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.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
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?
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