That’s more like it. Bounce back with a win that was somewhat more comfortable than the scoreline suggests and with a first bonus point to boot.
When I arrived at the ground, it was just starting to drizzle. In the time it took to get from the bus and through the turnstile, it was sheeting down. Not a night for running rugby, then, although Reedy did give it a go. Maybe his two tries counter the argument that a downpour means an attritional kick-fest is on the menu.
Yes, yes, there was a lot of kicking (forty-one and forty, respectively – Sale’s average for the three games prior was thirty-two) but, on rewatching the game the next morning, the kicking didn’t seem as excessive as it felt on the night. That’s because Sale were at least trying to mix it up (Forty carries for 301 metres, five line breaks, thirteen defenders beaten, nine offloads and 130 passes). This was by no stretch a forwards-dominated grunt-fest.
I think that bouts of kick-tennis muck up your perception of a game. More than about three (“to you, to me, to you”) and it starts to take on a greater weight in your perception of the game than the actual amount of time spent doing it would warrant. Three such exchanges, each taking up maybe a minute, would account for the extra kicks in this game over the average for the previous three matches, and yet it feels as if they dominated proceedings.
OK, we passed and carried a bit less than against Northampton and Leicester (let’s not mention the other game) but, in case you hadn’t noticed, it was also persisting down for much of the match, which would have had an effect on tactics. As it was, the handling actually looked pretty slick, given the conditions. (Quick check: according to the Prem Rugby stats page, Gloucester only had two scrum feeds, which suggests that we hardly ever knocked on. We had seven feeds since you asked.)
I made a note about fifteen minutes into my re-watch of the first half that Gloucester were not handling the high ball very well. Conversely, all the Sale backs looked supremely comfortable no matter what was put their way. Given that, is it any wonder that Sale would kick more? Attack the opposition’s weaknesses; the only wonder is that Gloucester continued to kick so much…
Don’t get me wrong: I don’t enjoy the kick-tennis stuff. I understand why teams do it, and the results are often obvious, but if I wanted to watch someone hoof a ball down the pitch to the opposition only to have it hoofed back again, I’d watch football. I’m open to the idea mooted by the commentators that a ball kicked from your own 22 should be able to be marked anywhere in the opposition half. It’s already considered a “bad” kick if it comes down in the opposition 22; having to keep it in your own half would be a powerful disincentive to kicking anywhere other than touch.
The game itself started pretty scrappily – understandable, given the weather – but settled down a bit when Gloucester were awarded a penalty, which Barton kicked to give them an early lead. But that was to be their last score for sixty-five minutes as Sale started to exert a grip on the game. A 5-metre line-out and some goal-line pressure eventually led to the ball being shipped wide left for Reedy to aquaplane in for the opening try.
The conversion was difficult, so we didn’t think much of it when it slipped wide, but two howlers from penalties suggested that George had left his kicking boots at home. So, we were half an hour in and it was still only 5–3 when it could have been 13–3 and possibly should have been 11–3.
We were speculating on whether those missed eight points might bite us on the bum when George put up another of his probing high kicks – he definitely had the right boots on for those ones – which Reeves for Gloucester failed to judge properly and spilled. Cue Gus, following up the kick, collecting the loose ball and shipping it off – definitely not forward, no way, no siree – to Reedy who skinned what was left of the Glos defence for try number two. George kicked the conversion this time to set us up for a 12–3 halftime lead: a bit more comfortable than 5–3.
Sale continued to boss the game into the second half. Ten minutes in and we got the welcome return of Ben Curry to the team. Thirty seconds later, he only goes and scores, doesn’t he? From a maul, the ball becomes available a metre or so out from the Glos line and there’s Ben to dive in for the score. Conversion missed again but now it’s 17–3 and we’re one try away from the bonus point.
We had to wait another twenty minutes for it, though. When it came, it provided the perfect example of why I was so excited when news of our signing of Creevy was announced back in the summer.
Rob put through a lovely grubber for Roebuck to chase, forcing Gloucester to carry the ball into touch a couple of metres out. From the line-out and maul, cue Creevy doing Creevy things: i.e. see try line, score try. With the conversion, that took the score to 24–3 with less than ten minutes to go.
Half-way through that, Gloucester were gifted the flukiest of tries when a clearance kick brushed the shirt of an airborne Nye and landed next to Freddie Thomas, who at first seemed unsure what to do, but quickly regained his composure and rumbled over the line for a fortuitous score that they arguably didn’t really deserve. [Edit: I misremembered – the ball went to Atkinson, who looked to have cramps in his legs, so he shipped it off to the said Thomas. (Thanks, Poynters)]
Two highlights for me immediately triggered memories from past games. First, Bedlow dumping Tuisui on his arse produced an immediate flashback to Seabass doing the same to Dallaglio way back in that semi-final. Then Gus holding up an otherwise certain try was a nice reminder of Faf doing exactly that to Danny Care.
I can see I’m going to be banging on about Ernie for the rest of the season. The man is like a terrier: boundless energy and into everything. The equation is simple: EvR + DdP = mayhem2. Long may it continue.
Reedy took his tries well, Roebuck chased kicks and made a nuisance of himself. Sam James did not disgrace himself at full-back and, as I mentioned before, the back three bossed the aerial game.
George may have had an off day from the tee, but the rest of his game looked as if he wanted to send a message to Borthwick that he got the semi-final selection wrong. Whatever you may think of a game dominated by kicking, I suspect that the Gloucester backs will still be having nightmares about the bombs that he peppered them with.
I’ve mentioned Ernie and Dan, but let’s not forget the return of Bev, shoring up the loosehead. He simply has to be a part of England’s plans for the future; as an understudy to Genge, possibly, but as a starter in his own right soon enough.
Which brings me to my player of the match: Agustín Creevy (is it Creeevy or Crevvy? Commentators seem to disagree). The man just exudes stability and competence. If LCD, when he returns, provides as much benefit as Agustín has in this one game, then we’re well set.
I understand Creevy wants to stay in the UK to go into coaching. Sign him up—don’t let him get away.
And so to Bristol away. It’s hard to call this one – we’ve only played them in the league six times in the last twelve years. We’ve won three, lost two and drawn one. The SAMP™ prediction for the last five years is a 20-all draw (there’s no value in the 10-year prediction as it only adds one more game). Watching them against Exeter on Sunday, we need to do what we’ve done pretty effectively against them in the past: stifle their running game. It’s going to be a bit trickier this time out, partly because they’ve started to be a bit more pragmatic about playing for territory and partly because they’ve got Bernhard Janse van Rensburg in the centres. He’s a handful and needs careful watching.
But I think we can do it. I wouldn’t take the fact that they gave Exeter a hard time particularly seriously. I think that’s more the true measure of Exeter at the moment: the results against us and Sarries were, I believe, exceptional and not an indication of where Exeter are, so a nine-point defeat to a team that had gone 108–10 in the previous two home games does not mean that Bristol are some amazing force that’s going to blow us away.
We have their measure; we can do it.
an old grey dog 