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.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
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.
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