have lost had others officiated, but I’m sure any other referee would’ve been able to spot the constant infringing by the Ospreys: offside, killing the ball, lying on the wrong side, not rolling away, high tackles, coming in from the side, not retreating 10 metres – all of these went unpunished.
Perhaps the biggest sin of all, and for me the most inexcusable, was the failure to halt play when Osprey’s Mike Powell was down and obviously seriously injured. The referee’s primary duty is to ensure the welfare and safety of the players on the field. In spite of the pleas from the crowd and the players, the officials unbelievably let play continue for a good few minutes. It brought back unpleasant memories of Graham Bond’s injury. I never thought that I’d ever witness such an incident again. I just hope that the young lad is alright and will be fit to play again.
So, even though we have failed to make the quarter finals of this year’s Heineken Cup, there is still hope and a light at the end of the tunnel. We may yet win the EDF Cup and I’m sure we’ll make our way into the play-offs. All we need is belief and some good luck for a change. For all those who feel dispirited and downbeat, remember, the future’s bright, just not necessarily orange.
Jan 07 Calvisano v Sale
Gimme, gimme, gimme, a map after midnight!
The ‘massed’ ranks of Sharks fans descended on the sleepy village of Calvisano on Saturday: well, a couple of hundred at least. There may well of course have been more, but Italian road signing is not of the standard you expect in England - navigation in these parts is very hit and miss. Perhaps there are still some rugby fans wandering around the Lombardy countryside looking for the stadium.
We found the ground more by chance than endeavour, although we were helped enormously by the helpful postings of former Jet Warren Spragg, bless his cotton socks: the only pity is that his instructions didn’t work in reverse! I’m still unsure how we managed to negotiate our way back to the hotel in the dark, and perplexed as to why we met other fans as we executed a three point turn at a concrete factory.
Like many others we came dressed for the deepest of deep winter matches, resembling Eskimos in our padded coats, hats and gloves, yet we were surprised by the mildness of the conditions. It was a fine day to play rugby, and one we wished we could have more frequently at Edgeley Park. The ground was far from as basic as we had been led to believe: in fact, it was a super venue with a neat homely feel, good facilities, floodlights and a Clubhouse!
So the scene was set: the fog had lifted, our voices were primed, our glasses were full and we sat back expectantly as the team took to the field. Even though the referee was French, and, let’s face it, they’ve not been too kind to us so far, we were still confident of an overwhelming victory.
The victory was achieved, but it certainly wasn’t overwhelming nor anything like as easy as it had been at Edgeley Park earlier in the season. Both Stade Francais and the Ospreys had had to work for their points in earlier rounds, and you can see why. Sale fielded a relatively youthful team with Mike Hills deservedly given his chance at openside along side the untried combination of Foden at scrum half and Wigglesworth (renamed “Wigg-les-worth” by the Italian announcer) at stand off.
In spite of the lack of key figures like Seabass, Corcho and Maggie, our scrum performed well throughout the first forty minutes, securing good ball for the backs. Even when Nathan Bonner Evans was unfortunately stretchered from the field, David Tait proved to be a creditable replacement, protecting the ball at the base of the scrum and making the hard yards when necessary.
The backs played with passion and pace and for once didn’t sit as flat as they have been doing. In large measure that was down to the quick ball delivered by Ben Foden (who was named as Heineken Man of the Match), though his passing was still not as flat as it could’ve been, nor necessarily as accurate.
Steve Hanley made a welcome return to the wing and used his big left boot effectively, though unfortunately he never really received a decent pass all match. With three tries in the bag before the half hour, one from Oriol Ripol, one from Chris Mayor and a poacher’s try from Foden, we had the game effectively wrapped up.
The second half proved to be a different story. It’s true that the Sharks did take their foot off the pedal, especially after Ripol had scored the bonus point try, but that would be disrespectful to Calvisano. They upped their game in this period and played the better rugby, moving the ball wide with pace and deft hands. Fortunately for us, all this endeavour only produced the one try; on any other day it could’ve been more. All in all then, a good, convincing win against a reasonably good side. Many of our players had big games, with Bruno and Wiggy being perhaps two of the pick, but for me the man of the match was Chris Jones. He may have the nickname ‘Emu’, but he played like a tiger. – strong, forceful, aggressive and determined. How England can overlook this guy, I can never understand.
All that remains now is the final group encounter against the Ospreys. We know we have to win to stand any chance of qualification, and we know we need the bonus point. After that, the rest is up to others; should Leicester lose at Munster, or Northampton fail to get a point at Biarritz, then we might just sneak in the back door. Personally, I’m not holding my breath. Should we qualify, then I’ll plan my next jaunt. Until then, I’m just glad I managed to make the trip to Italy. It’s a great place to visit for sport or just a holiday; great food, great wine, a fantastic history and lovely, welcoming people. But, remember, never trust the road signs!
The ‘massed’ ranks of Sharks fans descended on the sleepy village of Calvisano on Saturday: well, a couple of hundred at least. There may well of course have been more, but Italian road signing is not of the standard you expect in England - navigation in these parts is very hit and miss. Perhaps there are still some rugby fans wandering around the Lombardy countryside looking for the stadium.
We found the ground more by chance than endeavour, although we were helped enormously by the helpful postings of former Jet Warren Spragg, bless his cotton socks: the only pity is that his instructions didn’t work in reverse! I’m still unsure how we managed to negotiate our way back to the hotel in the dark, and perplexed as to why we met other fans as we executed a three point turn at a concrete factory.
Like many others we came dressed for the deepest of deep winter matches, resembling Eskimos in our padded coats, hats and gloves, yet we were surprised by the mildness of the conditions. It was a fine day to play rugby, and one we wished we could have more frequently at Edgeley Park. The ground was far from as basic as we had been led to believe: in fact, it was a super venue with a neat homely feel, good facilities, floodlights and a Clubhouse!
So the scene was set: the fog had lifted, our voices were primed, our glasses were full and we sat back expectantly as the team took to the field. Even though the referee was French, and, let’s face it, they’ve not been too kind to us so far, we were still confident of an overwhelming victory.
The victory was achieved, but it certainly wasn’t overwhelming nor anything like as easy as it had been at Edgeley Park earlier in the season. Both Stade Francais and the Ospreys had had to work for their points in earlier rounds, and you can see why. Sale fielded a relatively youthful team with Mike Hills deservedly given his chance at openside along side the untried combination of Foden at scrum half and Wigglesworth (renamed “Wigg-les-worth” by the Italian announcer) at stand off.
In spite of the lack of key figures like Seabass, Corcho and Maggie, our scrum performed well throughout the first forty minutes, securing good ball for the backs. Even when Nathan Bonner Evans was unfortunately stretchered from the field, David Tait proved to be a creditable replacement, protecting the ball at the base of the scrum and making the hard yards when necessary.
The backs played with passion and pace and for once didn’t sit as flat as they have been doing. In large measure that was down to the quick ball delivered by Ben Foden (who was named as Heineken Man of the Match), though his passing was still not as flat as it could’ve been, nor necessarily as accurate.
Steve Hanley made a welcome return to the wing and used his big left boot effectively, though unfortunately he never really received a decent pass all match. With three tries in the bag before the half hour, one from Oriol Ripol, one from Chris Mayor and a poacher’s try from Foden, we had the game effectively wrapped up.
The second half proved to be a different story. It’s true that the Sharks did take their foot off the pedal, especially after Ripol had scored the bonus point try, but that would be disrespectful to Calvisano. They upped their game in this period and played the better rugby, moving the ball wide with pace and deft hands. Fortunately for us, all this endeavour only produced the one try; on any other day it could’ve been more. All in all then, a good, convincing win against a reasonably good side. Many of our players had big games, with Bruno and Wiggy being perhaps two of the pick, but for me the man of the match was Chris Jones. He may have the nickname ‘Emu’, but he played like a tiger. – strong, forceful, aggressive and determined. How England can overlook this guy, I can never understand.
All that remains now is the final group encounter against the Ospreys. We know we have to win to stand any chance of qualification, and we know we need the bonus point. After that, the rest is up to others; should Leicester lose at Munster, or Northampton fail to get a point at Biarritz, then we might just sneak in the back door. Personally, I’m not holding my breath. Should we qualify, then I’ll plan my next jaunt. Until then, I’m just glad I managed to make the trip to Italy. It’s a great place to visit for sport or just a holiday; great food, great wine, a fantastic history and lovely, welcoming people. But, remember, never trust the road signs!
Jan 07 Sale v Gloucester
Smells like team spirit!
It had to come, we all knew it, but I suppose none of us expected it to take so long. Still, a win’s the important thing. That it should come against Gloucester was the surprise for me. Bryan Redpath and Dennis Betts have done a fine job in bringing through the young lads and revitalising a perennially under-achieving squad. Dean Ryan must be delighted he took them on. Personally I’d much rather we’d kept Brush at Sale in a coaching capacity, but sadly this didn’t appear to be an option.
Opinion on the game was split for a change! Everyone was obviously thrilled with the win, but many thought we were lucky. I couldn’t disagree more. Gloucester bossed the first 40 minutes without a doubt and had chances to kill off the game. Had Richards played with his head up, then they would have scored the clincher towards the end. Balshaw, unsurprisingly, didn’t appear to be on the best of terms with his scrum half at the final whistle. Anyway, in rugby as in life, you make your own luck. Had there been a God smiling on us lately, we would’ve won our last three games.
On Saturday that said God obviously had a change of heart, though someone should have a word with Him/Her about the pitch. The patchy sand and mud surface was shocking and not conducive to a running game; from above it looked more like a Battenberg cake. Sadly the aroma wasn’t as fragrant. There was an odour and foul smell all afternoon that reminded me vaguely of my Grandmother’s gravy, and believe me, that wasn’t healthy for anyone. Still, you just have to get on with it, and that’s precisely what we did. In the second half I thought we were magnificent. When Lilo came off the bench and Wiggy was switched to stand-off, we played with a passion and desire that’s been missing for a great part of our season. I thought the two combined brilliantly together. The forwards moved up a gear, the half-back pairing clicked, at last, and our backs got moving. It was heartwarming stuff, though still a little too close to comfort. For once we seemed to play as a unit.
It seems unfair to single any one player out as supreme, because all were magnificent, showing heart, resilience and determination. Corcho though, for me was outstanding and probably just about pipped Wiggy at the post. Whatever it cost to bring him from Argentina, it was a bargain. He prefers to play at 8 yet puts in towering performances whenever he plays at blindside or openside. He’s undoubtedly our newcomer of the season and, if he continues to play like this, he’ll be in contention for the player’s player of the year award.
I should also just give a mention to another member of the squad who quietly gets on with his job and rarely takes any plaudits. Barry Stewart started his one hundredth Premiership game on Saturday, though from the lack of announcement you would never have known. Bear is a quiet and gentle man who never takes a backwards step and consistently puts in performance after performance. Congratulations Sir, I salute you.
Well, it’s time to find the passport again and dust off the old rucksack. It’s Heineken Cup time again. On Thursday I’m off to Northern Italy. Everything has been planned as meticulously as ever, but no doubt SleazyJet will do something or other to wreck the party. It’s what you come to expect and accept - in fact, European trips wouldn’t be the same if our plans weren’t disrupted. We moan and complain, but I wonder if deep down we secretly want things to go pear-shaped every now and then. It’s a form of travelling self-flagellation with which you can bore the pants off each other later with tales of where you there when, and such like. Ask anyone stuck at Stansted last year before the Biarritz match and they’ll give you chapter and verse on how awful it was but how much they enjoyed it. Perverse, I appreciate, but you weren’t there when…..
I’ve not managed to find Calvisano on a map yet, but, no worries, I’ll just follow all the people with blue wigs, baggy eyes and haunted expressions and I’ll be sure to get there. Will I get back to write this column next week? Now, there’s the question. Hopefully the answer is yes but, for anyone travelling through Milan next week take pity. If you see a lost and bewildered fellow dressed as a shark, just pat him on the head and point him in the direction of England. He might well be late returning, but will eventually show up like the proverbial bad penny. Ciao!
It had to come, we all knew it, but I suppose none of us expected it to take so long. Still, a win’s the important thing. That it should come against Gloucester was the surprise for me. Bryan Redpath and Dennis Betts have done a fine job in bringing through the young lads and revitalising a perennially under-achieving squad. Dean Ryan must be delighted he took them on. Personally I’d much rather we’d kept Brush at Sale in a coaching capacity, but sadly this didn’t appear to be an option.
Opinion on the game was split for a change! Everyone was obviously thrilled with the win, but many thought we were lucky. I couldn’t disagree more. Gloucester bossed the first 40 minutes without a doubt and had chances to kill off the game. Had Richards played with his head up, then they would have scored the clincher towards the end. Balshaw, unsurprisingly, didn’t appear to be on the best of terms with his scrum half at the final whistle. Anyway, in rugby as in life, you make your own luck. Had there been a God smiling on us lately, we would’ve won our last three games.
On Saturday that said God obviously had a change of heart, though someone should have a word with Him/Her about the pitch. The patchy sand and mud surface was shocking and not conducive to a running game; from above it looked more like a Battenberg cake. Sadly the aroma wasn’t as fragrant. There was an odour and foul smell all afternoon that reminded me vaguely of my Grandmother’s gravy, and believe me, that wasn’t healthy for anyone. Still, you just have to get on with it, and that’s precisely what we did. In the second half I thought we were magnificent. When Lilo came off the bench and Wiggy was switched to stand-off, we played with a passion and desire that’s been missing for a great part of our season. I thought the two combined brilliantly together. The forwards moved up a gear, the half-back pairing clicked, at last, and our backs got moving. It was heartwarming stuff, though still a little too close to comfort. For once we seemed to play as a unit.
It seems unfair to single any one player out as supreme, because all were magnificent, showing heart, resilience and determination. Corcho though, for me was outstanding and probably just about pipped Wiggy at the post. Whatever it cost to bring him from Argentina, it was a bargain. He prefers to play at 8 yet puts in towering performances whenever he plays at blindside or openside. He’s undoubtedly our newcomer of the season and, if he continues to play like this, he’ll be in contention for the player’s player of the year award.
I should also just give a mention to another member of the squad who quietly gets on with his job and rarely takes any plaudits. Barry Stewart started his one hundredth Premiership game on Saturday, though from the lack of announcement you would never have known. Bear is a quiet and gentle man who never takes a backwards step and consistently puts in performance after performance. Congratulations Sir, I salute you.
Well, it’s time to find the passport again and dust off the old rucksack. It’s Heineken Cup time again. On Thursday I’m off to Northern Italy. Everything has been planned as meticulously as ever, but no doubt SleazyJet will do something or other to wreck the party. It’s what you come to expect and accept - in fact, European trips wouldn’t be the same if our plans weren’t disrupted. We moan and complain, but I wonder if deep down we secretly want things to go pear-shaped every now and then. It’s a form of travelling self-flagellation with which you can bore the pants off each other later with tales of where you there when, and such like. Ask anyone stuck at Stansted last year before the Biarritz match and they’ll give you chapter and verse on how awful it was but how much they enjoyed it. Perverse, I appreciate, but you weren’t there when…..
I’ve not managed to find Calvisano on a map yet, but, no worries, I’ll just follow all the people with blue wigs, baggy eyes and haunted expressions and I’ll be sure to get there. Will I get back to write this column next week? Now, there’s the question. Hopefully the answer is yes but, for anyone travelling through Milan next week take pity. If you see a lost and bewildered fellow dressed as a shark, just pat him on the head and point him in the direction of England. He might well be late returning, but will eventually show up like the proverbial bad penny. Ciao!
Dec 06 Bath v Sale
Mud, sweat and tears
The Christmas season had started well, and we were buoyed by a terrific defensive win over Stade Francais. I think we all hoped this would spur us on and build confidence. If you can beat one of the best teams in Europe, then you know you still have what it takes.
At Bath, in appalling foggy and freezing conditions, our defence was simply superb once again, but our open play lacked direction and belief. We seemed afraid to run the ball, as if doubting our own abilities. Time after time we opted for silly drop goal attempts after only one or two phases of play. If that was the game-plan, then it wasted the undoubted attacking abilities we had on both wings. We should have won the game comfortably. Why we seem afraid to kill off this type of game is beyond me and many others who trek up and down the country following the team.
At Kingston Park, our bogey ground, we played with a swagger and a degree of flair that has been missing for most of the season, running in four tries. Sadly our defence, which had been playing supremely well, also went missing for the game, and we allowed the Falcons to score four tries. We should have won this game too, but our kicking game let us down yet again, wasting countless points with missed penalties and conversions. On the long journey back everyone agreed that if we could only play with belief and confidence, we had the ability to beat anybody. The problem seemed to be that Sale had become an either/or team – either great defence with no attack, or sizzling back play and no grunt up front. If only we could find the key to playing with both. Maybe the New Year would bring a change of fortune, a kick start to our season and the first step on the long journey back to the top of domestic rugby.
We should have known better. On New Year’s Day the weather was atrocious and the pitch, well, was probably good for the complexion but not suited to fast, flowing rugby. It was never going to be anything other than a grunt-fest. Bristol were riding high at the top end of the Premiership, yet never seem to produce a great deal when you see them play. They have a reputation as spoilers, who break up the play when ever possible and disrupt the opposition. In Mark Regan they have a player who can outtalk and out-do Lawrence Dalliglio. He spent most of the match either receiving treatment or whispering sweet nothings in the referee’s ear. Territorially we dominated but could never string enough phases together. In truth we never looked like scoring a try until we reached injury time. Once again we opted for the drop goal option, gifting possession back to the opposition needlessly. We lacked invention and creativity and for the majority of the game looked to have no sense of direction. Fortunately Maggie and Corcho were superb – strong and fearless in the tackle and always first to the break down. Bruno, our own pocket rocket, was also excellent and unlucky, I feel, to have been sin-binned after his slightly over-enthusiastic tussle with Matt Salter, the latter being guilty of constant infringements all over the park which the referee and touch judges strangely failed to notice. It all came down to an opportunistic try by Dan Ward-Smith off the back of an uncontested scrum, with a little help from Mr Salter.
If seasons and campaigns can be determined by one solitary moment, then the futile kick into the corner by Larry, our stand-in stand-off, in the final seconds of injury time was probably it. After 87 minutes of high intensity, muscular and physical effort, in which we had the lion’s share of the play and possession, it all boiled down to the last play of the game. Our forwards had launched wave of wave of attacks against a struggling Bristol side, at that that time down to fourteen men and conceding penalty after penalty. All we had to do was keep the ball alive and we would have either scored or been awarded a penalty try. When the ball spun out of the ruck, it appeared no-one expected what came next, certainly not the other 14 Sale players on the pitch. Larry kicked to the corner, no-one could get anywhere near it and David Lemi calmly watched the ball go dead. It was a woeful call by our fly half and really just about summed up our season – great effort, power and grunt, but backed up with little finesse, consistency and belief. Unless we can rediscover the spark and play consistently, then I’m afraid the season is over, and even the EDF Cup may be beyond a squad stretched to breaking point.
The Christmas season had started well, and we were buoyed by a terrific defensive win over Stade Francais. I think we all hoped this would spur us on and build confidence. If you can beat one of the best teams in Europe, then you know you still have what it takes.
At Bath, in appalling foggy and freezing conditions, our defence was simply superb once again, but our open play lacked direction and belief. We seemed afraid to run the ball, as if doubting our own abilities. Time after time we opted for silly drop goal attempts after only one or two phases of play. If that was the game-plan, then it wasted the undoubted attacking abilities we had on both wings. We should have won the game comfortably. Why we seem afraid to kill off this type of game is beyond me and many others who trek up and down the country following the team.
At Kingston Park, our bogey ground, we played with a swagger and a degree of flair that has been missing for most of the season, running in four tries. Sadly our defence, which had been playing supremely well, also went missing for the game, and we allowed the Falcons to score four tries. We should have won this game too, but our kicking game let us down yet again, wasting countless points with missed penalties and conversions. On the long journey back everyone agreed that if we could only play with belief and confidence, we had the ability to beat anybody. The problem seemed to be that Sale had become an either/or team – either great defence with no attack, or sizzling back play and no grunt up front. If only we could find the key to playing with both. Maybe the New Year would bring a change of fortune, a kick start to our season and the first step on the long journey back to the top of domestic rugby.
We should have known better. On New Year’s Day the weather was atrocious and the pitch, well, was probably good for the complexion but not suited to fast, flowing rugby. It was never going to be anything other than a grunt-fest. Bristol were riding high at the top end of the Premiership, yet never seem to produce a great deal when you see them play. They have a reputation as spoilers, who break up the play when ever possible and disrupt the opposition. In Mark Regan they have a player who can outtalk and out-do Lawrence Dalliglio. He spent most of the match either receiving treatment or whispering sweet nothings in the referee’s ear. Territorially we dominated but could never string enough phases together. In truth we never looked like scoring a try until we reached injury time. Once again we opted for the drop goal option, gifting possession back to the opposition needlessly. We lacked invention and creativity and for the majority of the game looked to have no sense of direction. Fortunately Maggie and Corcho were superb – strong and fearless in the tackle and always first to the break down. Bruno, our own pocket rocket, was also excellent and unlucky, I feel, to have been sin-binned after his slightly over-enthusiastic tussle with Matt Salter, the latter being guilty of constant infringements all over the park which the referee and touch judges strangely failed to notice. It all came down to an opportunistic try by Dan Ward-Smith off the back of an uncontested scrum, with a little help from Mr Salter.
If seasons and campaigns can be determined by one solitary moment, then the futile kick into the corner by Larry, our stand-in stand-off, in the final seconds of injury time was probably it. After 87 minutes of high intensity, muscular and physical effort, in which we had the lion’s share of the play and possession, it all boiled down to the last play of the game. Our forwards had launched wave of wave of attacks against a struggling Bristol side, at that that time down to fourteen men and conceding penalty after penalty. All we had to do was keep the ball alive and we would have either scored or been awarded a penalty try. When the ball spun out of the ruck, it appeared no-one expected what came next, certainly not the other 14 Sale players on the pitch. Larry kicked to the corner, no-one could get anywhere near it and David Lemi calmly watched the ball go dead. It was a woeful call by our fly half and really just about summed up our season – great effort, power and grunt, but backed up with little finesse, consistency and belief. Unless we can rediscover the spark and play consistently, then I’m afraid the season is over, and even the EDF Cup may be beyond a squad stretched to breaking point.
Dec 06 Sale v Stade Francais
Anything you can do!
As I trudged through the gates of Edgeley Park yesterday, I was overcome by a strange feeling of unease. I certainly wasn’t worried about the match because I always felt we were capable of beating them on our own turf. So why did I feel so nervy and anxious? Well, last week, in a moment of over-exuberant and ridiculous boasting, possibly caused by drink, I’d promised the visiting Stade Francais fans a weekend to remember. I told them they would rave about Stockport as much as I did Paris. Obviously, the statement was made with my tongue stuffed firmly in my cheek. Only later did it occur to me that perhaps the French perception of irony might differ slightly from the British. Still, anything you can do, we can do, well, differently. Yes, you may well have the Seine, the Parc des Princes, the architecture, the history, the art and the CanCan girls, but we’ve got Edgeley Park, the Ship Canal, the Hat Museum and ‘Independance.’ No contest then! I needn’t have worried though, for as it turned out it didn’t really matter. They all seemed to have enjoyed the match and were overjoyed with the losing bonus point. Perhaps the look of shell-shock and bemusement on their faces when we all sat down to eat later that night was purely down to jetlag, not the alternative cultural experience.
Opinions after the match were split, as is invariably the case when Sale Sharks play. Some were full of praise for the show of defensive cohesion and passionate commitment, others derisive of the conservatism of the game-plan and lack of ambition in the backs. Whilst I can understand the frustration at our unwillingness to throw the ball about and kick for the corners, I feel equally frustrated by the criticisms. You can’t play champagne rugby on a brown ale pitch. I thought the Sharks were magnificent, showing grit, determination and a belief in their own ability to classed as one of Europe’s big boys. To put it into some sort of perspective, we beat possibly the best, and certainly the richest, team in European rugby with half our team missing! Could we as supporters ever have thought that possible two seasons ago? It might not have been pretty to watch, but it was what was required – aggressive, bristling, defensive rugby, played in conditions suitable only for ducks and anglers. No one typified this ‘over my dead body’ attitude more than Seabass. His ability to carry the ball over and through both backs and forwards is astonishing. He must be hewn from granite. He makes those hard yards and inspires others around him to do likewise. Dean Schofield, Maggy, Titts and Jonesy all followed suit, taking up the baton laid down by Seabass. There are those who would criticise Chabal, though not to his face, claiming that he doesn’t do this week in, week out and that he is sometimes slow to rejoin play. Well, if you put your body through the type of punishment he does, then it’s actually amazing that he manages to get back up at all. He is undoubtedly talismanic and on his best days, one of world rugby’s superstars. It’s just a shame that Bernard Laporte is probably going to deprive us of his services.
There is still a faint mathematical possibility that we could just about scrape into the quarter-finals of this year’s competition, but that relies too heavily on too many imponderables, like the fortunes of some and the misfortunes of others. Personally, I feel our fate was sealed in the last two minutes of injury time in Swansea, when we showed our naivety at this level of competition. We should have killed the game, taken the penalty and possible red card, but limited the damage to three points. It might not be the Corinthian thing to do and is certainly not within the laws of the game, but sometimes professional infringements are a necessary evil on the road to victory. All of the’ wisest’ and most successful teams do it. I accept that it might not be exactly honourable, but then again, when did the Corinthians last win the Heineken Cup?
As I trudged through the gates of Edgeley Park yesterday, I was overcome by a strange feeling of unease. I certainly wasn’t worried about the match because I always felt we were capable of beating them on our own turf. So why did I feel so nervy and anxious? Well, last week, in a moment of over-exuberant and ridiculous boasting, possibly caused by drink, I’d promised the visiting Stade Francais fans a weekend to remember. I told them they would rave about Stockport as much as I did Paris. Obviously, the statement was made with my tongue stuffed firmly in my cheek. Only later did it occur to me that perhaps the French perception of irony might differ slightly from the British. Still, anything you can do, we can do, well, differently. Yes, you may well have the Seine, the Parc des Princes, the architecture, the history, the art and the CanCan girls, but we’ve got Edgeley Park, the Ship Canal, the Hat Museum and ‘Independance.’ No contest then! I needn’t have worried though, for as it turned out it didn’t really matter. They all seemed to have enjoyed the match and were overjoyed with the losing bonus point. Perhaps the look of shell-shock and bemusement on their faces when we all sat down to eat later that night was purely down to jetlag, not the alternative cultural experience.
Opinions after the match were split, as is invariably the case when Sale Sharks play. Some were full of praise for the show of defensive cohesion and passionate commitment, others derisive of the conservatism of the game-plan and lack of ambition in the backs. Whilst I can understand the frustration at our unwillingness to throw the ball about and kick for the corners, I feel equally frustrated by the criticisms. You can’t play champagne rugby on a brown ale pitch. I thought the Sharks were magnificent, showing grit, determination and a belief in their own ability to classed as one of Europe’s big boys. To put it into some sort of perspective, we beat possibly the best, and certainly the richest, team in European rugby with half our team missing! Could we as supporters ever have thought that possible two seasons ago? It might not have been pretty to watch, but it was what was required – aggressive, bristling, defensive rugby, played in conditions suitable only for ducks and anglers. No one typified this ‘over my dead body’ attitude more than Seabass. His ability to carry the ball over and through both backs and forwards is astonishing. He must be hewn from granite. He makes those hard yards and inspires others around him to do likewise. Dean Schofield, Maggy, Titts and Jonesy all followed suit, taking up the baton laid down by Seabass. There are those who would criticise Chabal, though not to his face, claiming that he doesn’t do this week in, week out and that he is sometimes slow to rejoin play. Well, if you put your body through the type of punishment he does, then it’s actually amazing that he manages to get back up at all. He is undoubtedly talismanic and on his best days, one of world rugby’s superstars. It’s just a shame that Bernard Laporte is probably going to deprive us of his services.
There is still a faint mathematical possibility that we could just about scrape into the quarter-finals of this year’s competition, but that relies too heavily on too many imponderables, like the fortunes of some and the misfortunes of others. Personally, I feel our fate was sealed in the last two minutes of injury time in Swansea, when we showed our naivety at this level of competition. We should have killed the game, taken the penalty and possible red card, but limited the damage to three points. It might not be the Corinthian thing to do and is certainly not within the laws of the game, but sometimes professional infringements are a necessary evil on the road to victory. All of the’ wisest’ and most successful teams do it. I accept that it might not be exactly honourable, but then again, when did the Corinthians last win the Heineken Cup?
Dec 06 Stade Francais v Sale
Gritty in Pink
Standing in the Parc des Princes a few minutes before kick off, I have to confess I had a few butterflies in my stomach. Like many others, I’d traveled to Paris more in hope than expectation. Logically, I couldn’t really see how a team ravaged by injury could possibly beat the mighty Stade Francais - a team packed full of international class and pedigree. Still, sometimes logic goes out the window. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe it was the drink or perhaps it was just the atmosphere that made me giddy and therefore hopeful. The prospect of mingling with forty thousand Lilly-shirted Parisians, waving large pink flags and dancing along to the sound of “Come on Eileen”, might well be the stuff of some people’s nightmares. If you’d asked me beforehand, I’d probably have counted myself among them. Well, they couldn’t be more wrong. It’s true to say that, yes, whilst the whole experience was slightly surreal, it was nonetheless uplifting and inspiring. As the Can Can dancers left the field and the teams emerged, I rediscovered my sense of belief. The look on the face of our talisman, Sebastien Chabal said it all for me. Yes, it was going to be an uphill struggle but, I honestly felt the Sharks could pull off a famous, if unexpected victory.
By the time the whistle had blown for the half-time interval, my sense of optimism, which is normally eternal, had been well and truly dampened. We were outclassed in virtually every department. Our scrum stood up well and delivered a good platform for our backs, but we lacked the skill and invention to capitalise on this. Our drift defence just couldn’t cope with Stade’s pace, movement and running lines. Even when we had good ball, our kicking game was aimless and we rarely found touch. Stade returned those kicks with purpose and punished us, pinning us back in our own twenty two on every occasion. We were second best and had David Skrela worn his kicking boots, they could’ve been out of sight by the interval. It would be unfair to focus purely on the negatives and shortcomings in Sale‘s game-plan though; it has to be said that during the first period Stade were simply magnificent - producing incisive, clinical and scintillating rugby of the highest order. Few teams could’ve lived with them, even, dare I say, our full strength side.
Whatever was said at half time paid dividends, as a different team emerged from the dressing room. Sale played with aggression and fire and a real sense of purpose - something which should give encouragement to all. No one summed up this attitude better than Seabass. He’s had his critics over the last few weeks, but when Seabass is truly motivated he plays like a man possessed. He was simply superb, driving the team on and constantly putting his body on the line. Maybe his enthusiasm and desire can sometimes be taken too far as the reversed penalty proved, but it goes to show just how much winning means to him. Magnus Lund, Chris Jones and Eiffion Lewis Roberts also put in towering performances. Sale really pushed Stade all the way. At one stage I did believe that we were going to win. Yes, it was cruel to have the losing bonus point snatched away at the bitter end, but at least we went for it, showing a desire and belief that has been missing of late. In the end it was probably the right result with Stade just shading it on balance.
Is this the end of our Heineken Cup road? Probably, but I think Stade Francais will approach next week’s match with a sense of unease and fear and a great deal of respect for the opposition. Not only do they have to face our team again, but also our supporters. There might only have been around eight hundred or so of us in Paris, but boy, did we make ourselves heard. Just imagine what a noise ten thousand can make. Sale Sharks performed magnificently where other teams may have crumbled and it’s up to us to match that effort. Let’s hope the supporters greet them with the respect they deserve and give the team a loud and noisy reception. We may well be down but we’ll always come out fighting
Standing in the Parc des Princes a few minutes before kick off, I have to confess I had a few butterflies in my stomach. Like many others, I’d traveled to Paris more in hope than expectation. Logically, I couldn’t really see how a team ravaged by injury could possibly beat the mighty Stade Francais - a team packed full of international class and pedigree. Still, sometimes logic goes out the window. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe it was the drink or perhaps it was just the atmosphere that made me giddy and therefore hopeful. The prospect of mingling with forty thousand Lilly-shirted Parisians, waving large pink flags and dancing along to the sound of “Come on Eileen”, might well be the stuff of some people’s nightmares. If you’d asked me beforehand, I’d probably have counted myself among them. Well, they couldn’t be more wrong. It’s true to say that, yes, whilst the whole experience was slightly surreal, it was nonetheless uplifting and inspiring. As the Can Can dancers left the field and the teams emerged, I rediscovered my sense of belief. The look on the face of our talisman, Sebastien Chabal said it all for me. Yes, it was going to be an uphill struggle but, I honestly felt the Sharks could pull off a famous, if unexpected victory.
By the time the whistle had blown for the half-time interval, my sense of optimism, which is normally eternal, had been well and truly dampened. We were outclassed in virtually every department. Our scrum stood up well and delivered a good platform for our backs, but we lacked the skill and invention to capitalise on this. Our drift defence just couldn’t cope with Stade’s pace, movement and running lines. Even when we had good ball, our kicking game was aimless and we rarely found touch. Stade returned those kicks with purpose and punished us, pinning us back in our own twenty two on every occasion. We were second best and had David Skrela worn his kicking boots, they could’ve been out of sight by the interval. It would be unfair to focus purely on the negatives and shortcomings in Sale‘s game-plan though; it has to be said that during the first period Stade were simply magnificent - producing incisive, clinical and scintillating rugby of the highest order. Few teams could’ve lived with them, even, dare I say, our full strength side.
Whatever was said at half time paid dividends, as a different team emerged from the dressing room. Sale played with aggression and fire and a real sense of purpose - something which should give encouragement to all. No one summed up this attitude better than Seabass. He’s had his critics over the last few weeks, but when Seabass is truly motivated he plays like a man possessed. He was simply superb, driving the team on and constantly putting his body on the line. Maybe his enthusiasm and desire can sometimes be taken too far as the reversed penalty proved, but it goes to show just how much winning means to him. Magnus Lund, Chris Jones and Eiffion Lewis Roberts also put in towering performances. Sale really pushed Stade all the way. At one stage I did believe that we were going to win. Yes, it was cruel to have the losing bonus point snatched away at the bitter end, but at least we went for it, showing a desire and belief that has been missing of late. In the end it was probably the right result with Stade just shading it on balance.
Is this the end of our Heineken Cup road? Probably, but I think Stade Francais will approach next week’s match with a sense of unease and fear and a great deal of respect for the opposition. Not only do they have to face our team again, but also our supporters. There might only have been around eight hundred or so of us in Paris, but boy, did we make ourselves heard. Just imagine what a noise ten thousand can make. Sale Sharks performed magnificently where other teams may have crumbled and it’s up to us to match that effort. Let’s hope the supporters greet them with the respect they deserve and give the team a loud and noisy reception. We may well be down but we’ll always come out fighting
Dec 06 Sale v Llanelli Scarlets
No Doubting Thomas now!
As spectacles went, well, it just sort of, went: nervy, tentative, generally conservative and only ever so occasionally exciting. I left the ground feeling strangely unsatisfied and hungry for more, but not necessarily more of the same. It was more of a Chinese takeaway performance than Cordon Bleu experience, which is a pity, as the contest against the Scarlets had always promised to be enthralling and potentially entertaining. But injuries to many of the Sharks’ key players and poor recent form coupled with the withdrawal of many of the Scarlets’ internationals meant this was never likely to be a game that lived up to its promise. The outcome was always going to be decided by the packs. Both teams looked to dominate and exert their authority. On the balance of play the Sharks certainly bossed the scrum and probably shaded it in the loose. Sadly any territorial advantage gained was probably not used as effectively as it might have been. The spark was lacking in our three quarters; the desire and passion were there for all to see, but our ball distribution and execution still let us down. Nevertheless, it was good to see Lee Thomas performing as well as he did. His kicking skills, even in the swirling conditions were immaculate, and he plays with a confidence, deftness and subtlety that we will need in the light of the stern test awaiting us in Paris next week. Corcho was, as ever, supremely effective, in spite of being temporarily substituted. Jason Robinson showed too, what a threat he can still be. Oh for him to play on the wing each week, pulling teams apart with trickery and blistering pace! Is that likely to happen? Sadly, I think not. It’s such a pity as it would do my standing in the Fantasy League tables a power of good, and let’s face it, I need all the help I can get. Just thank your lucky stars I don’t pick the real team!
Well, the Clown Prince has left the throne of English Rugby. Did he fall, or was he pushed? Perhaps the answer’s neither; maybe he simply stumbled and eventually tripped. I guess we’ll never know what went on behind the closed doors at HQ and which matters were addressed. Who would want to take over the mess at this juncture? Well, as far as I can see, only a fool with a career death wish. Frankly I don’t really care what happens. What concerns me and other fans more is the issue of central contracts: Francis Baron has taken up the baton again, and seems more determined than ever to run with it. Whether centrally contracted players would help to solve England’s current demise in world rugby standings is debatable at best. What isn’t debatable however, is the decimating effect that would have on club rugby. The Scarlets’ fans I spoke to were strangely sanguine about losing all their internationals for the match; no Jones, Peel, Popham, Marc Jones and Easterby. I had to ask myself, would I make a three hundred mile round trip to support a team stripped of its best players by external authorities? Well, obviously no and neither would many others. We’d be angry and rightly so. We pay our money to see the best team available take to the pitch. If central contracts are introduced, it would be about as easy to see Charlie Hodgson play live as it is to see Freddie Flintoff play for Lancashire. If the worse comes to pass, then many, myself included, would have to seriously question whether we would renew our season tickets. Perhaps Francis Baron and others of a similar persuasion should factor that into the mix before making any far reaching decisions. Do they really want to make Premiership rugby second rate and meaningless? If the answer’s yes, I’ll get my coat!
As spectacles went, well, it just sort of, went: nervy, tentative, generally conservative and only ever so occasionally exciting. I left the ground feeling strangely unsatisfied and hungry for more, but not necessarily more of the same. It was more of a Chinese takeaway performance than Cordon Bleu experience, which is a pity, as the contest against the Scarlets had always promised to be enthralling and potentially entertaining. But injuries to many of the Sharks’ key players and poor recent form coupled with the withdrawal of many of the Scarlets’ internationals meant this was never likely to be a game that lived up to its promise. The outcome was always going to be decided by the packs. Both teams looked to dominate and exert their authority. On the balance of play the Sharks certainly bossed the scrum and probably shaded it in the loose. Sadly any territorial advantage gained was probably not used as effectively as it might have been. The spark was lacking in our three quarters; the desire and passion were there for all to see, but our ball distribution and execution still let us down. Nevertheless, it was good to see Lee Thomas performing as well as he did. His kicking skills, even in the swirling conditions were immaculate, and he plays with a confidence, deftness and subtlety that we will need in the light of the stern test awaiting us in Paris next week. Corcho was, as ever, supremely effective, in spite of being temporarily substituted. Jason Robinson showed too, what a threat he can still be. Oh for him to play on the wing each week, pulling teams apart with trickery and blistering pace! Is that likely to happen? Sadly, I think not. It’s such a pity as it would do my standing in the Fantasy League tables a power of good, and let’s face it, I need all the help I can get. Just thank your lucky stars I don’t pick the real team!
Well, the Clown Prince has left the throne of English Rugby. Did he fall, or was he pushed? Perhaps the answer’s neither; maybe he simply stumbled and eventually tripped. I guess we’ll never know what went on behind the closed doors at HQ and which matters were addressed. Who would want to take over the mess at this juncture? Well, as far as I can see, only a fool with a career death wish. Frankly I don’t really care what happens. What concerns me and other fans more is the issue of central contracts: Francis Baron has taken up the baton again, and seems more determined than ever to run with it. Whether centrally contracted players would help to solve England’s current demise in world rugby standings is debatable at best. What isn’t debatable however, is the decimating effect that would have on club rugby. The Scarlets’ fans I spoke to were strangely sanguine about losing all their internationals for the match; no Jones, Peel, Popham, Marc Jones and Easterby. I had to ask myself, would I make a three hundred mile round trip to support a team stripped of its best players by external authorities? Well, obviously no and neither would many others. We’d be angry and rightly so. We pay our money to see the best team available take to the pitch. If central contracts are introduced, it would be about as easy to see Charlie Hodgson play live as it is to see Freddie Flintoff play for Lancashire. If the worse comes to pass, then many, myself included, would have to seriously question whether we would renew our season tickets. Perhaps Francis Baron and others of a similar persuasion should factor that into the mix before making any far reaching decisions. Do they really want to make Premiership rugby second rate and meaningless? If the answer’s yes, I’ll get my coat!
Nov 06 Sale v Harlequins
Strictly Dirty Dancing
It’s been a bad few weeks if you’re a Sharks fan, some have even gone so far as to call it catastrophic. I wouldn’t go that far myself, but I certainly won’t be dancing cartwheels or making any donations to the RFU in the foreseeable future. The loss of Charlie, Big Ted and the Great White for the rest of the season really does have potentially damaging repercussions on our title-retention aspirations. That all three were injured for nothing more than the pursuit of the filthy lucre just makes it all the more unpalatable. Still, we shouldn’t forget that we have a large and talented squad of the highest calibre and sufficient strength in depth to cover the losses. There may well have to be some experimentation with personnel and some shuffling of the pack to achieve the right balance, but I’m sure given time the team will produce the goods and give those fans who aren’t too easily pleased something to smile about in due course.
They say it‘s an ill wind that blows no good - well, if memory serves me correctly, Charlie got his big break through some similar misfortune. Maybe now is the opportunity for the likes of David Blair, David Tait (when fit) and Ben Lloyd to stake their claims for regular first team action and prove to the coaches that they’ve got what it takes. Bryan (Brush) Redpath has been instrumental in trying this at Gloucester, bringing through the likes of Ryan Lamb and Anthony Allen with great success. We can only hope that we will have similar fortune.
After the disappointments of Bristol and the loss to Newcastle Falcons, Friday’s game against Harlequins was crucial. It was a must-win game for the coaches, but for me it was more important than that. My brother-in-law was up for the weekend, and he’s a Quins season ticket holder: the prospect of a couple of days of taunting was not particularly appealing! The game itself promised much but didn’t really deliver. Given the physical and territorial dominance of our pack in the first half, we should really have put the game beyond doubt by half time. But, handling errors, misplaced passes and aimless kicking meant we never capitalised on this dominance. In the end the result was a little too close for comfort for the home crowd - still, a win’s a win. The good news was that our defence seemed to be back on form on the rare occasions that Quins got into our 22 and that Sebastien Bruno, our very own French pocket rocket, put in another storming performance. He left the field battered and bruised but to a very well deserved ovation for both his man of the match winning display and for the fight that nearly was (he wheeled round his opposite number like a Spanish matador, pulling their shirt over their head; all that was missing was a face to punch. The man truly is a star).
The bad news unfortunately is that we suffered another injury setback, as if we needed more, when Nathan Bonner Evans was substituted with a broken finger. To add to the woes it also transpired that Ben Evans has been cited for alleged stamping during the Falcons match and could face a lengthy ban if found guilty this week. I accept that I might be biased and tend to see things through blue-tinted glasses, but I hope the citing commissioners play with a straight bat. Other teams are also guilty of the occasional misdemeanour and some occasionally of deliberate foul play. Nick Easter’s attempt to try the soft shoe shuffle on the face of the prone Sebastien Chabal was more suited to a spot on Strictly Come Dancing than to a rugby field. I’d give him ten out of ten for technique. Citing Officers, the casting vote is yours!
It’s been a bad few weeks if you’re a Sharks fan, some have even gone so far as to call it catastrophic. I wouldn’t go that far myself, but I certainly won’t be dancing cartwheels or making any donations to the RFU in the foreseeable future. The loss of Charlie, Big Ted and the Great White for the rest of the season really does have potentially damaging repercussions on our title-retention aspirations. That all three were injured for nothing more than the pursuit of the filthy lucre just makes it all the more unpalatable. Still, we shouldn’t forget that we have a large and talented squad of the highest calibre and sufficient strength in depth to cover the losses. There may well have to be some experimentation with personnel and some shuffling of the pack to achieve the right balance, but I’m sure given time the team will produce the goods and give those fans who aren’t too easily pleased something to smile about in due course.
They say it‘s an ill wind that blows no good - well, if memory serves me correctly, Charlie got his big break through some similar misfortune. Maybe now is the opportunity for the likes of David Blair, David Tait (when fit) and Ben Lloyd to stake their claims for regular first team action and prove to the coaches that they’ve got what it takes. Bryan (Brush) Redpath has been instrumental in trying this at Gloucester, bringing through the likes of Ryan Lamb and Anthony Allen with great success. We can only hope that we will have similar fortune.
After the disappointments of Bristol and the loss to Newcastle Falcons, Friday’s game against Harlequins was crucial. It was a must-win game for the coaches, but for me it was more important than that. My brother-in-law was up for the weekend, and he’s a Quins season ticket holder: the prospect of a couple of days of taunting was not particularly appealing! The game itself promised much but didn’t really deliver. Given the physical and territorial dominance of our pack in the first half, we should really have put the game beyond doubt by half time. But, handling errors, misplaced passes and aimless kicking meant we never capitalised on this dominance. In the end the result was a little too close for comfort for the home crowd - still, a win’s a win. The good news was that our defence seemed to be back on form on the rare occasions that Quins got into our 22 and that Sebastien Bruno, our very own French pocket rocket, put in another storming performance. He left the field battered and bruised but to a very well deserved ovation for both his man of the match winning display and for the fight that nearly was (he wheeled round his opposite number like a Spanish matador, pulling their shirt over their head; all that was missing was a face to punch. The man truly is a star).
The bad news unfortunately is that we suffered another injury setback, as if we needed more, when Nathan Bonner Evans was substituted with a broken finger. To add to the woes it also transpired that Ben Evans has been cited for alleged stamping during the Falcons match and could face a lengthy ban if found guilty this week. I accept that I might be biased and tend to see things through blue-tinted glasses, but I hope the citing commissioners play with a straight bat. Other teams are also guilty of the occasional misdemeanour and some occasionally of deliberate foul play. Nick Easter’s attempt to try the soft shoe shuffle on the face of the prone Sebastien Chabal was more suited to a spot on Strictly Come Dancing than to a rugby field. I’d give him ten out of ten for technique. Citing Officers, the casting vote is yours!
Nov 06 Sale v Newcastle
Tell me why I don’t like Fridays!
Rainy days and Mondays may well get some people down, but if you’re a Sharks supporter I think you’ll find Fridays are probably starting to feel worse. After the fiasco at Bristol, nobody would seriously have believed that the side could ever under-perform as badly again; given the roasting the team must have received from the coaches, even John McCirrick would have laid very long odds against a repeat performance. Well thankfully I’m not a betting man. The only smiling faces after the game belonged to the few hearty Falcons fans that had bravely driven down, fully expecting to see their team receive a sound beating. The few I spoke to honestly expected that to happen. So, I would’ve thought there would’ve been singing and dancing in the Beer Village after their under-strength side beat the Sharks and laid their Edgeley Park hoodoo to rest. Yet, there was no glorying in the victory, just surprise at the result and astonishment that the Champions of England could play that badly.
That astonishment was shared by the rest of us who sat through the whole eighty minutes on a freezing, teeth-chatteringly cold Autumn night. What we were unfortunate enough to witness was, in the words of the incomparable Stuart Hall, “a real cowpat of a game”; directionless, lacking in passion and belief and strewn with basic tactical and handling errors. For Philippe Saint Andre to come out and publicly apologise to the fans for the performance really says it all. You can’t blame injuries and International call-ups for the display; we have a large squad and should have the strength in depth to deal with these eventualities. The performance was poor - we know it, the coaches know it and by now, I’m sure the players know it! Was there anything to be pleased about? Well, fortunately yes there was. Sean Cox established his credentials as a valuable member of the team. He carried the ball well, was good in the loose and tried to pull together and galvanise a pack that for most of the game was at sixes and sevens. It’s just a shame that he got injured. Hopefully though, it isn’t too serious and I’m sure we all wish him well and hope his recovery is speedy.
I am, by nature an optimist, or so I keep telling myself; one has to look forward and focus on the positives. There’s no point worrying about the upcoming Quins game and the brother-in-law’s reaction, yet! Christmas is nearly upon us, I know this because I noticed the decorations starting to go up some time in August. For those of a curmudgeonly disposition, like myself, this usually is the season of grumpiness, humbug and Christmas shopping – not a prospect to savour. However, whilst visiting friends in our old stamping ground at the weekend, we made a small detour to Altrincham to do a bit of this ‘Christmas shopping’. I was, as ever, reluctant to go and endure this torture but, as a little bird had told us that a Shark would be switching on the lights, I felt there might be the prospect of a little Christmas cheer at least. DJ Becky Want and a rather loud and raucous clown provided the ‘entertainment’ and at that point things did not look too promising. I could’ve been watching England play South Africa - then again, that would’ve involved a clown too. So, best to stick with the devil you know! Fortunately, before much more of this misery had to be endured, our very own Pop Idol appeared on stage, looking cheerful, cold and slightly embarrassed. Rumours have abounded about those mythical Pop Idol auditions - did he? didn’t he? Well, I guess we’ll never know, but boy, can the young lad sing! Well done Ben, a star performance. Gareth Gates, eat your heart out.
Rainy days and Mondays may well get some people down, but if you’re a Sharks supporter I think you’ll find Fridays are probably starting to feel worse. After the fiasco at Bristol, nobody would seriously have believed that the side could ever under-perform as badly again; given the roasting the team must have received from the coaches, even John McCirrick would have laid very long odds against a repeat performance. Well thankfully I’m not a betting man. The only smiling faces after the game belonged to the few hearty Falcons fans that had bravely driven down, fully expecting to see their team receive a sound beating. The few I spoke to honestly expected that to happen. So, I would’ve thought there would’ve been singing and dancing in the Beer Village after their under-strength side beat the Sharks and laid their Edgeley Park hoodoo to rest. Yet, there was no glorying in the victory, just surprise at the result and astonishment that the Champions of England could play that badly.
That astonishment was shared by the rest of us who sat through the whole eighty minutes on a freezing, teeth-chatteringly cold Autumn night. What we were unfortunate enough to witness was, in the words of the incomparable Stuart Hall, “a real cowpat of a game”; directionless, lacking in passion and belief and strewn with basic tactical and handling errors. For Philippe Saint Andre to come out and publicly apologise to the fans for the performance really says it all. You can’t blame injuries and International call-ups for the display; we have a large squad and should have the strength in depth to deal with these eventualities. The performance was poor - we know it, the coaches know it and by now, I’m sure the players know it! Was there anything to be pleased about? Well, fortunately yes there was. Sean Cox established his credentials as a valuable member of the team. He carried the ball well, was good in the loose and tried to pull together and galvanise a pack that for most of the game was at sixes and sevens. It’s just a shame that he got injured. Hopefully though, it isn’t too serious and I’m sure we all wish him well and hope his recovery is speedy.
I am, by nature an optimist, or so I keep telling myself; one has to look forward and focus on the positives. There’s no point worrying about the upcoming Quins game and the brother-in-law’s reaction, yet! Christmas is nearly upon us, I know this because I noticed the decorations starting to go up some time in August. For those of a curmudgeonly disposition, like myself, this usually is the season of grumpiness, humbug and Christmas shopping – not a prospect to savour. However, whilst visiting friends in our old stamping ground at the weekend, we made a small detour to Altrincham to do a bit of this ‘Christmas shopping’. I was, as ever, reluctant to go and endure this torture but, as a little bird had told us that a Shark would be switching on the lights, I felt there might be the prospect of a little Christmas cheer at least. DJ Becky Want and a rather loud and raucous clown provided the ‘entertainment’ and at that point things did not look too promising. I could’ve been watching England play South Africa - then again, that would’ve involved a clown too. So, best to stick with the devil you know! Fortunately, before much more of this misery had to be endured, our very own Pop Idol appeared on stage, looking cheerful, cold and slightly embarrassed. Rumours have abounded about those mythical Pop Idol auditions - did he? didn’t he? Well, I guess we’ll never know, but boy, can the young lad sing! Well done Ben, a star performance. Gareth Gates, eat your heart out.
Nov 06 Bristol v Sale
He’s behind you!
Well, that was a weekend to forget, wasn’t it? Another ten hour trip down the M5 to watch a hapless Sharks team humbled on a miserable night in Bristol, followed by England’s humiliation on Saturday at the hands of Argentina, basically a scratch team who played with only four days preparation - boy, it doesn’t get much worse. If you also factor into that having your star play-maker, Charlie Hodgson, booed off the pitch by the ‘hoorays’ at Headquarters simply for not being the ‘anointed one’, then you’ll understand why I might want to erase this weekend from the memory bank. Still, let’s look on the bright side, Christmas can’t be far away - the pantomime season has apparently started.
In the space of ten minutes, Jason Robinson transformed from World Cup winning Snow White into the Wicked Witch in the eyes of Bristol supporters at least, after his block on David Lemi. Was it a foul and deliberate block? Yes it was, but that’s all part of professional rugby. He should probably have been sin-binned by the referee but got away with it, much to the annoyance of the home crowd who booed for the rest of the match every time he touched the ball. Several Bristol supporters said to me after the game that rugby was losing all its traditional values and Corinthian spirit. I felt obliged to point out that those values had gone the same way as the Corinthians. Rugby Union changed irrevocably when the game became professional. It’s all about winning now and winning at all costs. But what about fair play and gentlemanly behaviour, they asked? Well, if you grew up watching club and International rugby in the seventies and eighties, you would seriously question whether these mythical qualities ever existed in the first place. It always has been about winning. Nevertheless, Bristol rightly won the game in appalling conditions – we were poor, they were less so. The only positive slant that could be put on the evening was that our defence stood up well once again under intense pressure and we denied any try-scoring opportunity to the opposition. Apart from that, little more can be said, though the Memorial Ground does offer a mean Cornish pasty.
I dislike International periods intensely; my team is shorn of some of its best players, and for what? Charlie Hodgson is a gifted and talented footballer who thrives on confidence and excels when playing behind a strong, aggressive and dominant pack. He never gets this in England matches but is invariably singled out for blame by the baying masses. As a rugby fan, I was appalled by the booing when he was substituted. No player deserves that. He played no worse than anyone else, in fact, a lot better than some. Yet, he was the one who was vilified yet again. None of that team looked fired up or inspired and that, I feel, must be down to the coaches. My biggest fear is that he will eventually return to the club shorn of confidence and that his form will subsequently dip. The very same thing happened to Mark Cueto last year, a great player returning from ‘duty’ with little or no confidence in his own ability. Thankfully, he’s now back to his best, bar injury. Hopefully, when Charlie returns he will not be similarly afflicted. It’s up to us, the fans, to get behind him, cheer him on and welcome him back to the fold. Come on you Sharks!
Well, that was a weekend to forget, wasn’t it? Another ten hour trip down the M5 to watch a hapless Sharks team humbled on a miserable night in Bristol, followed by England’s humiliation on Saturday at the hands of Argentina, basically a scratch team who played with only four days preparation - boy, it doesn’t get much worse. If you also factor into that having your star play-maker, Charlie Hodgson, booed off the pitch by the ‘hoorays’ at Headquarters simply for not being the ‘anointed one’, then you’ll understand why I might want to erase this weekend from the memory bank. Still, let’s look on the bright side, Christmas can’t be far away - the pantomime season has apparently started.
In the space of ten minutes, Jason Robinson transformed from World Cup winning Snow White into the Wicked Witch in the eyes of Bristol supporters at least, after his block on David Lemi. Was it a foul and deliberate block? Yes it was, but that’s all part of professional rugby. He should probably have been sin-binned by the referee but got away with it, much to the annoyance of the home crowd who booed for the rest of the match every time he touched the ball. Several Bristol supporters said to me after the game that rugby was losing all its traditional values and Corinthian spirit. I felt obliged to point out that those values had gone the same way as the Corinthians. Rugby Union changed irrevocably when the game became professional. It’s all about winning now and winning at all costs. But what about fair play and gentlemanly behaviour, they asked? Well, if you grew up watching club and International rugby in the seventies and eighties, you would seriously question whether these mythical qualities ever existed in the first place. It always has been about winning. Nevertheless, Bristol rightly won the game in appalling conditions – we were poor, they were less so. The only positive slant that could be put on the evening was that our defence stood up well once again under intense pressure and we denied any try-scoring opportunity to the opposition. Apart from that, little more can be said, though the Memorial Ground does offer a mean Cornish pasty.
I dislike International periods intensely; my team is shorn of some of its best players, and for what? Charlie Hodgson is a gifted and talented footballer who thrives on confidence and excels when playing behind a strong, aggressive and dominant pack. He never gets this in England matches but is invariably singled out for blame by the baying masses. As a rugby fan, I was appalled by the booing when he was substituted. No player deserves that. He played no worse than anyone else, in fact, a lot better than some. Yet, he was the one who was vilified yet again. None of that team looked fired up or inspired and that, I feel, must be down to the coaches. My biggest fear is that he will eventually return to the club shorn of confidence and that his form will subsequently dip. The very same thing happened to Mark Cueto last year, a great player returning from ‘duty’ with little or no confidence in his own ability. Thankfully, he’s now back to his best, bar injury. Hopefully, when Charlie returns he will not be similarly afflicted. It’s up to us, the fans, to get behind him, cheer him on and welcome him back to the fold. Come on you Sharks!
Nov 06 Sale v Wasps
That’s Entertainment?
I have to confess, at this time last week I was a little worried – the prospect of a clash against a top three side with seven of our key players missing meant I didn’t sleep as easily in my bed as I would’ve liked. Wasps were no doubt still smarting after the play- off loss to the Sharks in May and would be intent on revenge. I was optimistic, of course, but that optimism was of the cautious variety. Somebody asked me just before kick-off how I thought the game was likely to pan out. I said to them, it’s going to be close, dominated by the forwards and not particularly pretty to watch. So it proved to be. A slugfest of power, passion and commitment, overseen by pernickety and inconsistent officials who seemed to have a different understanding and interpretation of the word ‘advantage’ to mine. Still, we came away with a four point win and that after all is what we wanted: it’s just a pity that Foden’s odds-on try scoring opportunity towards the end of the game was denied, causing unnecessary nail-biting and anxiety.
Still, not all of the supporters I spoke to were happy, and not just because we conceded the losing bonus point to Wasps in the last minute. You might be able to fool all of the people some of the time, but, you obviously can’t please them. Their criticisms lay mainly with the performance –the set pieces, the lack of ‘entertainment’ and the inability or unwillingness to play an expansive, flowing game. I agree that our second half line-out set pieces and restarts were poor and that it wasn’t an open game but sometimes it’s necessary to play pragmatically. Yes, in a ideal world we would produce a performance like that against Calvisano every time we played. Unfortunately, you have to play the team in front of you. With a team like Wasps you know that you are always going to face a large, powerful and aggressive pack. We always seem to struggle against a team that employs a blitz defence even when we are able to put out a full strength side; for some reason or other we can’t take advantage of the space behind defences by either chipping over or playing through them. So, sometimes it’s necessary to fight fire with fire. It was always going to be a ten man game with a low score line. Perhaps we did grind out a result with a workmanlike, solid and uninspiring performance but a win’s a win, especially given the other result at Bristol. I thought our front row were excellent and that Chabal put in a towering man of the match performance, closely followed by our old friend Corcho who was as reliable as ever.
Anyway, it’s time to put that game behind us and look onwards and upwards. I’m off to Bristol on Friday, on another coach. I say that through gritted teeth as I’ve still not properly recovered from the last expedition. This time though, I am prepared. I’ve packed the sleeping bag, rations and distress flares. In the meantime, I’m off to watch Sale Jets take on Leinster’s A team at Edgeley Park in what promises to be an open, flowing and thrilling rugby game, and all for the price of a pint to boot: those of a more curmudgeonly, difficult to please disposition, might wish to take note.
I have to confess, at this time last week I was a little worried – the prospect of a clash against a top three side with seven of our key players missing meant I didn’t sleep as easily in my bed as I would’ve liked. Wasps were no doubt still smarting after the play- off loss to the Sharks in May and would be intent on revenge. I was optimistic, of course, but that optimism was of the cautious variety. Somebody asked me just before kick-off how I thought the game was likely to pan out. I said to them, it’s going to be close, dominated by the forwards and not particularly pretty to watch. So it proved to be. A slugfest of power, passion and commitment, overseen by pernickety and inconsistent officials who seemed to have a different understanding and interpretation of the word ‘advantage’ to mine. Still, we came away with a four point win and that after all is what we wanted: it’s just a pity that Foden’s odds-on try scoring opportunity towards the end of the game was denied, causing unnecessary nail-biting and anxiety.
Still, not all of the supporters I spoke to were happy, and not just because we conceded the losing bonus point to Wasps in the last minute. You might be able to fool all of the people some of the time, but, you obviously can’t please them. Their criticisms lay mainly with the performance –the set pieces, the lack of ‘entertainment’ and the inability or unwillingness to play an expansive, flowing game. I agree that our second half line-out set pieces and restarts were poor and that it wasn’t an open game but sometimes it’s necessary to play pragmatically. Yes, in a ideal world we would produce a performance like that against Calvisano every time we played. Unfortunately, you have to play the team in front of you. With a team like Wasps you know that you are always going to face a large, powerful and aggressive pack. We always seem to struggle against a team that employs a blitz defence even when we are able to put out a full strength side; for some reason or other we can’t take advantage of the space behind defences by either chipping over or playing through them. So, sometimes it’s necessary to fight fire with fire. It was always going to be a ten man game with a low score line. Perhaps we did grind out a result with a workmanlike, solid and uninspiring performance but a win’s a win, especially given the other result at Bristol. I thought our front row were excellent and that Chabal put in a towering man of the match performance, closely followed by our old friend Corcho who was as reliable as ever.
Anyway, it’s time to put that game behind us and look onwards and upwards. I’m off to Bristol on Friday, on another coach. I say that through gritted teeth as I’ve still not properly recovered from the last expedition. This time though, I am prepared. I’ve packed the sleeping bag, rations and distress flares. In the meantime, I’m off to watch Sale Jets take on Leinster’s A team at Edgeley Park in what promises to be an open, flowing and thrilling rugby game, and all for the price of a pint to boot: those of a more curmudgeonly, difficult to please disposition, might wish to take note.
Oct 06 Sale v Calvisano
November spawned a monster
I should be a happy man this week: a bonus point win, a kick start to our Heineken Cup campaign and a performance, albeit against a weaker team, of promise and endeavour. Yet, there’s something niggling and nagging at the back of my mind, a cloud on the horizon, something that could take the gloss off what was a good day at the office for the Sharks – no, not the sight of Chabal changing his shorts on the pitch, although some members of the crowd seemed to be happy enough with that. No, it’s the looming prospect of International competition and the ramifications on club rugby.
Still, it’s always best to start with the positives and keep the mood upbeat. Without any disrespect to the opposition, a home win should never have been anything but a formality as Calvisano were soundly beaten on their own turf by Stade Francais last week. What was as important as securing the points was the manner in which the Sharks performed. We needed to play with confidence and belief and rediscover the swagger of last season. It’s true that not everything went as well as expected: our line-out was inconsistent with too many turnovers and our performance at re-starts fell some way short of the standards set against Wasps and Leicester last season. Nevertheless, our back line looked sharp and hungry and our pack looked solid and purposeful. Whilst Ben Foden’s three-try display was rightly lauded, and his Man of the Match award fully deserved, it was good to see some of the older, more experienced professionals start to perform as we know they can. Steve Hanley appeared to have rediscovered some of the old spark, running some good lines and looking dangerous on the wing. Sebastian Chabal looked to be getting back to his brutal and rampaging self and Magnus Lund seemed to be back on top of his game. It was also great to see Andy Titterrell and Natcho Lobbe back in action and looking good. Even with a far from full strength team, we managed to score nine tries and played with our heads up. This, coupled with the less than impressive display by Stade Francais against Ospreys, gives us some hope for the future.
Thomas Hood wrote a poem that I heard as a boy and have always remembered, called ‘November’: “ No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon etc – November.” Perhaps we could add to that, ”no players”! Yes it’s the time of falling leaves, colder temperatures, darkening nights and the dreaded Autumn Internationals – not exactly my favourite time of year. The issue of ‘club versus country’ is one which splits the rugby community down the middle. Personally, I will always side with the club, as that’s where I choose to spend my money: consequently I expect to see the best and strongest players week in, week out. We have a first team squad of thirty six players, but with international and Sevens call ups and long term injuries, Sale Sharks will now be reduced to nineteen. Even with the end of season play-offs, a system ‘apparently’ designed to redress the imbalance caused by international absenteeism, such disruption could be problematic. I’m an optimist though, as I’ve said before and still believe we have sufficient strength in depth to deal with this situation as some of our younger players are already on the cusp of first XV rugby. This will be their chance to emulate Ben Foden, step up to the plate and stake their claim for regular first team action.
I should be a happy man this week: a bonus point win, a kick start to our Heineken Cup campaign and a performance, albeit against a weaker team, of promise and endeavour. Yet, there’s something niggling and nagging at the back of my mind, a cloud on the horizon, something that could take the gloss off what was a good day at the office for the Sharks – no, not the sight of Chabal changing his shorts on the pitch, although some members of the crowd seemed to be happy enough with that. No, it’s the looming prospect of International competition and the ramifications on club rugby.
Still, it’s always best to start with the positives and keep the mood upbeat. Without any disrespect to the opposition, a home win should never have been anything but a formality as Calvisano were soundly beaten on their own turf by Stade Francais last week. What was as important as securing the points was the manner in which the Sharks performed. We needed to play with confidence and belief and rediscover the swagger of last season. It’s true that not everything went as well as expected: our line-out was inconsistent with too many turnovers and our performance at re-starts fell some way short of the standards set against Wasps and Leicester last season. Nevertheless, our back line looked sharp and hungry and our pack looked solid and purposeful. Whilst Ben Foden’s three-try display was rightly lauded, and his Man of the Match award fully deserved, it was good to see some of the older, more experienced professionals start to perform as we know they can. Steve Hanley appeared to have rediscovered some of the old spark, running some good lines and looking dangerous on the wing. Sebastian Chabal looked to be getting back to his brutal and rampaging self and Magnus Lund seemed to be back on top of his game. It was also great to see Andy Titterrell and Natcho Lobbe back in action and looking good. Even with a far from full strength team, we managed to score nine tries and played with our heads up. This, coupled with the less than impressive display by Stade Francais against Ospreys, gives us some hope for the future.
Thomas Hood wrote a poem that I heard as a boy and have always remembered, called ‘November’: “ No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon etc – November.” Perhaps we could add to that, ”no players”! Yes it’s the time of falling leaves, colder temperatures, darkening nights and the dreaded Autumn Internationals – not exactly my favourite time of year. The issue of ‘club versus country’ is one which splits the rugby community down the middle. Personally, I will always side with the club, as that’s where I choose to spend my money: consequently I expect to see the best and strongest players week in, week out. We have a first team squad of thirty six players, but with international and Sevens call ups and long term injuries, Sale Sharks will now be reduced to nineteen. Even with the end of season play-offs, a system ‘apparently’ designed to redress the imbalance caused by international absenteeism, such disruption could be problematic. I’m an optimist though, as I’ve said before and still believe we have sufficient strength in depth to deal with this situation as some of our younger players are already on the cusp of first XV rugby. This will be their chance to emulate Ben Foden, step up to the plate and stake their claim for regular first team action.
Oct 06 Ospreys v Sale
Heaven knows I’m miserable now
What did you get up to last Friday - a meal in a restaurant or a trip to the cinema maybe? I spent nearly fifteen hours travelling. Before you ask, it wasn’t to Alice Springs or anywhere exotic like that: no, I went to Swansea on a coach with other supporters to watch Sale Sharks take on the Ospreys. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we traipse all over this island and Europe to support our team? Are we deluded or simply masochistic? No, I’d like to think we’re neither, we’re just passionate and committed rugby fans who believe in our team and will cheer them on come what may. Sometimes it is hard and can be dispiriting, but we do it none the less – maybe we are masochists after all! All we ask in return is that the team show the same sort of belief and passion as us and play with confidence and a conviction in their own abilities.
We had all travelled in the hope of a four point win or a draw at the very least. So, what went wrong? Why did we manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory? Well, ask any of those same supporters and they’ll reel off a list of grievances as long as your arm: a lack of conviction and belief, a failure to put away the chances and kill off the game, no support for breakaway runners, poor handling, mistimed final passes, a lack of passion, and on and on it continues from there. All of these criticisms could rightly be levelled at the performance. Some described the performance as ‘naïve’. After the lessons we were taught in Limerick and San Sebastian last year, I don’t think that can be used as an excuse any longer: we are a big team with a European pedigree now and have to start playing like it. Many criticised the referee for his poor handling of the game. Certainly the tackle on Mark Cueto whilst still in the air did deserve some form of punishment and the blatant stamp on Corcho by the Wallaby Boyo, Brent Cobain, should have resulted in a red card. The fact remains though, you have to play to the referee you are given: he has officiated for us before and we should have known what to expect. At the end of the day, in my eyes at least, we actually threw the match away. We had so much territorial possession in the second half but just couldn’t convert that into points. We should have won comfortably.
The mood on the coach on the way back was one of sombre reflection, and not just because we knew how long the return journey was likely to be. There was some cause for optimism though. Corcho put in yet another blazing performance and Richard Wigglesworth once again produced the form he last showed at Twickenham in the Premiership Final. Unfortunately the prospects of qualifying for the quarter finals now look to be very bleak. We are now in a position where we have to win all our remaining group games, preferably with bonus points. That includes a trip to current French League leaders, Stade Francais, not an easy place to go at the best of times. Are we still going to qualify? The realist in me says probably not, but the optimist in me says yes. It all depends upon your outlook on life in general: is your glass half full or half empty? Mine is still half full, but I am beginning to feel very thirsty.
What did you get up to last Friday - a meal in a restaurant or a trip to the cinema maybe? I spent nearly fifteen hours travelling. Before you ask, it wasn’t to Alice Springs or anywhere exotic like that: no, I went to Swansea on a coach with other supporters to watch Sale Sharks take on the Ospreys. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we traipse all over this island and Europe to support our team? Are we deluded or simply masochistic? No, I’d like to think we’re neither, we’re just passionate and committed rugby fans who believe in our team and will cheer them on come what may. Sometimes it is hard and can be dispiriting, but we do it none the less – maybe we are masochists after all! All we ask in return is that the team show the same sort of belief and passion as us and play with confidence and a conviction in their own abilities.
We had all travelled in the hope of a four point win or a draw at the very least. So, what went wrong? Why did we manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory? Well, ask any of those same supporters and they’ll reel off a list of grievances as long as your arm: a lack of conviction and belief, a failure to put away the chances and kill off the game, no support for breakaway runners, poor handling, mistimed final passes, a lack of passion, and on and on it continues from there. All of these criticisms could rightly be levelled at the performance. Some described the performance as ‘naïve’. After the lessons we were taught in Limerick and San Sebastian last year, I don’t think that can be used as an excuse any longer: we are a big team with a European pedigree now and have to start playing like it. Many criticised the referee for his poor handling of the game. Certainly the tackle on Mark Cueto whilst still in the air did deserve some form of punishment and the blatant stamp on Corcho by the Wallaby Boyo, Brent Cobain, should have resulted in a red card. The fact remains though, you have to play to the referee you are given: he has officiated for us before and we should have known what to expect. At the end of the day, in my eyes at least, we actually threw the match away. We had so much territorial possession in the second half but just couldn’t convert that into points. We should have won comfortably.
The mood on the coach on the way back was one of sombre reflection, and not just because we knew how long the return journey was likely to be. There was some cause for optimism though. Corcho put in yet another blazing performance and Richard Wigglesworth once again produced the form he last showed at Twickenham in the Premiership Final. Unfortunately the prospects of qualifying for the quarter finals now look to be very bleak. We are now in a position where we have to win all our remaining group games, preferably with bonus points. That includes a trip to current French League leaders, Stade Francais, not an easy place to go at the best of times. Are we still going to qualify? The realist in me says probably not, but the optimist in me says yes. It all depends upon your outlook on life in general: is your glass half full or half empty? Mine is still half full, but I am beginning to feel very thirsty.
Oct 06 London Irish v Sale
The Holy grail that is the bonus point
Something must have happened at Carrington this week. I’m not sure what it was but I’d have loved to be a fly on the wall when it did. Anyway, whatever it may have been, I’m glad it did. Sale Sharks took to the field and had the look of predators once again. There may have been glimpses of the old Sale in recent weeks, flashes of aggressive running rugby like the game in Biarritz or the first twenty minutes or so of the game against Worcester Warriors, but this has been the exception rather than the rule. As a fan it seems to me that the Sharks have played with a lack of confidence and conviction in their own abilities; ‘stuttering’ rugby I suppose you could call it, played by a team that hasn’t been firing on all cylinders. Well, I’m happy to report that the ‘belief’ and swagger are back and I, for one, am truly relieved.
Talking to several ‘Oirish’ fans in the North Stand Bar after the game; it appears that they have been experiencing a similar blip in form. The consensus amongst them was that their team, much like most of the home support, hadn’t shown up. I take the opposite view. London Irish did show up but were taken apart by a superior side that played with confidence, passion, aggression and belief. (Yes, it’s that word again.) Sale dominated from the off, bossing the scrum and controlling the three quarters. Our back line once again looked purposeful and hungry. When we play to our capabilities we are a match for any team.
In the end we won at a canter, in fact, during the second half we took our foot off the pedal. It was a total team performance and very welcome too, considering the impending start of the Heineken Cup next weekend. It’s always difficult to single out any one particular player for special mention, particularly when all gave a good account of themselves. It was good to have Dean Schofield back in the second/donkey row. We’ve definitely missed his presence and physicality over the last few weeks. Magnus Lund and Jason White as ever were superb, always in the right place at the right time, securing and turning over opposition ball. For me though, the man of the match yet again, was Juan Martine Fernandez Lobbe. (Corcho, to you and me from now on) He plays with passion, commitment, aggression and flair. He brings a different quality to our forward play. It’s true he’s no Chabal, but then again who could be. Corcho plays intelligent rugby with his head up and reads the game superbly. I can sense another Sale legend in the making.
As so, to the Heineken Cup, European rugby at its best. It’s my favourite time of year, thoughts of distant travel and exotic foods. So, where are we off to first them? Southern France, Ireland or Italy maybe? No, oh well, there’s always Swansea
Oct 06 Harlequins v Sale
Winning Ugly
It’s been a while since I last played competitive rugby, but I do remember the cardinal rule that our coach tried to ram into our heads – you can never win a rugby match by playing on the back foot. I’ve always believed this but, I think you’ll find sir, you were wrong. You should’ve been at The Stoop at the weekend.
The hallmark of a top team in any sport is the ability to win matches and get results when playing badly, wining ‘ugly’ as some prefer to call it. It’s not particularly good to watch but, let’s face it, a win’s a win after all. The consensus of opinion amongst the travelling fans on Saturday was that our performance could best be described as ‘disappointing’ and ‘lacklustre’. The feeling amongst the Harlequins fans was that it was their best performance of the season so far. Two very different and opposing views, yet both were correct. A good friend of mine, and a Quins fan to boot, told me that any side shorn of the likes of quality players like Sheridan, Bruno, Schofield, Lund, Hodgson and Robinson would struggle, particularly against what was pretty much a full strength Harlequins side. He felt that with a squad full of international quality players we would undoubtedly be challenging for honours come the end of the season. Of course, I had to agree with him on that point. I could’ve drawn his attention to the fact that if his ‘strong’ team struggled to beat our ‘second string’ then there were likely to be dark days ahead come the end of the season. However, I was my usual polite and diplomatic self, besides which, he’d agreed to put me up for the night!
There are more than enough people out there who will dwell on the negative aspects of the game. Personally, I’d rather look at the positives. Juan Martin Fernandez Lobbe delivered another blistering performance on the flank after replacing the unfortunate David Tait, who left the field with an ankle injury. It was yet another man of the match performance and he is sure to figure highly at the end of season awards for best newcomer. I was also very impressed with the way the younger players took their opportunities: Sean Cox, David Tait, Neil Briggs, Ben Foden and Mike Hills all acquitted themselves admirably. It’s to be hoped that the injuries sustained by Daniel Larrachea and David Tait won’t keep them out of the game too long as they are both valuable members of the squad.
I also had the pleasure of bumping into John Carter at the match; a great guy, friendly, approachable and a real gentleman. He was fresh back from his shoulder reconstruction surgery in America. He told me it was a complicated operation and that he is likely to be out for at least another four to five months. He is, however, very optimistic about his rugby future with Sale Sharks. He’d looked very sharp and fit in the pre-season games and must find his current situation extremely frustrating. Hopefully we’ll see him in the colours before the end of the season.
It’s been a while since I last played competitive rugby, but I do remember the cardinal rule that our coach tried to ram into our heads – you can never win a rugby match by playing on the back foot. I’ve always believed this but, I think you’ll find sir, you were wrong. You should’ve been at The Stoop at the weekend.
The hallmark of a top team in any sport is the ability to win matches and get results when playing badly, wining ‘ugly’ as some prefer to call it. It’s not particularly good to watch but, let’s face it, a win’s a win after all. The consensus of opinion amongst the travelling fans on Saturday was that our performance could best be described as ‘disappointing’ and ‘lacklustre’. The feeling amongst the Harlequins fans was that it was their best performance of the season so far. Two very different and opposing views, yet both were correct. A good friend of mine, and a Quins fan to boot, told me that any side shorn of the likes of quality players like Sheridan, Bruno, Schofield, Lund, Hodgson and Robinson would struggle, particularly against what was pretty much a full strength Harlequins side. He felt that with a squad full of international quality players we would undoubtedly be challenging for honours come the end of the season. Of course, I had to agree with him on that point. I could’ve drawn his attention to the fact that if his ‘strong’ team struggled to beat our ‘second string’ then there were likely to be dark days ahead come the end of the season. However, I was my usual polite and diplomatic self, besides which, he’d agreed to put me up for the night!
There are more than enough people out there who will dwell on the negative aspects of the game. Personally, I’d rather look at the positives. Juan Martin Fernandez Lobbe delivered another blistering performance on the flank after replacing the unfortunate David Tait, who left the field with an ankle injury. It was yet another man of the match performance and he is sure to figure highly at the end of season awards for best newcomer. I was also very impressed with the way the younger players took their opportunities: Sean Cox, David Tait, Neil Briggs, Ben Foden and Mike Hills all acquitted themselves admirably. It’s to be hoped that the injuries sustained by Daniel Larrachea and David Tait won’t keep them out of the game too long as they are both valuable members of the squad.
I also had the pleasure of bumping into John Carter at the match; a great guy, friendly, approachable and a real gentleman. He was fresh back from his shoulder reconstruction surgery in America. He told me it was a complicated operation and that he is likely to be out for at least another four to five months. He is, however, very optimistic about his rugby future with Sale Sharks. He’d looked very sharp and fit in the pre-season games and must find his current situation extremely frustrating. Hopefully we’ll see him in the colours before the end of the season.
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