Called it: “From this point on, fear nobody; least of all Harlequins in two weeks.”
Even with a seven-point lead and less than three minutes to go, I didn’t properly relax until Buck picked up a loose ball and strolled over the line for Sale’s seventh try (count ’em, seven).
You probably know my rule, “two points ahead for every minute remaining”. It’s a useful benchmark, but it doesn’t guarantee a lack of squeaky-bum time as the final whistle approaches.
Case in point: seven minutes to go, fourteen points ahead. We ought to see the game out from here, but what happens if a future Sale legend (temporarily playing for the other lot) bullocks down the line to reduce it to seven points with five to go?
Squeak, squeak…
Things weren’t looking good for the first ten minutes, either. A penalty and a fairly soft try (Forward pass? Obstruction?) saw Quins ten points up after six minutes. Were we going to come unstuck? At that stage, they were two league points behind us; victory would take them above us, and we’d be left with a big hill to climb. Mind you, what made this such a tasty match was that it was as close to a must-win as you could get without mathematically eliminating one of the contestants.
The try seemed to kick Sale awake, though, and we settled into a few minutes of midfield back-and-forth, with Sale starting to put some phases together, before finally being awarded a penalty about thirty metres out, near the left wing. That gave us a line-out about ten metres out. A failed sack by Quins left their defence a bit ragged, allowing Sale to power through and for Dickie to get the touchdown. Rob stepped up for the conversion (are we watching out for George’s knee?) but missed from wide left. Still, on the board and looking to be getting a bit of a grip.
Then, fifteen minutes in, we get the bit that I suspect many Sale fans already have playing on a loop: from wide right, a couple of passes infield to Asher, who crashed through five defenders like a bull through a china shop, leaving as much devastation in his wake.
Even better – as enjoyable as it was in isolation – Asher’s run was directly responsible for Tom Curry’s try. From the ruck, we sent the ball quickly right, then as quickly back in to George, who spotted TC cutting the perfect line against a Quins’ defence that was still picking up the bits of auntie’s favourite teapot. With the conversion, we were now ahead by two points.
Quins regained the lead about five minutes later with some neat interchanging between Green and Murley, who scored wide left. Fifteen-twelve and the game was turning into a right old ding-dong.
Half an hour in, Reedy fielded a box kick, set off and got the ball out to Rob near the touchline. Then we got an astonishing few moments of bobbles and offloads, during which everyone apart from the players and officials assumed that it must have gone into touch. Play carried on, though, and Sale once again spun the ball across the field. Back in to Rob, to J-L, to Dickie, to—
Look, I’m not one for joining in on hype trains. I don’t see why we can’t simply recognise a prodigious talent without treating them like they’re the second coming: “he’s not the messiah, he’s a very talented boy”.
I don’t want to jinx his future with some sort of reporter’s curse, but, blyddi Nora, twice in fifteen minutes? Not so much brushing defenders aside this time, as dragging Green along as if he’s the piece of cloth in your waistband in a game of tag rugby. Similar to Buck dragging Murray when he scored against Wales, Asher just powered through: “ain’t no one gonna stop me now”…
The ref wanted to check that touchline incident, and, seriously, you have to watch it. The ball went through four pairs of hands – J-L, Carps, Hill, and Rob – all within a metre of the touchline, yet it never went out. You can’t fault this game for its highlights reel.
And, as if that wasn’t enough, a few minutes later, Asher turned provider, popping up the pass for Tom Curry’s second try. Despite getting smacked by two defenders, he still managed to twist his body and ground the ball for the bonus-point score.
And let’s not forget that that score came directly from a penalty line-out after Fordy had cleared the ball some sixty metres downfield, chased by Rob and Dickie, of all people. How he had the energy for that is a testament to his commitment to the cause.
Half-time and, somehow, we’ve got a bonus point and an eleven-point lead. Surely we couldn’t f—
Could we?
It is said among the wise that, when trailing by more than a few, it is important to get the next score. Among the truly wise, however, it is whispered that, when you’ve got a decent lead, getting the next score is even better. “Kick ’em when they’re down” is how this rule is usually summarised.
Two minutes after the restart, we had a close-range line-out. Bish-bosh and a couple of phases later, Jonny Hill scored try number five to put us sixteen points ahead. Then, ten minutes later, Jean-Luc went over to make it a three-score lead. We must be home and dry, surely? Three converted tries just to draw level, twenty-five minutes to go? Even Quins couldn’t…
Yeah, right. Twenty minutes and two converted tries later, we’re in the situation I described at the top of this screed: desperately defending against a Quins side who’d got their tails not only up but wagging furiously.
But, then, they were just outside their own twenty-two, looking to try to march downfield. An ill-advised offload went to ground, and Buck was there to scoop it up and run in under the posts.
That put the win beyond them, but there was still a second bonus point to go for. And, to their credit, they tried, but, eventually, Sale’s defence forced the penalty and the game was over. Job done, points in the bag, bring on Sarries.
Several times over the past few months, I have expressed my disdain for what I call ‘basketball rugby’: a defence-optional, take-it-in-turns-to-score form that seems to appeal to those who think that try-scoring is the be-all and end-all of the game. It’s a bit like T20 cricket: the match is won by whoever can bludgeon the most sixes. In both cases, the subtleties and nuances of the contest can be lost in the desire for more spectacle.
This may have led some to believe that I prefer a more dour, midfield-battle style of rugby. Not so: I love a try-fest as much as anyone, but it needs to come from a true contest. The tries need to be earned.
And this game is, I think, a perfect illustration of what I mean. Eleven tries, all of which had to be earned by negating an efficient defence. You could argue that Quins’ first try came after an obstruction, but they had still built to the point of giving themselves a chance. Even Buck’s try came about because of the pressure that Sale put on a desperate Quins team.
We had tries from good handling stretching defences, and tries from simple bullying, but, in each case, the defence had to be beaten, not simply walked through.
So, yes, I do enjoy seeing lots of tries, but I can also appreciate it when tries are denied by sterling defensive work, when two teams have to work hard to break the other down. That’s all I want: a full-on, no-holds-barred contest.
Where do you start on the plaudits? The entire pack were immense, including the subs. I’m going to single out Asher because, although Dickie had already put us on the board, Asher’s demolition of five defensive players leading to Tom’s try seemed to mark the point where the tide turned strongly in our favour.
But then, I can’t leave out Dickie putting in another seventy-five minute shift, Jonny Hill having one of his best games this season, Mr. Granite (©Austin Healey), Tom Curry, just being Tom Curry. And then there’s Ernie, and J-L, and, and…
The whole bloody lot of them.
Fordy got the player of the match award, although it could (should?) have gone to one of the forwards. The backs did a lot of running about and put together lots of phases. There’s been a bit of sea-change there: where, before, we rarely went more than three or four phases before putting up a box-kick, now we seem to be keeping hold of it a bit more and trying to carry the ball forward, rather than relying on Buck or Reedy to to chase it. Maybe it was all that running from the backs that gave the forwards lots of little opportunities to grab a quick breather, reset and go again and again and again.
As I write, round 14 is complete and we are fourth, two points off second and yet to play the two teams above us, as well as the team just behind us. Three good wins over the next three rounds and we’ll be second with one game to play, regardless of how the others do. For once, a home semi-final is in our own hands; we have no need for other results to go our way.
As things stand, we need another nineteen points to guarantee second. Assuming wins against Bristol and Leicester, they could only get a maximum of seventeen points from their remaining games. They are both two ahead of us, so with our better win count, nineteen puts us second.
And that’s the most pessimistic reading: Briz, Tigers and Sarries all have to play Bath in the run-up, and don’t assume that Saints or Harlequins are going to roll over. In fact, Gloucester arguably provide the bigger challenge: their last four games are against the four teams below them. Even if they get maximum points, though, we only need seventeen to keep them at bay. And all that’s just to get a home semi; we’re even better placed for a top-four finish.
And, yes, I am assuming a lot, and I’m not minimising the scale of the task ahead. We’ve just won three on the bounce, and we need to win another four, with at least two bonus points. Last year, we won the last five games of the run-in. There’s no reason we can’t win these last four.
an old grey dog 