I preferred the second-half ref to the one we had in the first half…
After the debacle against Bath, I said,
So, who’s stolen our defence? In two games, we’ve shipped eighty-seven points, including thirteen tries
I am happy to report that it has (mostly) been found again. Yes, folks, the duck’s arse is back…
But first…
Let’s not gloss over the fact that there were two matches on that day, with the women’s team also playing Leicester in the PWR.
Sale Sharks 17 Leicester Tigers 34 [PWR]
It pains me to say this, but I fear the women have taken a big step backwards this season. From what I’ve seen so far, their defence has gone AWOL even more comprehensively than the men’s did. Where last season there was the mellow thwack of shoulder on midriff, this season there’s the vague wafting of a hand in the general direction of an arm.
OK, that’s a bit harsh, but there is definitely something amiss defensively this season. Look at the figures: a points difference of -165 in six games. To be fair, Leicester are nearly as bad — they’ve conceded more points than Sale, but have scored a lot more.
I’m not doubting the commitment or the skill levels in the squad but there’s something amiss this season. I fear for the team — and I mean existentially, not just wondering where the next win is coming from. I think there’s something fundamentally wrong with the structure of women’s rugby; there seems to be an elite club clique; and teams not in that privileged set seem to be left to the wolves. Yes, the system has produced the best women’s international side in the world, but is it sustainable if you ignore the desire elsewhere to contribute to that success?
With a couple of exceptions, the top England players are distributed among a few clubs. How can a new team bring through new talent without a few elite players to attract them and give them something to aspire to? In the absence of England internationals, it’s logical to look abroad for the sort of talent needed to give a new team a bit of a start in life. But, if you do that, you get fined for not fielding enough England-qualified players. But all your EQPs are young, raw and inexperienced.
I despair at times when the authorities seem more interested in paying a man a million quid than helping the women’s game grow. The women’s game needs serious investment: and not just from generous benefactors. A sink-or-swim approach is not helpful when the sport is virtually unknown at the club level. Some concessions have to be made. For example, suspend or relax the EQP requirement for five or six years after a club is first formed: let them get the talent from abroad that can bring on the new generation of EQP girls.
Do something.
But we can do our bit. Everyone who reads this and has a season ticket: you can get into the women’s games for free. If you haven’t been, get down to Heywood Road and cheer them on. Who knows, if enough of us can get the singing going, it may just give them the boost that the men say they get from the crowd noise. And maybe they’ll pull off a couple of shocks this season the way they did last.
And now, back to your scheduled report
So, Leicester. They’ve been looking a bit good this season under the nouveau régime. Five wins from six, including Sarries away had them in second place behind the only team to have beaten them so far, Bath. Given our recent defensive fragility, I was less than hopeful about getting the necessary five points from this match. I was seriously thinking that bonus points would be good.
Two factors countered that gloomy prognosis, though: we had some key players back from injury and the possibility of a “new coach boost” that Horse’s elevation might just provide. If our opponents could go from also-rans to table-toppers with a new coach, could we recover some of our mojo from the same cause? (spoiler alert: yes, we could).
Mind you, the first twenty minutes certainly pushed the gloomy view to the fore as Leicester battered Sale’s line almost continually. I think I saw a statistic of 92% possession and 96% territory about ten minutes or so in.
And yet, and yet, and yet…
There was a glimmer of light: Leicester spent ten minutes camped on our line, battering, battering, shifting the point of attack, battering again, trying everything and getting nowhere. Against the Sale of just one round ago, they’d have probably scored within a minute. This time, though, it took eleven. Then they spent another ten minutes in futile attempts to breach the line, with only a penalty for their efforts. As I said above, the duck’s arse was back.
So there we were, twenty minutes in, having had the square root of bugger-all possession or territory but still only eight points down. Also, seven-one down in penalties conceded. Bev was having a bit of a mare in the scrum (pushing off the wrong foot, apparently) and too many people were hanging around illegally at the breakdown. It was this indiscipline that allowed Leicester that early dominance.
But then Bev sorted out his right from his left, everyone else realised that the ref didn’t like it if you mooched around on the wrong side of the ruck, and we started to get back into the game.
Then George spotted a chance on the right and hoiked up a cross-field kick which Buck — as he would do all afternoon — stuck a big paw up to knock it backwards, recovered the loose ball, spun around and headed for the line. He got pulled up short, but we recycled it to Luke, who shipped it to DDP lurking out on the wing. Dan sort of caught the ball, turned, fell over and tried to drop it but failed and ended up scoring an accidental try. Eight-five down and back in it.
Another penalty put Leicester six points ahead but then Dickie charged forward off the back of a maul on the Leicester 22 to the five-metre line. Gus carried it another couple of metres ahead, then Bev picked up from the ruck, burrowed over and, suddenly, there we were: a point ahead, 12-11, which is how it stayed to the break.
The half-time consensus was that we were like Homer Simpson’s concept of beer: the cause of, and the solution to, all our problems. Indiscipline had led to Leicester having the upper hand, but magnificent defence had stopped them from taking full advantage of it.
And then the second half happened.
I may have mentioned in previous ramblings that one of the things that I envy about teams like Bath and Bristol is that, if they have three tries in the 78th minute, you wouldn’t bet against them getting the bonus point. Conversely, if Sale this season had three tries with thirty minutes to go, I’d still not be confident of them getting the fourth.
So it was doubly pleasing to have the bonus point secured and tied up with a cute little bow less than ten minutes after the restart.
A minute in, Luke burst through the Leicester line from his own 10-metre deep into Tigers’ territory. Outside to DDP, on to Carps and finally to Arron, who went in in the corner.
Five minutes later, we’d set up a series of rucks on the Leicester 5-metre line, when Gus spun it left to George, who handed it on to Rob, who launched an ICBM of a pass out to Arron, who had so much space that he needed a semaphore to communicate. And there we were, not quite forty-seven minutes on the clock and the bonus point was already in the bag.
Next target: deny Leicester anything. That’s not a given with an eleven-point lead and half an hour still to go, but Asher — you know, the England international prop — helped the cause four minutes later with a score that lifted the roof off of the stadium. The delight on not just his face, but on all of his teammates’ faces was worth the admission price.
And the Hyron clearout was legal, as far as I can see. If there was a ruck, it was Hyron that formed it, so he couldn’t have come in from the side.
A couple of minutes later, Tigers’ prop Joe Heyes was sent for a ten-minute rest but that seemed to spark a bit of life into a, frankly, shell-shocked Leicester team. They started to come back into it (as if that’s a surprise to Sale fans) and were rewarded with a try from Steward.
We were still eleven points ahead — 29-18 — but, with twenty-three minutes still to go, the old doubts started to creep in.
With twenty minutes to go, Raffi came on for his first major game in forever. Would he get injured again before the final whistle or would he come through unscathed to fight again? As it happened, he survived and started to show some of the old Raffi, keeping the defence honest around the fringes. It’ll probably be a few games before he’s back to the Raffi we know and love but this was an encouraging cameo.
With fifteen minutes to go, Dickie peeled off another maul to charge over the line completely unchallenged. Add a penalty a few minutes later and Leicester needed three scores just to draw level. Surely the win was in the bag? Also, Leicester needed two more tries to get a bonus point or two out of the game.
With a minute to go, Martin scored their third and, with the restart still to be taken, they must have been thinking that they could get something out of this yet. And, for a moment, it seemed they might but the ball made its way into touch, the ref blew up, and we all went home buzzing.
So, is this the renaissance? Have we turned the corner? Does Twickenham beckon at the end of the season?
I’m going to tentatively suggest that the answer (to the first two questions, at least) is: yes. What we saw out there was Sale: the Sale of the last four or five seasons, the Sale that got to Twickenham, the Sale that went on that charge at the end of last season. So, yes, I’m quietly hopeful that, having recovered our mojo, we can build on it for the rest of the season. I don’t know if this makes sense, but that performance felt right in a way that none of the other games this season (including the wins) have.
Anyway, we’ll have to wait a while to see if we can start a charge up the table as we’re off to the European Champions Cup. To be honest, I’m struggling to find any enthusiasm for this competition since they decided to go with an utterly ridiculous format (and deny us a trip to France for two years in a row — not that I’m bitter at all).
We start with a trip to Glasgow — lovely city, bloody awful stadium — which should test this apparent return to type. Up at the top of the URC, plastic pitch: it’s going to be a challenge. A challenge that I may or may not get to see — I have commitments on Saturday, so can’t go to Glasgow (see also: bloody awful stadium), so, with the competition moving to yet another provider, I’ve got to find somewhere (dog-friendly) that’s showing it. And, even then, does anyone know if highlights/replays will be available anywhere?
For now, though, let’s bask in this seventh consecutive home win against Leicester and dream that the resurgence has begun — in December this year, rather than April.
an old grey dog 
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