“Low Lie the Green Fields…” when sheep block the trains…

A funny feeling, really, being in the Millenium Stadium in a sea of red, when you’re a neutral.

As one of the few (very few…) who did not speak in an Irish accent on the day, I felt sorry – momentarily, mind – for the Toulouse players. Neutral ? they’d have snorted, gallic nostrils flaring like a bull at a Portmeirion supply depot. Sacre bleu !

That feeling ebbed away as the Irish singing pulled away at the heart strings. They were never going to lose this one through lack of passion. The last of my sympathies for the embattled French disappeared when Pelous – a player I had credited with some brains – aimed a petulant, school bully type kick at Quinlan’s backside. What Guy Noves felt at that point is hard to imagine. His captain, his most experienced player. He might have saved the yellow card act for something more useful at one of those rucks that Quinlan nobbled so expertly.

My man of the match – Paul O’Connell - back to where he was before the World Cup, as the foundation stone around which a meaningful Lions assault on the Springboks has to be built. He – and Irish rugby, in fact – went AWOL last Autumn, and their form in the 6 Nations was pretty woeful, too. But through it all, the ‘07-08 Munstermen steamed on. Through the so called Group of Death, where they scrapped for their lives against the emerging giants of France, Clermont, booted the fallen giants of Stradey Park into touch, and outdogged Dallaglio and his team. You can’t say they didn’t deserve it !

A last end-of-season rant from a Millenium fan – why oh why do we have to put up with the crassness of Network Rail ? The plain fact is that the authorities would never leave a few thousand rival football fans waiting for trains in this way.

Unfortunately, not enough Frenchmen there on Saturday, or the barricades would have been up…

And to top it all, sheep on the line outside Newport…

The Case for the Defence

With the Grand Slam stashed away, and the ink drying on our Shaun's contract extension, there are plenty of reasons for Welsh fans to be happy. Winners are indisputably grinners.
There are two critical areas that Gatland and Edwards have focussed on to allow the World Cup whipping boys to become the sleek outfit that it became under Ryan Jones during the course of this campaign.
Firstly - intensity. The turning point of the whole 6 Nations was the fact that the pack refused to allow the English to score at the end of that first half at Twickenham. They had taken a fearful hammering, the strains of "Swing Low..." filled the stadium, but Ryan Jones' forwards fronted up. England's failure to score meant that the game was still on, and although the second half will be remembered as one of the great performances. Perhaps not by fans of Ian Balshaw...
Second - and step forward, Mr Edwards - defence. A side that leaked 13 tries in 4 matches in the World Cup gave away only 2 in the 6 Nations campaign. In all those games, in all that intensity, the Welsh side only missed a total of 25 tackles - a 95% completion rate. Each game showed that there was a stategy in place - the fanned out defence against the French, for example, with next to no one committed to rucks, meant that the men in red were impossible to beat on the outside. All this nullified the talents of Clerc and co., who in all honesty never looked like scoring.

Shaun of the Dead...

It's all the motivation you'll ever need...

The Boys and the Black Stuff

In 1916 they took the rubble from the shattered O'Connell Street Post Office and used it to build a new stand at Croke Park, the spiritual home of the Gealic games. No wonder the hapless English got such a scare there last time out.
On the 8th March, 2008, Wales reduced the Irish game plan to rubble, too, as O’Sullivan’s conservative tactics backfired. Although there was only one score in the game (how much would Shane Williams be worth in a football style transfer system right now ?), in truth Wales outplayed the home team.

We travelled - in hope and no little expectation - to seek a win that would give us a most unlikely (and completely unexpected) Triple Crown. The pain of that World Cup exit seemed a long away as we gathered in the maze of bars in downtown Dublin. The Guinness was supped, the Jones/Hook debate debated, then there was more Guinness.

The atmosphere at the ground itself was superb – the huge Welsh faction raised the roof, but was initially quietened by the powerful early Irish drives. We waited for O’Driscoll to be let loose, but still the forwards drove on, clearly out to blow the Welsh away in those early exchanges.

But that was about it from the men in green. As brave as they were in the tackle, O’Sullivan’s men offered little in the way of an attacking threat. Horgan was a fingernail away from scoring in the first half, and the forwards continued to battle, but the influence of Shaun Edwards’ defensive preparations were there for us all to see. It was perhaps epitomised by Ian Gough. In the second half, the pain from a “stinger” to the shoulder brought him to his knees, but then he got up and scrambled back in to the line. Presumably further damage to the shoulder was preferable to facing Edwards in the dressing room afterwards.

In attack we always looked dangerous, the sharp movement of the ball giving the Irish defence plenty of problems. Shane Williams’ try was beautifully created, the play patiently built up with the sort of confidence we so lacked at the World Cup.

And after it all – on the TV screen England’s sad struggle in the rain ended as a bar full of Welshmen sang “Flower of Scotland”.

Oh – and there was more Guinness

England 19 - Wales 26
Little did he know, as he shared a beer of the warm canned variety with a Middle Eastern Welsh rugby afficionado, that he was set to start his coaching career in the Principality off in such a spectacular fashion. He got his mate Shaun a job, and got stuck in. that probably cost him another warm beer or ten.
The jokes about "Ospreylia" rebounded massively as a core of players dug in deep (so deep...) before half time to stop the game becoming a rout, and as the second half developed the collective will of the English failed and the street fighting qualities of Phillipps et al came to the fore.

Cheer up, Gat !

So things are looking up for the Gat (I'd call him "Fat Gat" except it's been done before, plus the fact that I'd be too scared...)
The Blues and Ospreys negotiate their respective groups, giving the Welsh regions continued exposure to the extreme demands of the Heineken.
And both sides delivered away from home - the Blues in the muddy bearpit that is the Memorial Ground, Lyn Jones' multi talented Ospreys at Bourgoin. He will reflect on the fact that the Scarlets' failure to progress is possibly down to the fact that their forwards were simply not up to the task. They need to dig deep in to the coffers to buy in at least 2 core forwards, as the Blues have done with Tito and the Ospreys have with Holah. Far from restricting Gatland's choice by taking up Welsh playing spaces, these players are visibly lifting standards around them and, crucially, bringing a harder edge, a winning edge, to the teams.