I had various options for this report running through my head in the week leading up to the game. From bleakly catastrophic to unexpectedly euphoric, anything seemed possible. In the end, heart-burstingly proud probably sums it up best.
It’s a rum do when a nice weekend break can leave you nearly hating Fairytale of New York. Not the original, obviously, just the cheap, knock-off copies: the ones that think it should be a lullaby, that get the words wrong(!) or are in the wrong time signature (Huh? – ed). When you’ve heard the nth busker committing grievous musical harm on an innocent little ditty, it gets a bit wearing.
It’s the price you pay, I suppose for being in a city that feels the need to advertise its genuinosity bona fides to the visiting oiks. London’s the same (‘cor blimey, luvaduck, guv, it’s a bit taters, innit?’) and I daresay Paris, Berlin, New York and so on all feel the need to give visitors what they think they want. Me, I just want good company and copious Guinness with a good game of rugby as an added bonus.
And that’s what I got, so all’s good.
It is a well-established truth that European trips are often a cracking weekend spoiled by a game of rugby in the middle. Not this time, though.
It was always going to be a tricky selection decision, with a six-day turnaround following the Stade Français game and another six days before a crucial home Premiership match against Saracens. So, it didn’t surprise me to see a team without Manu, Ford, Creevy, LCD or Ben. Of the six front-row forwards, four were twenty-three or under…
For what it’s worth, I thought it a reasonable selection and sensible in that it kept our ‘big guns’ in cotton wool for Friday. And I’m sure Alex is relieved to know that I agree with him…
My only doubt, I suppose, would be that, if we did get pasted, could that undermine the confidence of the less experienced players? In the end, that doubt was moot, since they participated in giving a large fraction of the Irish national team a bit of a scare – and that can only be good for their confidence (but don’t get cocky).
We had a good chat in the pub pre-match with a couple of Leinster supporters: they were interested in our team selection and wanted to know who to look out for amongst our ‘seconds’. I told him to watch out especially for our replacement tighthead; on reflection after the game, I could have suggested our replacement loosehead as well…
During the day, I had worked myself up to the point where, on the bus to the ground, I just wanted it to be all over and be heading back to the city, whatever the result. But then, all of a sudden, we’re in our seats behind the posts and we’re off.
To be honest, the game remains a bit of a blur, even after watching the highlights. And, no, that’s not down to the Guinness.
Not entirely down to the Guinness…
It was clear from the outset that Sale were not there to give Leinster some target practice. Far from it: despite it being obvious that they had a monumental task ahead of them, they were undoubtedly there to make a statement.
And I think that took Leinster by surprise. All head coaches will tell you that there are ‘no easy games’, that ‘they’re a good side’ and all the other approved phrases designed to hide complacency. No coach of a top European side is going to say, ‘Well, they’re a bit rubbish, really, and we’re expecting an absolute try-fest’ even if they are up against Old Boghamptonians over-65 2nd XV (‘Can we have a five-minute break at twenty minutes? Some of our players have weak bladders’…).
I suspect that Leinster had allowed a bit of the hype to affect them early on and so were slightly unprepared for the ferocity with which Sale asserted their presence. Sale even came close to getting an early try in the third minute, when Veianu was illegally tackled in front of the posts by Henshaw, who was sent for a ten-minute rest for his effort. From our vantage point a hundred and twenty metres away, there was a definite case for a penalty try, but the officials claimed that there was cover, so we had to settle for the three.
We then had an exchange of penalties so, at the halfway point Sale were still three points up— no, make that eight. A deft kick-through by Raffi sat up nicely in exactly the same way as Roebuck’s the week before didn’t. With Leinster’s defence scrambling to turn, Rob gathered the ball and passed out to Connor Doc who ran in under the posts. With the conversion, we now had a ten-point lead and were looking good for it. For all their vaunted prowess, Leinster were looking a bit shell-shocked.
Frawley pulled back another three points but, with half-time approaching, we were starting to wonder if there was, just maybe, an upset on the books. That dream was effectively squashed when Harper was binned for collapsing the scrum, having already been penalised a couple of times during the half. From the highlights, it looked to me as if it was Porter who went down, but it’s hard to tell clearly.
Anyway, that was the signal for Leinster to mount an all-out attack on the Sale line, which was rewarded on the stroke of half-time when van der Flier dived over for the try. It wasn’t converted, so Sale went into the break with a two-point lead. As I said at the time: a half-time lead at Leinster? That’ll do me; whatever else happens, I can go home happy.
‘Whatever else happened’ was that Leinster obviously got a rocket up their collective bums at half-time because they came out flying and punished us with another try before the yellow had run out. You could argue for a forward pass but, honestly, it was one of those that’s given as often as it’s not.
When Harper was binned, I made a prediction that he would take no further part in the game; partly because the ref seemed to have taken against him and partly because he would probably have been replaced five minutes later, anyway. So I was feeling a bit smug when Asher came on at the end of the binning and I was also thinking back to my earlier advice to the Leinster fan when pretty much the first thing Asher did was get a penalty against Porter in his first scrum.
But, over the next twenty-five minutes, Leinster turned the screw and scored three more tries to seal the match and take a bonus point with it.
Twenty-four points behind with ten minutes to go: we could have said that we’d made a good showing, they were too good in the end, head’s up lads, Sarries next.
But we didn’t. We said, ‘We’re not having that’, Reedy shot off down the left touchline, kicked ahead…
… And got taken out by a late hit from Keenan. Off you go, Hugo. Kick to the corner, and there’s TT grounding it from the maul. A good conversion by Rob and that’s seven knocked off the points difference.
And then, just like that, we’re marking time as the clock winds down towards eighty minutes. There’s a bit of a break in play for a Leinster injury, which results in Ngatai going off. With no replacements left, Leinster were down to thirteen with a minute on the clock. Play resumes and Sale manage to get the ball in their own 22. We could have kicked it dead but, no, we’re here to make a statement. A deft pass from Asher (of course) and the ball made its way to Arron, who turned on the afterburners and skinned the pride of Ireland to take play to the Leinster 22. The cover was just arriving, but there was Tom Curtis to receive the pass and take the glory.
A Leinster fan behind us tried the old ‘well, it was fifteen against thirteen’ ploy to minimise the achievement. Yeah, because no team has ever gone down to thirteen men with a minute to go and not conceded a length-of-the-pitch score. Oh, yes, and why was it thirteen and not fourteen?
Back at the pub, another supporter was more generous: on spotting my shirt, he walked over and said, ‘That was your second team?’
I doubt that anyone was surprised that Leinster won that match but I’ll bet that there were many – not Sale supporters – who were mildly taken aback at the way Sale took the game to them. Yes, there was a twenty-five-minute or so period in the second half where Sale were completely under the cosh, but they came back, battled on and were justly rewarded. In the words of Captain Jason Nesmith, ‘Never give up; never surrender’.
I think we made a lot of people sit up and take notice of what’s happening at this club.
All I want to say in conclusion is that I came away from that game feeling immensely proud of the team from 1 to 23; everyone played their part in a great performance. I do want to single out one player, though: Tumy Onasanya. I don’t know how many first-team appearances he’s had – not many, I suspect – but played his part like a pro. Anything Asher can do, so can I, seemed to be his mantra. To have two young lads propping against one of the top teams in Europe and not giving an inch is one hell of an achievement.
And so we move on, back to the Premiership and a big one to end the first half of the season: Saracens.
We have a pretty good recent record against them: we’ve won three of the last five Premiership meetings. The good news is that most of the probable starters who played last week are fit; the bad news is: except Raffi. Raffi’s now out for another four to six weeks – somebody up there really doesn’t like him – and Bev’s injury is worse than we at first thought, so it looks, with SiMac’s injury as well, as if Ross is going to have to reproduce his heroics of a few seasons back. Or maybe Asher will be asked to move across, which should please the England coaches.
This is much too hard to call. The fact that we’ve struggled in games against Northampton, Bath and Falcons is cause for concern. That fact that we still won is heartening. These two Euro games suggest that we’ve got most, if not all, of our mojo back. One fact remains, though: only a five-point win will guarantee keeping the top spot; four points would allow Bath to go ahead if they get five.
Lose and we could feasibly drop to seventh…
SAMP™ has a mixed prediction:
| SAMP-5 | Sale 20 – 18 Saracens |
| SAMP-10 | Sale 19 – 20 Saracens |
Whatever that feeling I had before the Leinster game, it’s going to be ten times worse this week because this one is so much more important.
Take heart from the last two games: we’re rediscovering last season’s form.
an old grey dog 