It seems odd that the men finishing seventh on thirty-six points is an occasion for much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but the women finishing seventh on thirty-eight points results in the throwing of hats into the air and shouts of “hurrah!”
It’s all a matter of perspective.
Last season, the men finished in the top four for the fourth time in five seasons, so expectations were high. There was also an emotional aspect to it: we knew that it was Rob du Preez’s last season, so we naturally wanted him to go out on a high.
Whereas, at the same point, the women were rooted dead last in the table, and looked aimless. There was certainly talent there, but no glue to bring it all together into a cohesive whole. Something needed to change, or it was going to continue to be the case that Sale was the place other teams came when they needed a win.
So, for the men, the expectation – OK, hope – was for another trip to Twickenham, whereas the women would have had a good season if they gave a good account of themselves and won three or four games.
Annus Horribilis
It’s de rigeur in sporting circles to downplay the effect of injuries and personnel changes on the fortunes of the team. “We’ll own that”, “We weren’t good enough”, “The opposition were terrific”, and so on…
Sod that for a lark. You don’t change the coaching setup and style of play, lose one of the coaches in – shall we say? – interesting circumstances, and then lose the likes of Bev, Asher, both Curries, Dan du Preez and other first-choicers for significant periods, and not suffer a bit of a falloff.
I’m not saying that the injuries and upheavals were solely responsible for the awful season we’ve just had, but they certainly can’t have helped, and could well have been the pebble (boulder?) that caused the avalanche of… dross… that we witnessed over the course of the season.
And, let’s face it, with a few exceptions, it was mostly dross we were served up. As if losing 150-33 overall to Saracens, and blowing leads against Exeter and Bath wasn’t bad enough, for me, the nadir was capitulating to Newcastle at Kingston Park.
On the bright side, we did the double (treble, if you count the ECC) over Harlequins, and we got to the quarter-finals of the Champions’ Cup – including a cracking win at Claremont.
So not completely doom and gloom, just mostly.
There’s really not much else to say, is there? But, given the previous five seasons, I’m prepared to write this one off as a bad dream, a blip, an aberration that will quickly be rectified.
Move on, look forward. Believe.
Annus Mirabilis
Way back last September, I was at the AJMorsoCorp stadium watching Australia play Samoa in the WRWC, trying to follow Sale’s PWRC game down at LuffBruff on Xitter. There were about four minutes to go, and we were 37-28 ahead. Could we do it? Could we hold out? Then the feed stayed quiet for about fifteen minutes… aargh! Remote squeaky bum time. Eventually, the feed came back and, yes, we’d held on. That, for me, was a clear indication that this season was going to be an improvement on last (after all, it already had been!).
The headlines over the summer were all about the signings of Amy Cokayne and Hollie Aitchison. Two big-name England stars coming to a small town in Cheshire: what a coup!
What sort of went under the radar a bit was bringing in Tom Hudson and his team to take over from Rachel Taylor as head coach. After all, he hadn’t set the league alight at Tigers – they’d only won three games, and two of those were against us.
Then came the first home game of the season (Leicester in the PWRC) and a chance to see the new-look team at close quarters and first-hand.
The difference from last season was apparent from the start: they were much more cohesive. Honestly, that was the biggest failing of the season before – the talent was there, but it was fragmented, not working together, less than the sum of its parts. But now, with essentially the same team – what with so many away at the World Cup – they were looking fluid and confident.
I said “essentially” the same team: there was a notable difference that, for me, would become a recurrent theme for the first part of the season. We had this new number 8 who seemed to occupy multiple positions on the field in a sort of quantum superposition that resolved at the point of need. I came away from that game thinking, “Sharifa Kasolo. Remember that name; she’s going to be a big part of what happens this season”.
And from there, they continued to improve: the internationals came back, the confidence remained, the understanding improved.
Top four was never a realistic expectation for this season (although we did have a brief flirtation with it), but we did want some real improvement: three or four wins, some bonus points, not rock bottom…
Well, we got that. Six wins and a draw, nine try-scoring bonus points and three losing bonus points. And that should have been seven wins, had they only put boot to ball, instead of jumper-stuffing down at Bristol.
I was there right at the start, when the crowd was a friend and me, and Jason Robinson in the Birtles, and half a dozen people in the main stand. And now, over a thousand noisy punters cram into Heywood Road, so many of them young girls fired up by what they see and thinking “I could do that”.
It brings tears to an old man’s eyes.
Ad Futurum
So, the women and the men both finished in the same league position, with almost the same number of points, but one season is an abject failure, the other a success to be celebrated.
Both teams have made some significant signings for next season, so I’m expecting much more. More from the men, because they couldn’t go much lower and pride is at stake now; more from the women, because they must now have so much self-belief that they should be able to move mountains.
Believe.
an old grey dog 
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