Cock-ups and Muscles

Just got back from Dublin’s fair city where Wales provided the cock-ups and Ireland supplied the muscles.  It was hard to call it a match as the sides were a long way far from being evenly matched. Before the match, we assembled in various bars arguing with the Irish about why our side was going to lose. At least we won that argument! There seems to be something in both the Irish and Welsh psyches that hates the tag of favourites. Still rugby fans prefer to talk than scrap unlike our round ball counterparts.

We decided to walk to the ground from a bar in Lower Baggot Street (after some light refreshment) since there was a break in the rain. “Sure it will only take 25 minutes,” we were told. Well after 25 minutes we had reached the ground but we then had to follow ‘the red route’ that started by taking us further away from the ground before circling around behind it as if were trying to creep up on it. 8 flights of stairs later we had reached a concourse feeling slightly out of breath. From there we found our staircase and then we were faced with what looked like the North face of the Eiger. We were in row NN and we were starting at row F. I was puffing like Ivor the Engine and wishing that I had not drunk quite so much Guinness by the time I reached my seat. It had taken almost an hour to get there and no sooner had I sat down to catch my breath than the anthems started. My contribution to the Welsh cause was somewhat truncated by my lack of breath so it could easily be down to me that we lost.

In all honesty I didn’t really enjoy the game. It was plain from quite an early stage that Ireland were going to do a Munster on Wales and totally stifle any plans that we might have had. Sexton played the O’Gara role to perfection and a series of well directed kicks and flawless goal kicking piled on the pressure. The Irish forwards were well in charge particularly at the breakdown. Their driving maul from the lineout was almost unstoppable. We didn’t have any answers. We just had to sit and take our punishment, even cursing Barnes, the referee, didn’t make us feel any better.

The post mortem clasping a remedial pint of Guinness was conducted accompanied by England crushing Scotland on a big screen and was a desultory affair.  

So what went wrong? As a team we seem to lack hwyl which was a theme of the previous weekend too. The players do not seem to be enjoying playing this season and you wonder whether all that wrangling in Welsh rugby is having an effect on morale no matter how much the team management want to deny it. The other thing that is happening is that the regional combinations, that were a feature of the successful Welsh teams, are gradually disappearing as players move outside Wales. This time last year Sam Warburton was relieved of the captaincy to allow him to concentrate on his own game. Now he looks like he needs more rugby but of course he hasn’t got a team to play for at the moment. I certainly wouldn’t single him out as the cause for Saturday’s debacle. Nobody really came out of the game with an enhanced reputation and if you were picking a Lions squad on the basis of the first couple of weekends there wouldn’t be too many Scots and Welshmen on the teamsheet.

I suppose it would be easy to go overboard about this defeat and we should remember that the first half wasn’t quite as bad as the first half against Ireland last season and we went on to be champions. I fear that that may be beyond us this season but we could still win at least 2 of our remaining fixtures if we could rediscover our zest. It’s time for our senior players to come to the fore and lead us out our depression.

As always in Dublin, we had a great weekend with plenty of fun and the Irish were as hospitable as ever - apart from 2 hours on Saturday afternoon. It puts me in mind of the quote from 19th century America: “…..well apart from that, how did you enjoy the play Mrs. Lincoln?”