Declared the Ed in forthright fashion, “It all just reminded me of a one night stand, fast and furious with plenty of intensity and physicality but when it’s all over you feel just a little bit grubby. “   Faced with the nefarious choice of a one night stand or Tri Nations rugby, most normal males would probably opt for a bit of ruck ‘n’ roll and the one night stand.

Given the abnormal hours some of the games are on at, it would be possible to have the one night stand and take in the game from the Antipodes the next morning if you could stay awake that long. I don’t recall feeling a little grubby after it though I would admit to having the occasional shower, if only to spruce myself up for the following day’s activities.

I agree with the Ed’s analysis of the Tri Nations and echo his lament at the death of the ruck. In its traditional form rucking no longer exists and as the Ed says, unless you give the ball away by knocking on or some such other technical offence then it is virtually impossible to regain possession in pure rucking terms. New Zealand did turn the ball over in this fashion this morning but frustratingly as noted in the Ed’s article on last week’s game, the AB’s got a body or two over top on the blindside of the referee and then stole the ball legitimately. The point being they seem to get away with this where the opposition aren’t.

The games being tailored to match the style of certain teams is the unfortunate conclusion and the AB’s all consuming desire to win a World Cup at all costs is in my opinion impacting on the game to the detriment of other countries and their respective supporters.

In conclusion, the AB’s are a bit like a one night stand, the flames of passion die quickly after the event and as usual it’s the AB’s in peak form now.  But then the World Cup is still a year away and the flames of form are unlikely to stay the course.  The world cup’s several one night stands away for the AB’s, I confidently predict they’ll not last the pace

FINDING KIMBLE

Following on from a busy season and his writing of the revelatory tome the Revelations from Ravenhill, the Reverent Kimble, chairman of the Ulster Rugby Supporters Club has been unearthly quiet. One imagines he is relaxing on his mini Tea Clipper, the Cutty Kimble, on a North West Latitude, off Ballyholme Bay.

The Reverent Kimble or Kimmy to his friends will no doubt be getting his mind in gear, his shoes on the right foot and his thoughts laundered ahead of a busy season in which he will be expected, to plug leaks, organise barbecues and review nights for the supporters, balance the books, balance himself after a few Guinness and of course have time for recreational supporting with the armed wing of the URSC, the second barrier crew.  A busy year ahead for Kimmy then, so no wonder he’s been incommunicado in the off season.

Hang on a minute, that’s my phone ringing, excuse me whilst I answer……..

“Hello?…..hello?….what?…….can’t hear exactly, seems to be waves breaking in the background………Kimble!

Yes…a bit rough…yes…oh!…really…next season?…yeah, yeah…is he really…your kiddin’…sorry!…didn’t get that one…yes, yes…waves breaking over the foredeck…you’ve gotta dash…right, take care…yes, see you in August… Bye!”  

Our perennial chairman should be with us again in the new season, assuming the sea doesn’t reclaim him.

MULLER LITE?

Whilst BJ and the Pienaar sojourn down under on behalf of the Springboks, a former Springbok and the first of UR’s marquee signings has made his appearance in Belfast accompanied by the usual downpours, gusting winds and temperamental weather that generally heralds the arrival of sun kissed Boks to the Province. So where we were having warm weather and short trouser climate, it’s all now a dream as big Johann jetted in and the sun departed southwards. In the brief clip I saw of him I was struck by the fact that I couldn’t find his neck even though I could see his head and shoulders. His chest seemed to disappear up into his head, though this aberration appeared not to affect his spoken English which debunked the myth of him speaking Afrikaans only. Muller Lite he is not and we can now look forward to seeing the second charge of the ‘lite’ brigade when Pedrie Wannenberg jets in this week.

SOUTH AFRICAN BOER V SOUTH AUSTRALIAN BOOR 

The Boer, known to be independent, resourceful, hard and self-sufficient. Skilled in the use of the boot on the rugby field, they would hunt down their opponents and also were able to protect their teammates.

South Australian Boor, known as an uncultured person, who lacks in social graces on the rugby field. With his skippy impersonations and hand signals poking fun at legends of the game on the same pitch as him, one finds Quade Cooper guilty of being the archetypal boor, Aussie style.

Where others praised his innate rugby skill, I found only horror that impressionable young Aussies might copy his comical goose step prior to running at the opposition. If he’s tackled in this mode, it will cause him to fall on his head with potentially grim consequences. No wonder Niall Ronan and Shane Jennings were transfixed when he ran past them, they were probably laughing too hard to tackle him.  As for his cartoon character stance at penalty kicks? Gimme a break, put him in a comic book where he belongs.

The dark side was his hand signals after his try, which appeared to poke fun at O’Driscolls early year’s sign language at try scoring time, a trait he mercifully dropped in double quick time. If Quade Cooper continues this sort of arrogance on the rugby pitch in conjunction with some of his histronics off it, his tenure in the game will be short lived. He is unlikely to ever attain the status of O’Driscoll as one of the game’s modern greats and poking fun at him during a game is unlikely to fuel a rise in status from being one of the games boors. Rugby Boor of the Year. Do you agree?

OPEN THOUGHTS

The Open golf at St. Andrews has raised some uncomfortable and unfortunate thoughts about the participants.

Rory McIlroy – from hero to zero in two days, Rory looks like an overgrown schoolboy and on Friday played like one. He needs a haircut and an image transplant.

Ian Poulter – this man looks like Worzel Gummidge with a golf fashion sponsorship.  Yesterday he sported a lemon jumper with a golf shade to match which Happy Gilmore would have rejected as being too ridiculous. As for the trousers which were supposed to match everything, even John Daly looked understated by comparison.  

Padraig Harrington – was seen sitting in university graduation garb whilst receiving an honorary degree from St. Andrews University,  alongside two of golf’s greats, Tom Watson and Arnold Palmer. Padraig’s two open wins surely paled into insignificance alongside these legends, no wonder he looked a tad uncomfortable.

TDF TAKES LEAF FROM IRB BOOK

Where the IRB have diluted the core skills of the game of rugby union, so the organisers of the Tour De France have sought to nullify the dominance of HTC, the Columbia Pro Cycling Team, in the sprinting category of the race. HTC are an American based team made up mainly of continental cyclists who specialise in winning the bunch sprint finishes that characterise the flat stages of cycling’s Grand Tours. With Britain’s Mark Cavendish as their sprint specialist and finisher of sprint stages the HTC team are the best in the world at organising the train, and dominating the front of the race through increasing the speed at which the peloton travels at towards the finish line. 

This year the competition for the Green Jersey and most points through winning sprint finishes has been between the HTC, Garmin and Lampre teams plus specialist Cervelo sprinter Thor Hushovd. The bunched sprint finishes in this year’s tour have become increasingly frenetic and vicious as the Garmin Transitions team in particular has sought to disrupt the HTC team’s build up to the sprint finish. This has involved the other teams lead out men getting in the face of Columbia’s key lead out man Mark Renshaw and has seen him being elbowed and pushed as they have approached the finish at speeds of up to 40mph. Should say elbows and pushing are nothing new in the hurly burly of sprint finishes. 

This combative approach reached a new nadir last week when Renshaw was leaned on by fellow antipodeans Julian Deans of the Garmin team. Renshaw reacted by head butting Deans 3 times in the shoulder area as the two bikes came perilously close to colliding at high speed. Having seen his sprinter teammate launch himself to the finishing line, Renshaw looked over his shoulder and drifted left towards the barriers impeding Dean’s teammate Tyler Farrar as he tried to compete in the sprint finish.   

With all the pomposity of a French adjudicator condemning Maire Antoinette, the race Commissar declared that after one street level viewing of the videotape, Renshaw had been booted out of the race for behaviour (head butting) that did not belong in the TDF. At first sight this seemed to be a tough sanction but justified.

However when the helicopter shots were viewed it became clear that Renshaw had been leaned on in a dangerous manner by Deans and rather than take his hands of the handlebar at high speed had used his head to shift Deans away from him.

Secondly it became clear that although Renshaw looked left he may not have seen Farrar coming up behind him and had drifted left out of the sprint as most of the lead out men do when their job is done. Beyond that the race organisers had earlier in the week fined two riders a couple of 100 dollars for a punch up at the end of a stage in which one of them threw a wheel at the other.

It is well known that there is ongoing niggle between the two American teams, HTC and Garmin and that this has already spilled over into antagonism in earlier races. The TDF adjudicators have turned a blind eye to this aspect and have instead sought to make the sprints a more open and competitive environment for what they see as the good of the race, thus the extremely heavy handed sanction of expulsion against Renshaw which cannot be appealed. Think Schalk Burger’s lenient eye gouging punishment and the bans handed out later to Attoub and Dupuy for comparison.

Bending the rules and laws to suit a specific agenda of a few influential people may suit your own purposes for now but may well come back to haunt you. A precedent has been set here and a well of ill feeling amongst teams and commentators alike about how Renshaw has been treated in comparison to other riders from other teams is not good for this or any other sport.  Inconsistency of judgement clouded by agendas opens the way for real abuses that do nothing to enhance sport. Just as the IRB has made amendments to the law for short term gains without recourse to the long term health of the sport, so cycling has made in my opinion an error judgement clouded by prejudices against some competitors and their teams.  

You can follow the Tour on ITV 4’s highlights programme at 7pm each night.  Commentators, Messers Liggett & Sherwen are ex tour riders and know their onions from their escallops.

I hadn’t anticipated a stop at McDonald’s in Newry called by the female leadership and the one lane dual carriageway  thereafter which was dominated by a Kingspan lorry loaded with insulation and struggling to power its way into lashing rain and a headwind at a steady if unedifying sub 40mph.    I apologise to the driver for the verbal inanities aimed his way, fortunately he was beyond reasonable listening distance.  Such is life, we made the ferry with a few minutes to spare on the gate closing time and rock n’ rolled our way to Holyhead.

Alive on Arrival

The much anticipated M6 logjam turned out to be rather benign and probably induced a false sense of optimism ahead of the orbital and notoriously gridlocked M25.  I had experienced the old North circular route round London and the dreaded Dartford tunnel in a previous reincarnation as a motorcyclist.

Suitably armed with prior knowledge and armoured with self confidence I entered the M25 only to find myself lapping at a steady 2mph. Four planes took off from a distant Heathrow whilst I struggled to travel a mile, I know Heathrow is busy but this was ridiculous. As I passed a Czech lorry in the next lane and it passed me for the umpteenth time I began to hallucinate that I was filling in a Quality Assurance form on project management.  It was a doddle, literally, from junction 15 to J10 on the M25 and as I entered the A3 for Esher I was beginning to feel like Michael Douglas in Gridlock, ready to shoot someone. Finally with the help of GPS via an IPod we reached our destination, secluded apartments in Kingston on Thames belonging to the brother in law.

Coffee the new addiction?

I once counted 13 coffee shops on Holywood’s main street and Church Road.  That’s just Holywood County Down by the way and since that token effort at categorising the Holywood social experience, there have been more added to that total.

Kingston on Thames was a an altogether new and more  addictive experience with a coffee shop seemingly every other building.   How do these places survive in the coffee shop jungle?   Simple, a cup of coffee that could be categorised as a cup of filter coffee is now known as an Americano with a price tag to match such a grand sounding name.   Coffee is clearly the new addiction, supplanting alcohol which is an old hat addiction reserved for old hats and beards sitting on park benches.

Sporting Injustace

Watched Uruguay v Ghana in a pub nearby on Friday night and marvelled at the injustice of it all, as Ghana were denied a place in the semi finals by yet another hand of cynicism.  I actually learned from this morning’s newspaper that the ball handler was actually calling it the ‘new hand of god’. Not that I was ever enthralled by the original Maradonna ‘hand of god’ explanation, as despite his undoubted skill as a footballer, he simply cheated, rather than display any spiritual or holistic tendencies on the field of sport.

The laws of the game couldn’t be faulted this time but you had to wonder how football can go on tolerating the kind of deed executed by Uruguay. To cap it all the miscreant had the nerve to be paraded round the field of play afterwards on the shoulders of his teammates. So much for sporting tolerance and understanding.

Injustace 2

Kingston has a riverbank which has two sides to it, as most rivers do.  In this instance one side contains motor boats and baroque looking houses with riverside access whilst the other side boasts a public park with a cycle path and shaded paths through leafy woods.  Being of the commoner kind, I found myself on the shaded side gazing wistfully across to the folk on the other bank sitting in the sun at their private tables drinking the afternoon hours away and me marvelling at the injustice of it all.

Still Sunday afternoon in the park and listening to the Kingston Youth Orchestra play Schuman was some compensation especially with a bottle of rose wine and two glasses, one for the missus, it was a pleasant afternoon and a window unto life in on the riverside in Britain.

The Human Apes

I am keen observer of people without the psychological baggage that sometimes accompanies the ‘Dessie Morris’ school of human ape watcher, therefore my observations of my fellow concert attendees is extremely dispassionate and without rancour. For the record, there was the father of a young child with his missus and a female friend, the dad consuming an entire bottle of red wine during the hour and a half long concert and supplementing it with a pint from a nearby pub.

There was the woman and her mother with a child in a pushchair and she smoked some 10 metres or so from the child‘s pram whilst the mother looked after the kid and vice versa.  Nice to see the parents not pass on the smoking game to the kids too early but its little consolation if the parents burn out with cancer. Finally there was the far eastern lady with her dog in tow, who arrived late and sat on the grass atop her shoes which she had taken off and placed under her behind.  Very neat and the affection twixt her and dog was something to behold.

Holocaust Days

The Imperial War Museum in London was the destination on Saturday and not having been to London since the mid 80’s it was ‘fantastic’ to reacquaint myself with the helter skelter of Tube transport, London’s frenetic vehicular transport and rampaging tourist hordes.

The War Museum is peculiarly even handed in its presentation on the two world wars, where one might have expected a more slanted viewpoint since it is the bastion of all things British and Imperial to boot.  It is hard though to escape the utterly depressing scenario it presents on the Holocaust and viewing it in all its unflinching horror, it is difficult not to avoid a certain underwhelming feeling for the German nation and its allies who perpetrated the annihilation of a culture and people.

The numbers of those exterminated are hard to grasp given the enormity and scale of the slaughter, let alone the cruel and callous manner in which human beings where dispatched from this life.  I was relieved to escape into the sunlight after dutifully trawling my way through the Holocaust, it’s origins and it’s disastrous impact on a whole races of people.

These Sandals Weren’t Made for Walking

Following youth proms in the park on Sunday, it was decided after eating out at Strada, an Italian restaurant, it was reckoned that a trip to Hampton Court Palace would make a pleasant Monday.

I don’t like Mondays and after walking 2 mile plus to Hampton Court Palace trying to keep in the shade, I  found the Court Palace dumbed down, as are it turns out, so many other of London’s tourist attractions. Yes I do recall the gravity of museums in my youth and whilst I may not have liked the so called ‘academia’ atmosphere of them, I do appreciate that it required mind and body to be focussed to pick up the desired thirst for information.

Now every tourist attraction seems set up for the lowest common denominator of intelligence with everything spelt out in BIG LETTERS and GRAPHICS TO MATCH.

Hampton Court was home to Henry VIII, the bloke with all the wives as you all might know him and despite the commercialisation of the Hampton Court experience it was difficult if next to impossible to escape the grandeur of the Tudor Court.  There was a huge Dutch influence at the Court , courtesy of William III, whom most Norn Ironers will know as Prince of Orange. What shines through the grandeur and the rampant trivialisation is Henry’s all consuming desire for a successor, i.e. a male, who would be king and carry forth the Tudor dynasty. This finite and all consuming quest for a successor led to destroyed lives, vanquished ambition and ultimately the death of the Tudor dynasty.  Was history the worse for it’s demise I ask?

History, or it’s re-portrayal showed Roman soldiers walking in sandals, trekking for hours and arriving none the worse for the experience. Suitably invigorated I decided I’d take the riverside walk back from Hampton Court. The Thames riverside is undoubtedly a pleasant walking experience with its riverside houses, boats moored and barges jostling for space outside every house. It was hot and the path a good 3 and half miles and by the time a few of those miles had passed under my feet, I’d already stopped 4 or 5 times to empty the grit from my sandals. By the time I’d reached Kingston I was ready for jumping in the Thames to cool off and soothe my aching and by now very dirty feet.  Walking in sandals as Roman soldiers of yore have done may look a great idea on the screen but in practice I think I’ll stick to my guddies for those long riverside strolls through the grit and leafy shadowy pathways.

London Again Does Anyone Speak English Here

Back into London for another visit to the Museums. The train service is good but I wonder why they can’t go a mile without making some announcement or other. If it wasn’t about leaving unattended baggage and how someone will transport your left alone bags away to dispose of them, it was repeated requests to mind jumping on to the platform or this train is going to Shepperton or wherever.  At least that last one was reassuring as you knew you were on the right train for Kingston and not heading west towards Portsmouth.

The tubes were as crowded as I remembered them but you rarely waited more than a few minutes and it didn’t take long to adopt the stare into the distance bored look in response to everyone else’s, stare into the distance bored look.  Eye contact was as scarce as water in the Kalahari. One new innovation is lifts in the tubes to save those long treks up stairs.  However coming into Covent Garden the missus turned left into the stairs whilst almost everyone else run on to another destination, which it transpired were the lifts. It soon transpired why, 193 steps later up a spiral staircase, that the majority of passengers had their heads screwed on and voted with their feet to take a lift.

The architecture and the stonework inside the Natural History Museum is almost as spectacular as is the dumbing down of the exhibits.  In part at least, though it has to be said there were parts of the museum, not the best attended, it must be said, that contained pure science.  Exiting the History museum, we took to the area of the Albert Memorial, a somewhat overblown memorial by Queen Victoria to her husband Prince Albert and were able to take in the Royal Albert Hall, presumably part of her tribute to the late husband and a spectacular architectural edifice.  As I said to Ollie, when you perform in there, you’ll know you’ve made it in whatever performing art you decide to adopt.

Covent Garden is now a giant eatery and tacky clothes market and I had to take in some culture by heading for the National Gallery. Recalling an earlier near death by painting visit to the Gallery, when I tried to take in the whole gallery in one foul visit, I am now far more savvy.  As usual the Van Gogh section is choc a bloc, whilst I was able to study Vermeer and Rembrandts in relative peace, save for the flotillas of Japanese trawling through the gallery. The Japanese do pay the paintings proper respect as befits people who appear to have an insatiable desire to learn about European culture and art, just as ironically western artists of the impressionist era learnt from Japanese woodcut prints.

I wonder how many Japanese visitors realise when looking at the Van Gogh picture of the chair and pipe would realise the awkward angles of drawings are inspired by Japanese prints.
The question remains though can anyone here speak Queen’s English?

Part 2’s when I get home on he 11th night!!

The Ghana/Australia world cup football game featured a clash of heads near the end. While the stricken Ghana player lay bleeding and his team-mate desperately called for help, the game went on. A few minutes later and the bloodied player was being carried from the field of play by stretcher bearers at pace. The hapless fellow probably had one of his most uncomfortable journeys ever, across a football field, bouncing uncontrollably as though in a storm tossed ship rather than a rickety stretcher. The parallels with the Roman gladiator contests and the dragging of dead and wounded combatants from the field of play could not have been more symbolic than at this moment.

Rugby is more gladiatorial than most sports, with the various elements of confrontation, the element of danger in many aspects of the game and the prospect of a contest most of the time. On the pitch there is those little head to head confrontations between players that only the two participants are fully aware of. There is combined contest that is the scrum, at least was before the IRB mucked about, the contest at the line-out where the jumper ably supported by his team-mates contests the catching of the ball and of course there is the head on collisions of car crash proportions involving flesh on flesh.  Throw in the temperament of the contestants and the potential is there to evoke the gladiatorial contest of ancient times. Nobody intentionally goes out to kill of course but there is always that visceral element of danger inherent in bodies slamming into each other in the name of sport. Don’t throw me to the Lions but I like that element of physical confrontation.  No one likes to get hurt of course but injuries are very much part of the game.

When you next watch a rugby match, remind yourself of the primeval instinct that makes humans want to physically blatter each other and for other humans to want to go and watch it. Unless of course the IRB decide that it may be pertinent for the game not to have any parallels with the ancient and combative times of yore. Let’s hope not.

I Created a Frankenstein and I Don’t Like the Results

Meanwhile chief soccer gladiator correspondent, Jim ‘man for all seasons’ Gracey was in bemoaning mood in the Sunday Life. Having attended the opening of the Tollymore outdoor centre, Jim drew parallels twixt zippy outdoor centre and the decaying doom laden edifice that is Windsor Park. He wondered aloud how the IFA couldn’t get their act together and partake of good tidings offered by Nelson ‘creationist’ McCausland and his hardy department of Culture and Arts. Fred Flintstone, aka Raymond Kennedy was prime target for Jim’s trusty darts, citing Fred’s double standards in how he came to power on the back of his predecessor’s globe-trotting before finding out belatedly that globe-trotting on the soccer junket market was all part of the kettle of fish.

As Jim rattled on about the injustice of the blazer’s behaviour, did he ever stop to wonder how these guys gained their kudos and did Jim have any part to play in it.  Why, yes he did, as soccer correspondent  and editor of the Sunday Life’s 13 plus pages (and that’s just the off season), of local soccer he surely had a big hand in creating the dinosaurs that run the local football scene. Why he’s given them the maximum coverage at the expense of other sports. Rugby has by and large ploughed it’s own furrow and continues to flourish in a manner that has little to do with Jim Gracey and the Sunday Life. Perhaps he ought to get another perspective on sport in the province and visit Ravenhill where he just might see some world class sportsmen plying their trade under the Ulster rugby banner. Alternatively stay away, as he might spot something to give further ammunition with his, ‘they have it, why can’t we attitude’. Indeedy, he actually managed to mention how well Ravenhill looked. I don’t think he has visited us yet by the sound of it.

Rorotura Roundabout

Hugh Farrelly’s description of Ireland’s location for the Maori match reminded me of my first ever trip to Northern France on a motorcycle in the late 70’s. The first we were encamped near a small French town whose name now escapes me, but having cooked a meal on our little camping Gaz stoves we decided to sample some local hospitality in the town’s pub/cafe. Imagine our surprise to find the place, (the town that is), locked up at 8 o’clock at night. I had sympathy for Mr. Farrelly and his media colleagues when they went looking for some local hospitality in downtown Rorotura and found only the deadly silence of closed doors and shutters up. Isaac Boss, acting as local Sherpa, joined the Irish press corp from just up the road was able to find the thirsty journos what Hugh generously described as a shebeen. Hugo would surely describe it as a drinking establishment that stayed open later than all the other ones in Rorotura.

Nice piece of bridge building by Isaac with the journos ahead of moving down to the centre of Irish rugby and the media in D4. It was interesting to read the various viewpoints being offered by the various Irish based media following Ireland’s defeat from the jaw’s of victory against the Maori last Friday. Tony Ward was rating Henry’s performance highly, whilst others commended Murphy and so on. Each paper had its own favourites, but for dear old Peter O’Reilly in the Sunday Times, it was faint praise and Andrew Trimble was not exactly top of his hit parade. Hugh Farrelly in the Independent today, by contrast, was fulsome in his comments on the winger.

On Munsterfans the debate raged on the Ireland team selection with Ronan and Jennings getting some hard press from their respective supporters and detractors in equal measure. Oddly the remaining member of Saturday’s back row team, Chris Henry wasn’t mentioned during the debate which was a back handed compliment.  Proxy comments about the back row’s demise at the hands of the accomplished Australians ensured he wasn’t entirely forgotten. I personally hope he has a great game and cements his standing, pardon the pun, in the Ireland squad for the World Cup. He doesn’t deserve any less.

Exploration of a Culinary Diet Less Ordinary

I ruminated last week on Dan’s diet and his attempts to sneak meat behind the backs of the Irish management whilst revealing to most and sundry by twitter, his efforts at culinary deception. I speculated that as a keen barbecuist, the secret of Dan’s pace for such a big chap was down to eating meat! This week I learned he has been quaffing amounts, as yet unspecified, of rhubarb crumble.  In an effort to keep up with him I have eschewed the barbecue for large slices of apple pie. Dewi has offered me helpings of sausage and bacon butties should I put in an appearance at the eagle Bar on Saturday. It is a moot point that this will assist me in my quest to run as fast as Dan Tuohy.

Should point out that big Ed O’D was running as fast as Dan last weekend. In fact Ed was in two places at once for much of the match against the Maori The Kiwi commentators clearly found Tuohy a bit chewy and just settled for O’Donoghue until late on in the game. Should clarify my quest to run as fast as Dan is a long way off my objective in that I am at walking pace, but definitely getting pacey at the walking. Helpful suggestions on how to get me moving faster would be appreciated.

Death of Ruck ‘n Roll

“I have just seen the future of rock ‘n roll and its Bruce Springsteen”, pronounced a music critic away back then when music had melody and rock was real. Well I think I’ve just seen the apparent death of the ruck and it could be real. The Irish have adapted well to the new laws which generally involve stringing your defenders across the pitch and don’t bother to contest a ruck or what now passes for a ruck. One bright shining star in an otherwise gloomy prognosis on the state of the Union game is that Dan Touhy during the AB game, exposed the fallacy that you defend the ruck lightly when he ran over the top and scored a try. This will have had the Southern Hemisphere coaches sitting up and taking notice for the SH players are programmed now to keep running laterally at ruck time towards a defensive station in the line.  What Dan did was cut across that by running straight ahead and hopefully struck a blow for the validity of the ruck in rugby union.

I’m off to London to see the sights, drink in the culture and hopefully return a much more rounded person. Perhaps all the walking I intend to do will make me less round but things may be a little quiet on here from me unless I can get the laptop across in which case I will attempt to update you on my travels on a regular basis.

1. Tap penalties were scrum halves run into a fat lazy prop and are given a lollipop by the ref and another 10metres for being ‘obstructed’. Obvious answer to this iniquity is to deem the ball in play the second it’s tapped.
2. Players who are shown close-up on TV spitting phlegm, it’s a football thing that is rapidly transferring to a sport played by supposed gentlemen. Can’t bear to think of being buried under a pile of bodies on top of spit. Ugh!
3. Lazy runners, mostly fat lazy props who think they’ll be given a fool’s pardon by the ref for being fat and lazy when in fact they are actually getting in the road of real athletes deliberately.
4. The stuffed toy from the pram that is George Hook and his fawning sidekick Tom McGurk. It’s pantomime time on RTE again, I’d almost forgotten what it was like until last Friday. Oddly George wasn’t huffing and puffing as much as usual but McGurk did try with the foot pump to inflate the bauble. The Pope in the middle was more marginalised than usual but odder still it was Conor O’Shea who was supplying the hot air. Can this really be what Minister Ryan wants with his free to air vision of rugby on these shores?
5. Hype – usually applies to a one-off performance from an English player at international level and is usually a kind of evaporating substance which disappears with close inspection and scrutiny. When there is a hype vacuum and the hypists are bereft of an English player to promote they will opt for a player from the GP of foreign extraction usually with names likes Schalk and Carlos. The same vanishing effect occurs when close scrutiny and prolonged hype is applied to said object.
6. Referees who smile a lot and talk away as if minding the kindergarten. They are usually called Tony Spreadbury and key characteristics are an usually clean set of molars, an ability to smile even when the situation is serious, an unshakeable belief that you are absolutely, totally, utterly correct and no amount of talking to me will make me change my mind one iota. The overall impression is one of a sinister wee white shark. I had a close-up vision of Tony once, following the infamous Toulouse game and we informed him as he crossed the car park, of Brennan’s dastardly act. Tony flashed that famous shark smile and you could see his mind tick over a thousand times whilst for once he was unusually reticent.
7. Football chants at a rugby match. – You know who you are, need I say more.
8. Teams who think they are god’s gift to rugby, usually called Stade or Hairsprays and usually cut a pathetic lot when caught red handed doing things they shouldn’t, such as playing with 16 men on the pitch and sticking fingers in players eyes, otherwise known as gouging.
9. IRB law lords who continue to tinker with the rules for their own mostly southern hemisphere agenda.
10. Laws made to be broken such as the put in to the scrum which is supposed to be straight but is in fact more crooked than an Alpine mountain track. A crooked feed to the scrum has all but eliminated the art of hooking. Other examples are the ineffectual policing of the back foot rule. Back foot now means a line drawn, roughly through the middle of the ruck.

Howls of The Dogs at Midnight Fall Silent

At the time of going to print the Rush saga had not reached it’s expected conclusion. Oddly the dogs in the farmyard had been a howling all night as if things were going on we should know about.

Interestingly the two key players, Ulster Rugby and ‘X’ have remained extremely tight lipped since the announcement of the signing way back in February. Were it not for the peripheral forces of media and internet traffic one would never believe anything at all was amiss. In the absence of an affirmative from either of the two main parties even the internet chatter has ground to a vacuous halt. The waiting game has begun, one would suspect ‘X’ is not coming to Ravenhill but sometimes one must expect the unexpected.

A Sunny Afternoon

With the rugby in all but a hiatus ones attention inevitably drifts elsewhere. Imagine a languid afternoon near the River Lagan on a solitary stretch of the Ormeau Embankment opposite the Ozone centre in Ormeau Park. Out on the still waters of the river just short of the McConnell Weir a small pontoon floats, surrounded by a number of high powered inflatables crammed with men in blazers and women in their best boating attire. A woman with a loud hailer and a flag bestrides the pontoon whilst two others lie on it horizontal, attempting to hold on to the octos (8 person rowing boats) manoeuvring for the start of the women’s annual university boat race twixt Queens and Trinity.

Ollie (my son) and me have just arrived to watch the start of the race and are making our way down a gangplank on the bank of the river to the pontoon moored below. As the sun bursts through the haze we can see a very tanned, almost elderly bloke standing on the pontoon with a young women’s arm around his waist and they are smiling towards another women who is attempting to photograph them. A third women stands slightly to the side of the trio looking slightly bored. All the women are sporting sunglasses and wear floral patterned frocks. Not wishing to intrude on this intimate scene, Ollie and myself tiptoe past and make our way to the rail to watch the pony tailed sun-visored amazons in the rowing boats start their race.

Unexpectedly we are distracted by the bored looking women, who is now standing at Ollie’s side and has spotted his Inst rowing jacket. She is enquiring if he was racing this morning.

“I was chucked off the boat yesterday,” replies Ollie, his disconsolation palpable.

“He crashed the boat in practice yesterday afternoon and got the sack,” I informed the women in rather uncharitable fashion and was about to tell her we had purchased 4 tickets to go and watch Ollie race and had then left them unused.

“That’s not ideal,” growled the woman, before our attention was drawn to the boats which suddenly set off, blades flashing in the afternoon sun.

“C’mon Queens,” shrieked the woman, whilst one of her companions behind us yelled, “Queeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeens,”

With a twirl of her floral frock the woman and her companions were gone up the gangplank. As the octos followed by their flotilla of high powered inflatables stormed upriver, she had disappeared into the interior of a big black 4 x 4 which roared off along the embankment in a hail of diesel fumes. A green future could wait whilst the Carolines pursued their quarry up to the regatta enclosure. Sadly I can report that despite such enthusiastic support the Queens women’s eight failed to uphold the honour of the university.

A half hour later and Ollie and myself found ourselves wandering round the small tented enclosure at Queens PE centre. Inside the tent of scattered tables, a band played on doggedly to an audience of approximately 3, whilst a bored looking bar person busied themselves with mundane tasks to while away the time. Escaping this oasis of melancholy, music and sadness, we found ourselves standing at the railings at the side of the river about 30 metres from the tent. A small crowd had gathered in anticipation of the men’s boat race and to our left alongside many empty beer and Magner’s cider bottles, stood 3 casually but expensively dressed youths. A passing motorised inflatable with some officials on board received the finger from one of them and thankfully they left before the race began. Elsewhere various reasonably well dressed types stood around amongst the abandoned bottles of beer and cider and chatted amicably with one another.

Ollie reckons it’s about 2.5miles from the weir to the Queens boat club having rowed it a few times himself and eventually the announcer informed us the boats were off. I timed their appearance at the Ormeau bridge at about 2-3 minutes from when the start was announced. The Queen’s boat led by about two boat lengths, the blades swishing crisply through the water. A round of applause broke out as they passed our by now swollen crowd of 50 plus people.

As the applause died away so the boats were gone round the bend and that was it, for me anyway, a small glimpse in time into another world of boats, blades, crews, octos, dilettantes and of course the Carolines, all floral frocks and obligatory shades, one sunny afternoon in early June. Ollie is still getting over the trauma of being dropped on the eve of the RBAI/MCB showdown, but that is sport. Sometimes your chances are dependent on the wiles and wispy nature of coaches and in this instance a somewhat impetuous rowing master. For the record, after a day doing exams they went on the river for a last practice and Ollie’s boat crashed into another one due to a panicky oarsman. Ollie as cox took the rap as did the cox of another boat in his year who committed some other transgression, them being replaced by two lesser experienced pilots. I hope he doesn’t let it get to him and that he comes back next year, as he has potential but crashing the boat isn’t the best outcome for a cox who wants to do well.

Man in Pink Fails to Stay the Course

The Italian version of Le Tour De France, The Giro D’Italia, finished last week and as usual with anything involving the Italians it has its fair share of flamboyance and exotica. So were the French have the famous Maillot Jaune, the Italians have the leader of the race in a pink jersey. The pink jersey was held for nearly a week by a guy whose name I now forget, but whose jersey wasn’t the only thing pink. His bike was pink, his sunglasses, his helmet, his shoes, in fact just about everything on him was pink bar his suntan on the arms and face. After bravely hanging on to the penultimate stage of the race he eventually succumbed to the might of 2 Italian and a Spanish rider who combined to burn him off on one of the extreme hill stages of the Giro. The pink jersey and only the jersey eventually rested on the shoulders of the Italian star Ivan Basso.

All in pink reminded me of last year’s Tour De France, when an Italian rider took possession of the King of the Mountains jersey which is red polka dot on white. As he consolidated his position as King of the Mountains during the race so the polka dot look extended progressively to his helmet and by the time he had reached the winner’s podium in Paris everything was covered in polka dots. The crowning moment was on the winner’s podium when he appeared with his two young kids whom both sported mini me polka dot jerseys!

Other memorable moments from the Giro featured a time trial over about 12 kilometres which was essentially up a very steep hill and featured one rather elderly mechanic running behind his rider whilst pushing a spare bike up a very steep incline. The poor fella probably succumbed to a heart attack after featuring at the rear wheel of his rider for about a kilometre, because he disappeared off the TV screens as the commentators chortled savagely into their microphones at exertions of it all. Looking forward to the Le tour which starts early July.

That’s it for this week. Hope you enjoyed the little vignette by the Lagan, its all true and despite the good weather, Belfast was quiet when we visited the city centre early on Saturday afternoon. Perhaps the economic situation is taking its toll. The weather is certainly booming as B J Botha continues his safari. If he could let us know when he’s coming back, it will be time for us to get our raincoats out.

He wondered should he go or should he stay,

The team had only one last game to play,

Thought he’d had a Rush of blood to his head,

The thought of playing for Ulster filled him with dread.

Thought the signing for us was very strong,

Through the thick and thin he’d get along,

Then the love of Ulster died in his eyes.

No hearts were broke in two when he said goodbye.

It’s not the last waltz with youse,

2 more years together with the Blues,

He’s not in love with us,

His last waltz was not forever.

It’s all over now, nothing much’s been said,

No tears or an orchestra playing

His last waltz was not forever.

As predicated on the home page of this site with a very large ‘X’ through his battered visage, X won’t be coming to Belfast. I pretty much agree with all that’s been said about him by the editor Mr. Barnes and to have a love torn Romeo, (as is rumoured), let loose on the bright lights of Belfast would be bad for the team.

Memories of Justin H and how his marital strife off the pitch led to a waning influence on it still burn like a warning beacon on overtime. Mind no official word yet but that does nothing to dim the industry of the internet millies on the UAFC messageboard, where earlier in the week someone managed to dredge up a copy of a player’s contract, thankfully minus any names or salaries.

I noticed there may be a psychological test in addition to the usual physical ones if you are signing for Ulster. The questions might go something like this.

Well Mr. “X, how are your abilities in animal husbandry?”

“Xxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx”

“Mr. X, thon isn’t the answer we were looking for and you certainly won’t be allowed a stint looking after the Ulster lamb, let alone meeting the wee lamb!”

“X xxxx xx!”

“That’s enough of that Mr. X, you can pack yer bags and go!”

Goodbye X, hello Ruan

With the Rush to the exit by X, the internet millies were still in overdrive because no sooner than the departure of the X-man looked a grim reality in the minds of some Ulster supporters who were losing the will to live, than another door opened and in walked Ruan Pienaar to general all round applause.

As usual there is always someone who just wants to tinker with your nerves and rattle your cattle cart. Lo and behold 4 pages into the UAFC celebrations, Rudolf appeared to spread aspersions on what had first looked to be a done and dusted deal. Quite why the Sharks can claim we shouldn’t be talking to Pienaar while he’s still their player and we can sign another Shark in the same circumstance without a single word of impropriety being uttered is hard to grasp.

Nevertheless pantomime villain Rudolf is claiming no deal, just to burnish the Ulster folks already fragile and nervous disposition. The proxy war of words and nerves appears to have swept over the head of wee lamb as she did her bit for Ruan and Ulster by pronouncing him very, very cute.

Managers to manage the managers!

When Tony Blair was prime minister, he had an understanding with his chancellor Gordon Brown to let Gordon have a go at being PM. It was no way to run a country and so it proved with Brown being something of a disaster leading the country.

I was reminded of this recently as Ulster Rugby’s flirtation with the transfer market staggers along twixt comedy and tragedy, the rumours persist of Mr. Big back in power in some capacity or other and one of the unsuccessful interviewees for the top job now working in a consultancy basis with UR. It’s no way to run a rugby team and smacks of kids let loose with the reins of power inventing new play things for each other.

I work in an environment where there are more managers than things to manage and half them spend their time making up things to do and forms to fill in for the small number of the personnel who actually do any work. Ulster Rugby is beginning to look like that environment where a small number of people are managed by an army of managers who are now monitoring each other in an effort to look useful and justify their existence.

As excuses go!

Justification was stretched to the outer limits of reality following my expose last week of hecklers whose disruptive behaviour was the lowlight of the FRU awards.

First on the scene of his own crime was none other than Dergman who blamed a certain Belgian Monsieur Stella Artois for his rowdy behaviour. For teetotallers this will be an entirely plausible excuse but for everyone else, Dergman’s attempt at camouflage are as plausible as a redcoat hiding in the grass pretending to be a lizard.

John E King soon weighed in with his pithy explanation along the lines of having flash mobbing in his memory which made him think of Sadie when his memory was jogged by a certain award. JEK has changed his alibi and is blaming Dergman for making him open his mouth. Ha, ha, ha, imagine those pair in the police station.

“It washn’t me orificer, it wuz ‘im made me steal the ball.”

“A right couple of jokers we have ‘ere Sarge!!”

“Right lock them up with a copy of Ballpark’s last blog, that’ll make them change their tune.”

“Are you sure sarge, we may have put them on suicide watch after that!”

Shark sightings of the coast of Ravenhill

As more reports filter in of Sharks coming to Ulster, Ravenhill is preparing for their arrival with a big Shark tank being built up at Newforge and shark cages round the perimeter of the pitch being drafted into the latest design drawings for the next 3 phases of the Ravenhill development. When asked about the imminent arrival of the Sharks the Ulster Rugby spokesperson was suitably cagey.

“Er yes we can confirm there’s one here at the minute, well it’s gone back to south Africa for a bit of a break actually,” when asked if the inquisitor could have a wee look.

“What does it look like? Oh, its about 5’ 10” long and weighs about 95kg and sports a distinctive white and black stripe round its head,” recalled a slightly bemused spokesperson.

“Are there any more sharks coming and are they all the same speices as the one already here?” asked the young lad.

“Em yes, they are a different species, one is long and thin and quite heavy whilst the other is small and thin and lighter than the one already here.”

“When will we be allowed to see these sharks then?”

“Oh about mid August,” replied the by now enthusiastic UR spokesperson, “could I interest you in a season ticket then, there’s the platinum…..”

“What !!!!!!”

Shark tossed about like a penguin!

In a compilation of Schalk Burger’s greatest hits in Super 14, during the warm up to the Super 14 Final yesterday on SKY, there was a little black and white shark that looked more like a penguin being tossed about by a killer whale.

This turned out to be Ulster’s latest reputed signing Ruan Pienaar being taken to the cleaners by Schalk Burger and was a recurring image in the compilation and one that will make Ruan somewhat rueful. It definitely wasn’t the scrum half’s finest few seconds of glory and Ulster supporters will hope that Ulster’s back row, with or without X, offer Ruan much, much more protection than the Sharks back row did during Super 14.

Meanwhile over on Munsterfans, Ruan’s status as a world class player was being hotly disputed by the usual Munsterfans wind up merchants. I’m none the wiser on this particularly technical debate which is all in the mind really and belongs to the realms of perception and the subjective rather than objective.

Suffice to say he is a quality player and if all negotiations are sorted, dusted down and sealed then we can expect to see quality on the pitch in any number of positions next season.

Socks speculation sorted

As I type the Baa Baa’s with X playing at no.8 have confirmed the view that the socks will tell the tale of the tape and reveal where X is headed next season. Well I can confirm the socks are definitely a shade of Cardiff Blue like his colleagues Martyn & Casey. Meanwhile back at the UAFC they were as ever under selling themselves with the revelation that The Belfast Telegraph’s rugby correspondent in his quieter moments, often used the rumours section of the site for inspiration and ‘quelle surprise, exclusives! eek!

That’s it folks, it’s just left for me to wish you all a jolly decent off season though I will be keeping you posted with further exclusives of my own, from the crazy world of Ulcer Rugby, which makes Twin Peaks look normal.

FRU the pint glass!

As the taste of pints lingers on the palette, not to mention the sweet smell of turkey and ham in gravy this fine Sunday morning, I have enough time to dwell on the end of season social swirl that no self respecting rugby tosser like me should miss.

The blue riband event and one for the bow ties, inductions and media photo shoots took place on Thursday night at the Ramada, (I think). Where despite my predictions to the contrary, Chris Henry scooped the major awards like a pelican scooping fish and accumulated a sack of silverware in the process.

Jack Kyle was inducted into the newly created Hall of Fame and is as fine an initiate as you could hope for to this most auspicious of institutions.

For those not connected in the manner of Chairman Kimble of the URSC, it was the alternative awards night on Friday to which we were invariably drawn.

Ably hosted, organised, compered and funded by the FRU’s owner, raconteur Dewi Barnes, this was the event to be seen at. Without a bow tie in sight and stripey shirts banned for this year by Mr. Barnes there were a preponderance of stripey shirts and not a bow tie in sight.

The zelig of the rugby social circuit, Mr. Kimble was in attendance with the trusty Secretary of the URSC Mr. Bill. Amiably quaffing wine and filled with the joys of a new era of perestroika in relations twixt supporters and that bastion of professional sport in Ulster, Ulster Rugby, Mr. Kimble could be seen ruminating in the best social rugby fashion.

The FRU event was this year held in the lofty confines of the 12^th floor Penthouse suite in the Europa, replete with candelabra, manicured tables, fine silverware and the omnipresent bar. FRU stalwarts were represented by HRH RR (that’s Ragin’ Raven, looking rather benign for the night!”), Glynn Commando, (with his underpants on, so he told us!), ole Flat Top, (dressed over the top compared to the rest of us), Dergman, (replete with heckling voice and gasp, stripey shirt!) and John E King, wearing a checkered shirt. (That’s one with vertical and horizontal stripes.) Indeed Mr. Barnes edict that no stripey shirts were to be worn would seemed to have been conspicuously ignored, not the least by himself when close inspection revealed a fine line running top to bottom at approximately 30mm centres on his upper body attire. Proceedings got underway at the bar as you would expect with the bar staff working overtime to keep supply lines running like a well oiled operation Barbarossa. The players were represented by second row duo, messers Tuohy and Mr. Ed. who later justifiably received an award for his services to Ulster Rugby, these last two seasons and a salutary round of applause.

Following an excellent dinner we were joined in the latter stages of dessert by members of the Pigdog crew who appeared to have taxied in from the salubrious realms of Shandon Park golf course. Finally the man (Dewi) stepped right up to the microphone. Well alright, he used his very own voice to announce the opening of the awards presentation. The awards gathered momentum with Andrew Trimble winning the premier player of the season award to Lanzarote for a week, despite it would seem some punters voting early and often in best Norn Iron election tradition. The ceremony was constantly interrupted by heckling from a neighbouring table which caused compere Mr. Barnes to frequently break mid stride and issue a riposte. The culprits were out of sight to me but sounded suspiciously like Dergman and John E king. (Who let them in?).

Indeed Dergman won an auspicious award for finishing so far down the Predictions League, there was speculation he had never participated in the first instance. Mr. Barnes will be updating the site later with the full list of winners and the odd loser. Of note was the worn track in the carpet from Stately Home’s seat up to the stage as he had to rouse himself several times to collect awards and seemed to be never off the winner’s podium. The evergreen Mr. Rab Irwin, Heineken Cup winning prop, received an evergreen award and here I somewhat tarnished my reputation as a know all by failing to recognise said Mr. Irwin, eliciting much derision from Messers Kimble and Bill. Alright, time will not age them and all that, but folk do grow older by a natural process called aging. It happens to the best of us. The evening ended with some social chat and a round of drinks before taking leave of what was an enjoyable event, well organised by the FRU and Mr. Barnes.

In the course of the evening there was much chit chat, some of which will obviously remain sacrosanct, twixt me and my interlocutor. Some conversations and nuggets of information can enter the public domain and I was not surprised to find Dergman is a fan of professional cycle racing like myself though he actually pedals a two wheeler unlike me. In fact if I picked him up right, I understand he plans to pedal some 200km round the Wicklow Mountains. I have cycled these particular hills though I had a 400cc engine under my seat, (Honda 4 for aficos), which made ascending the slopes rather easier than Dergman will find it. I will wish him well and hope he returns safely and in good mental and physical shape.

A rather large Pigdog prop was seated beside me for the latter part of the meal consuming some extra profiteroles that were proffered him. I apologise for not getting his name but he gave me something of a snapshot of rugby in Nova Scotia and Canada in general. It is heartening to hear the game has some roots in the schools there so hopefully from such small seeds there’ll grow a rugby nation in a few years time. There was just time to say goodbye to Mr. Ed and wish him well in his future career at Leinster. He was as ever magnanimity personified about it and I promised to keep an eye on his game in D4. I’ve no doubt he’ll prosper there as will our other exile I. Boss.

Kimbles social tour of the rugby bright lights comes to earth!

Saturday dawned, bright, warm and sunny. The extra warmth generated over these last few days can be almost solely attributed to that arbiter of weather, BJ Botha departing the country. No sooner had his plane soared into the ash laden skies than the clouds cleared, temperatures soared and I have no doubt Durban will degenerate into a stormy windy wet mess on his arrival, The supporters club barbecue was the last lap in the rugby social weekend and did not disappoint. With blue skies, humidity, a green sward out the window of Newforge and an accompanying crack of leather on willow it was time to sample the earthier delights of sausage, chicken and burger. We found a seat beside the wee lamb Goody, as opposed to the Ulster lamb found elsewhere in this blog. The part time owner of the Ulster lamb duly appeared in the company of messers Trimble, Tuohy, Henry and Best though I failed to spot Court who was scheduled to appear. I wrote in my last blog he was the invisible man of Irish rugby but this is ridiculous. TC is not known to like the sun, unlike yer average and cliché Aussie and may have preferred the shade of his veranda.

Being a founder member of FOD’s (That’s fans of Dan as opposed to FOE’s Fans of Ed’s) I thought I should make acquaintance and spent a good few minutes finding out what makes Dan Tuohy tick. With my searching questions I failed miserably to generate any deep resonating nuances in the physiological make–up of the man, but suffice to say he is keen to make acquaintance of the supporters and has time for them. I reminded him that a year ago he was playing for Exeter and in the short space of time since, he now finds himself on the verge of an Ireland cap. A meteoric rise and goes some way to disproving there is an anti Ulster bias in the Ireland management.

Isaac was minus the Ulster lamb but was as effervescent as ever, wearing a big smile, signing autographs, being good with the kids and hiding the disappointment of his departure from Ulster very well. He will be missed and it was a pity a presentation couldn’t have been made on behalf of the supporters to him as he has given us much to celebrate over the years he’s been here. Trimble was informed that he’d won the FRU player of the Year and was suitably impressed, if a little sceptical about the attempt to deny him his week in the sun of Lanzarote.

Holywood Mike made it to the event despite earlier doomed appeals for a lift and he was sunning himself, stripped to the torso. Thankfully Newforge is a secluded place and the neighbours weren’t treated for shock at the sight of Mke’s bare chest. In all 90 souls made it to the BBQ, no doubt encouraged by the sunny weather and at £5 a head, enticed by the low cost of the afternoon. I understand the URSC suffered a bit of a hit here but as I said yesterday, sometimes short term pain can have long term gain. I’m sure the ones that made it to the event weren’t disappointed and will have noted the URSC’s effort.

Chairman Kimble was by yesterday visibly flagging at the hectic pace of socialising having covered a marathon 3 rugby social calendar events in 3 days. Secretary Bill was still smiling and commandeered Dan ‘the man’ Tuohy to pluck the little numbers from the plastic bag for the draw. Wee lamb won a Brian O’Driscoll shirt and was suitably cheered up whilst the rest of our party went home empty handed, partly because I refused to participate in the ballot after last year’s fiasco.

A number of issues made themselves known by dint of repetition this year. They are not connected with anything the players have said I should make clear and indeed the players have been the soul of discretion, which is how it should be. Most talked about subject amongst supporters is Shane Logan and his appointment as CEO. Supporters I’ve talked to expressed their reservations about Shane’s ability and the fact his interview/CV wasn’t all it maybe was made out to be. For my part, I like the way he talks, it’s a positive if somewhat aspirational take on Ulster but after the last few years of negativity from MR re finances and various other issues it’s a welcome change. Whether the end result is much as the CEO forecasts is quite another matter. For my money, wodgey as it is, we are headed up the way, We cannot get much lower of course but the little things that make or break have been identified by the support and hopefully the coaching staff.

For me MR outstayed his welcome and in the end increased the staff resources whilst maintaining a demagogic grip on decision making which ultimately ensured he had no one else to blame except himself because he was king of all he surveyed. I count myself as someone who ‘knew’ MR in the loosest sense of the word and I wouldn’t for one moment wish to dish the dirt on someone who took Ulster Rugby on to a new level. I was surprised at some of the things said about his behaviour. Ultimately if you disenfranchise the supporters you have lost control of the show. MR lost control around the time he let McCall stay on 6 months longer than he should have. That is my opinion but one based I hope, on a reasonable assessment of UR from a supporter point of view. What Shane has done for my money is to raise morale whilst it is important to listen to nuances of what he says and realise that he is limited in what he can actually realise given the task he inherited. For now he will be judged on his ability to make changes and introduce new mood music amongst the support. For now he is succeeding in my opinion with positive signs including the proposed stadium redevelopment which will ensure the close rapport twixt spectator and player will be maintained with terracing all around the pitch.

The Ulster Lamb

There is a renewed twist in the tale of Isaac’s little lamb which you will remember from last week was being cosseted in Hugo’s back garden surrounded by railway sleepers. I am reliably informed, the lamb is in fact the Ulster Lamb and is doing the rounds of the Ulster player’s back gardens. The wee mutton is currently, I understand, residing in our no. 10’s back pastures, (that’s the no.10 with the flair!). What is not clear is if the wee lamb is being groomed as next year’s mascot and if it is, does this spell the end of the trail for Sparky. One does not anticipate a joint mascot as it would be a blow to a bear’s manhood to be seen leading a wee lamb round the pitch or vice versa.

Isaac who was originally thought to be keeping the lamb on a more permanent basis has emphatically denied he was fattening it up to be eaten with his last supper in an Ulster shirt. Indeed it is believed Isaac may have been tending the wee things injuries before passing it to his Ulster colleagues. It is heartening to see the Ulster players taking on this caring project though one wonders how some of them will manage to keep the lamb corralled given their apparent lack of defensive capability. One sidestep and the wee baa baa will be past them and out down the road to freedom.

All tweetness and light on freedom road

Freedom Road made a brief appearance as I recall it on twitter with a picture posted looking remarkably like a section of dual carriageway somewhere near Ballymoney and the accompanying blurb jubilantly claiming this was freedom! I believe it was ‘desperate’ Dan Touhy’s twitter I saw that little gem on, whilst I was browsing my way through the thoughts of chairman Botha. BJ has been laundering his thoughts in squeaky white fashion through the auspices of his twitter and I was heartened by the off pitch leadership he is showing.

Andrew Trimble tweeted to say it was an emotional day he was having, what with Ed, Tim and Issac all leaving. So that’s the golf cancelled BJ tweeted back. If BJ can transfer this kind of hard edged leadership on to the pitch next year then we will not have to worry whether Xavier bothers to turn up or not. One can imagine a player’s huddle on the pitch and Trimble claiming it was an emotional moment, having just dropped the ball. That’s extra buttermilk with your museli tomorrow morning then, responds BJ. In between post season wind downs and wind ups, the players have taken to the golf courses with Marshall giving Trimble a bit of a thrashing in the Castlereagh Hills. All over after 9 holes tweeted a clearly crestfallen Trimble. BJ meanwhile has tweeted to say he’s looking forward to some South African culture. With all due respect to this column’s adopted and favourite player I’m struggling to think of single aspect of SA that could be labelled culture. Answers on a postage stamp please.

Pre Season Optimo

Tales of animal husbandry, animal band aid and caring players is a heartening sign of the team bonding and maturing and gives me cause for optimism for next season. Alright the past season is barely finished and usually optimism builds round about late July, early August. Growing optimism in post season leaves plenty of free time for my bubble to burst early. Nevertheless several clouds are scuttling across an otherwise clear blue sky, with blue being the optimum colour of the moment following clear but unsubstantiated rumours surrounding the imminent transfer of Xavier Rush from the blue of Cardiff to the white of Ulster.

The rumours fuelled apparently in a chip shop, that most combustible of places, are growing in intensity with me having received a friend of a friend type piece of information which makes me think there is some truth in other tibits of information being peddled on the internet. Whilst not entirely washing away my post/pre season optimo it would nevertheless spell out a bad message about Ulster and how they are viewed by other teams where Rush to abandon relocation to the blue skies of Ulster. The message would be that Ulster can be messed about and subsequent negotiations with players, as was already signalled with the Boss fiasco, would be at the entire behest of players with agendas well beyond playing for the team of their choice. We have already seen some players using Ulster as a bargaining tool.

I have just heard that UR confirmed the Rush rumours of abandonment of Ulster blue sklies are untrue. I shall wait until I see him in an Ulster shirt trotting out at Ravenhill before my doubts are finally quelled. That is still the position after this afternoon’s game against Toulon where JW’s exit coincided with Toulon’s collapse.

As BJ Botha tweeted: Last session of the season today done! See all you Ulster supporters next season for a massive one!

TRIAL BY BJ’s THERMOMETER

Walking to Ravenhill last Friday evening in my shirtsleeves seemed to herald the sort of weather BJ Botha appears to crave. Standing in the shadow of the beer tent 10 minutes later and it was increasingly clear that I would have to wait a while longer for the spring warmth and grass enhancing sunshine.

BJ you will recall in an earlier blog complained in his first season of not receiving a healthy dose of vitamin D, in fact it’s a moot point he received any at all given the lashings of rain that were visited on the current saffies when they first arrived here.

Sun giving Vitamin D wasn’t the issue this time for BJ. Instead Andy Trimble’s alleged assertion that, things were rather humid in Edinburgh at an almighty 12 degrees caused BJ to almost choke on his mercury. One assumes Andy was talking weather and not rugby tactics or referee interpretation,

BJ’s obsession with temperature is rather endearingly old school and somewhat colonial as a kind of modern day version of those chaps in Africa rattling on about the heat. This time it’s BJ far from the African soil and sun and feeling the pinch. Nevertheless we expect to see the great man on these shores at the start of next season in time to welcome his good buddy Johann Muller. Will Johan suffer trial by BJ’s thermometer? Let’s hope Mr. Muller brings some sunshine in his back pocket and spreads a little radiant happiness round the hallowed ground with earth moving performances.

HUGO HAD A LITTLE LAMB

Some radiant happiness will be missing next season when the effervescent Isaac Boss or Hugo as he’s affectionately known, moves on to Dublin.

Isaac has a little lamb, its face is white as snow and everywhere that Isaac goes the lamb is sure to follow.

Well not quite as it appears that Isaac is reaching back to his Kiwi farming roots and practising animal husbandry by keeping a lamb in his back garden on behalf of Rory (Best I assume)! Having seen a pic of the lamb, penned in as it is, by railway sleepers and keeping a watching brief on Nagusa operating a rotivator I have to say things in the Boss kingdom are somewhat more the Shires and Lord of the Rings than County Down.

AN EVENING WITH THE ORIGINAL ONE

One found oneself in the company of the URSC Chairman, Mr. Kimble, standing self-consciously amongst the second barrier crew on Friday evening and dragooned into waving a very large flag that resembled a sail nicked from Ballyholme yacht club. As the match wore on some fans were leaving. It’s difficult to keep some people happy these days, they leave when we’re losing and go early when we’re winning. Nevertheless a small gap opened in the sea of spectators in front of us and a bright shiny galvanised object appeared as though it was the parting of the Red Sea.  For a moment Kimble peered at it in metallurgical awe, as if unable to believe his luck before lovingly stroking it.

“The second barrier, he purred as though having a metallic orgasm, “I haven’t seen it in three years”.

“Yes,” I said, rubbing my hands on a very cold piece of steel whilst trying desperately to share the chairman’s enthusiasm for a galvanised safety barrier.

Mr. Kimble was in revealing form, revelling in the warm glow of a new and amiable relationship twixt the URSC and Ulster rugby’s Chief Executive Herr Logler. Perestroika filled the air like wafting perfume, with the chairman revealing the unveiling of the URSC’s player of the year award at some dinner that the riff raff like moi can’t afford to attend.

Herr LOGLER WOULDN’T APPROVE

At a rally of the party faithful recently, Herr Logler, the new man at the head of Ulster Rugby declared that there would henceforth be no more noise made during the taking of penalty kicks at Ravenhill.

“The silence is deafening and definitely intimidating”, thundered Herr Logler to a deafening silence from the assembled throng. They were like kids who are told not to put their hands on a hot plate and experience an unpleasant sensation but do so anyway. So the Ravenhill faithful were particularly uncooperative on Friday as a prolonged buzzing noise that usually indicates a lack of attention in class permeated the night air when the kickers from both sides lined up kicks.

One was drawn into this underworld of inattention when the match drifted into prolonged tedium as Connaught, who had come with the intention of spoiling rather than positive rugby were extinguished and reduced to defensive mediocrity. Even as the players toiled on the field so I was caught up in a conversation on the history of Papillon. Cap’n Grumpy it turns out is a fan of the book and revealed the film as usual doesn’t stick strictly to the written version. Papillon became the subject of academic discussion when I casually mentioned that Simon Danielli replete with new crew cut and beard, looked like an extra from the film Papillon. Kimble was suitably aghast at this lack of attention and scolded volubly.

Herr Logler would not have approved!

THE STRANGE CASE OF THE INVISIBLE PROP

Sherlock himself would surely approve but were on earth has Tom Court gone?  Yes we all know he’s here but it looks like he’s Tom ‘Lucky Lucan’ Court as far as the Irish prop debate goes in the Irish media. The Heineken Semi finals had Irish Scrum Doctors almost everywhere reaching for their version of swine flu tablets to stem reversing Irish scrum fever. The wailing and gnashing of teeth amongst the Irish rugby writers as Munster, Leinster and Connaught scrums were stuck in reverse gear most of the weekend was palpable. Ironically as epitomised by one agin the head on Friday night, the Ulster scrum is in rude health, ably led by BJ Botha but assisted by Tom Court. Now even Mike Ross the 3^rd choice Leinster prop is being touted in the Irish press as going to New Zealand for the June tour.

TC though is the invisible man of Irish prop forwards, I’ve struggled to see his name mentioned and can’t find it written anywhere. Looks as though this June we will have to watch Cian ‘I’m a back row forward’ Healy and Tony ‘perma tan’ Buckley go through the motions of pretending to be props.

I recall the late Jim Davidson commenting on the arrival of Fijian prop Big Joe in a Heineken match in Bourgoin for Ulster.

“This man,” intoned Davidson at half time, “has been brought halfway round the world to scrummage!”  Clearly Joe was not doing what his CV had said it would and though it was a little unfair of JD given the bloke had come from sunny Fiji to sub zero Bourgoin, it nevertheless sums up the primary traditional role in rugby for a front row man – scrummaging!

BLAZERAMA, BLAZERDRAMA

My article on what the URSC have ever done for us in last week’s blog started a blaze of sorts when HRH RR decided to indulge in a little arson by putting torch to paper and demolishing entente cordiale with the URSC. The hire Brigade, in the shape of John E King, arrived and preceded to use rocket fuel to put the fire out. Enter stage left Gary Grousebeater with a mission to tell all and sundry that he didn’t start the blaze and promptly fell foul of Sheriff Dewi who give him a number 2 haircut and precipitated the withdrawal of GG from the FRU website. Just another day in the life of the FRU family.

PAN THE FAN

Fan in the spotlight this week is Glynncommando.

A couple of things you may or may not know about GC.

The name Glynncommando derives from: Glynn and Commando

Glynn – a suburb of Larne featuring a couple of cottages, a rugby club and a couple of very sharp bends.  (At least that’s how it looked the last time i passed through it!)

commando – As in going ‘commando’ with no underpants!  Or…

Commando – unit of special service brigade!

‘Commando’ or ‘commando’ which is it? – you decide!

ITALIAN TOUR GOES DUTCH!

The cycling season’s upon me and I’m glued to the screen, though I found the Italian version of the Le Tour De France coming live from Holland a rather odd experience except it would seem to have been a masterstroke on the part of the marking department given the crowds that the lined the route of the 3 stages.   It was though marred by spectacular peleton crashes and it’s a tribute to the physical and mental toughness of these professional cyclists that they get back on the bike and back into the race.  Highlights for me are the Columbia train which pedals into action near the finish to give their sprinters a boost to the line.

British sprint star Cavendish, whose season has been dogged by bad luck, continued poor form when having sprinted to the stage win in the tour of Romandie gave his critics the two fingers when he crossed the finish line, his team colours in full glare of the media spotlight.  Cavendish was fined, pulled out of the race and apologised profusely if belatedly.  He’s young, brash and confident and sometimes young stars have to grow up quickly in the media spotlight as some of our own rugby superstars have found out.

The Rise of the 3^rd Team

The east awakes, am I witnessing the rise of the 3^rd team? That is the question I am addressing following my attendance at the URSC’s AGM and the season ticket event where I heard Herr Logler outline his plans to be the best, a surefire cover word for world domination!

Most putsches are born in austere surroundings, like a back street Munich beer hall with a plan for supremacy written on the back of a Bavarian beer mat or a goods train way out on the Steppes.  For the rise of the 3^rd team it was the lowly auspices of Newforge country club and a stodgy panelled room full of creaks, groans and cranky air conditioning. Herr Logler’s world domination notes were written on the back of a folded A4 sheet nicked from the photocopier at headquarters.

The IT technology failed to fire but the team of Logler, Humpherler and Herr Glocks were undeterred as they addressed a small but determined band of supporters. This was repeated on Monday evening in the slightly plusher surroundings of the 3^rd team’s headquarters repleat with soft drinks preamble, press gangs and a slide presentation.

Herr Logler charted the proposed ascent of the 3^rd team and outlined how they would be led by the shock troops, a squad of young men featuring wodgey haircuts with names like Jamie and shaven headed blokes with odd looking tattoos called Ryan. They would be supported in the quest for world domination by every man women and child in the province and backed up by the white shirts of the supporters club.

At this point a youngish looking bloke stood up and sang ‘Springtime for Logler and rugby too,’ with everyone joining in the chorus. In outlining his plans Herr Logler indicated that the acceptable face of the 3^rd team’s supporters would be on show and that abuse of the ref’s would no longer be acceptable. The shock troops would be told to relax their shoulders in the vicinity of the referee so as not to intimidate him and for European games the 2^nd barrier crew would be sent behind the toilets so that the referee wouldn’t be turned against the 3^rd team when hearing ‘offside’ chants.

It was the turn of Herr Humphler to address the supporters and in the face of determined questioning he argued that back room staff resources did not need supplementing, citing statistics that proved in his view a minister for defence was unnecessary. Herr Humphler & Herr Glocks took questions from the floor whilst Herr Logler addressed the grand vision of his architect who would turn Ravensspiel into a 15K fortress for you the supporter and with your input, mainly addressing the requirements for more bratwurst vans, beer halls with dining facilities and additional WC’s for the women.

Herr Glocks outlined how the schools would provide the backbone for the senior shock troops though he added darkly that the education system would have to be reformed to allow more rugby coaches in the schools instead of women teachers.

The evening finished with an evangelical rendition of ‘Stand Up for The Ulstermen’ with everyone standing and Shane walking down the line between the assembled supporters saluting wildly. From such humble beginnings springs an unstoppable force…

Well Replied Shine!

On hearing our new Chief Executive’s first  name was Shane I immediately recalled a past cricket test match between England and Australia. Shane Warne was bowling and his acerbic Aussie wicket keeper could be heard over a nearby microphone maintaining a commentary on the bowling.

“Well plied Shine,” the keeper could be heard bawling in his somewhat strangled flinty tones and “awwww! bewooooty mite!”. Wednesday week ago at the AGM our Shine had just gotten into his stride on how well ranked Ulster were in Europe when he was bowled a bouncer by the Ancient Mariner.

“We’re 24^th ranked,” countered the Mariner as Shine on the receiving end, ducked and weaved before attempting a straight bat on it. Shine later acknowledged he would have to stand up for the Ulstermen and take such variable bowling from the supporters in his stride.  He did however repeat the 12^th ranked assertion on Monday evening at the season ticket event without so much as an underarm reply.

The Loss of Boss

(Friends of this column?), will recall Gillian’s unrequited affection for Cillian Willis which I documented last year.  It’s 2010 and Gillian is mentally preparing for the departure of her beloved I. Boss.  It should be made known to all and sundry in the Ulster rugby fraternity that I. Boss has been a great contributor to the much vaunted Newforge Taggers and that his input will be greatly missed on Sunday mornings when he moves on to, no doubt greater things, in D4.  For the record Gillian consoled Cillian recently on his broken wing and wished him a speedy recovery, though I understand she did not see fit to autograph the damaged appendage.

RR abandoning the common people?

I see the Raging Raven or Ragin’ Robin as one poster has bravely christened him, has taken to referring to himself in the 3^rd person as ‘RR’.  BP reckons there could be several explanations for this.  For example he may simply wish to save his lone typing finger by shortening his name to two characters. A more sinister explanation may be that RR has decided to rebrand himself as a HM (Her Majesty) or HRH (His Royal Highness) type figure and will henceforth demand to be called Regal Raven, Royal Raven or Righteous Raven.  I’m sure the great man will be on here like a shot to post that he has not abandoned the minions who hang on his every acerbic statement and Caldwell condemnation and that his love of the common people remains undiminished. The floor is yours RR!

Blazerama causes flood.

Last week the UAFC board had more leaks than the Titanic after hitting an iceberg. Blazerama was just the latest in a long line of alleged messageboard initiates just busting to say their piece on the state of Ulster Rugby in the wake of Matt ‘(I haven’t gone away you know)’ Williams rant on Setanta about UR’s administrative faults. Blazerama was somewhat more direct than most with allegatory type comments about UR’s blazers, those behind the scenes chaps who take the perks but not the brickbats apparently.

Cecil Watson was the biggest target in B’rama’s sights with an allegation about Cecil that cannot be proved or disproved. Cecil was a prominent figure at Malone when I played with the Cregagh Red Sox and for sure he was not the most popular figure in the club. Whether Cecil is guilty of shafting another committee member on the UR blazer train is another matter altogether and a dangerous accusation to make on the net however anonymous you are. As for Matt Williams on Setanta.  I wouldn’t have said it was a rant, probably more of an observation which had a catharitic effect for him after his terminated coaching spell up here.

I hear the sound of breaking glass!

Ulster’s bp win last weekend must have caused a few bottles of Magners to crack up at Magner’s League HQ as the victory reduced the impending showdown with Connaught from hurricane force to the mere whimper category. The broadcasters who had been licking their lips at the thought of showdowns at both ends of the table got their revenge by locating the match on a Friday evening, well before the top of table clashes featuring Munster, the O’s and the other big names in the League. Relief though permeated the season ticket air on Monday night, though McGlocks, ever the pragmatist, declared it wasn’t over yet or words to that effect. Going by that perhaps you should wait till 2 minutes to nine on Friday night to see whether Connaught can rise of the floor and post 100 plus points on Ulster before deciding to purchase your discounted season ticket at the auld house. As one poster on the UAFC pointed out, the way Ulster’s season has gone it’s no wonder he was a pessimist.

What has the URSC ever done for us?

Listening to Chairman Kimble go through the perfunctory business of the URSC Wednesday night week ago, one was reminded of the famous scene from Life of Brian where John Cleese was demanding to know what the Romans had ever done for them. I asked the question to myself at any rate, ‘what has the URSC done for the Ulster supporters?’

Ok they have organised away travel to a few matches. Alright apart from away travel, what else?

Ok they have organised a player of the season award. Alright apart from away travel and a player of the season award, what else?

OK, they have organised an end of season barbecue for the supporters.

Alright apart from away travel, a player of the season award and an end of season barbecue, what else?

OK they have given an Academy play a bursary each year.

Alright apart from away travel, a player of the season award, an end of season barbecue and an Academy player bursary, what else?

They have organised events involving the player’s during the season.

Alright apart from away travel, a player of the season award, an end of season barbecue, an Academy player bursary and events involving the player’s during the season, what else?

Stand Up?

Alright apart from away travel, a player of the season award, an end of season barbecue, an Academy player bursary, events involving the player’s during the season and Stand Up, what else…?

I would admit to having met Chairman Kimble in McDonalds just off a motorway last week and would admit to having discussed such heady issues as the kick off time for next Friday’s Connaught match. I would deny he bought me a double sausage and egg McMuffin meal or even a cup of coffee. I just came up with that list of URSC things they do, off the top of my head!!

As BJ Botha might say, ‘Gimme a break!’

Watching SKY in the run up to the Heiny quarter finals, I was reminded that Ulster Rugby had actually won the competition in 1999.  Not that I’d forgotten of course but it was startling to see it in full technicolour and relive the giddy times in Dublin on a January day when the city was transformed for a brief moment in history into an annexe of Belfast by thousands of Ulster supporters sporting all manner of red and white livery.

It has become an increasingly distant memory, as if the intervening years have conspired to airbrush history and repaint it with a tired old mixture of underachievement, chronic mismanagement and illusions to glory.  The journey down that road of perdition is imbued with brief flickerings of shadowy light as if the Ulster battery somehow found renewable sources of energy in an era when sustainability is keynote.

Ulster Rugby have not embraced sustainability in an all embracing fashion. Rather they have given it a nod but continue to regress in an amateur fashion, preferring to dwell in old time attitudes, utilising old boy connections to the detriment of modern business standards with cronyism a seam of dubious gold being mined for all its worth.  That is the picture being painted via the dogs on the street, bush telegraph and of course that relentless source of ever increasing speculation, the internet messagebard.  As a would be blogger, it is my life blood in the absence of a fly on the wall source, not being present at every single or even one meeting in UR and not knowing Stephen Ferris personally.   One must speculate based on all these sources and mix it all up with a spoonful of experience to tease out a story.  That story is Ulster rugby’s decline and standing are about to hit rock bottom with a potential last place finish in the Magners League, exit from European rugby’s premier competition and repeated rumours of continued nepotism at headquarters.

All this in a season when we actually led the Magner’s League in November time and came within a whisker of European qualification of the knockout stages. Ultimately, as when we won the Celtic cup and then the Celtic League, these have mainly been bursts of illumination in a usually downward trajectory. When people gush on about Connaught and how wonderful they are doing against our fading star, pause for thought and remember Connaught haven’t achieved any of the above competition success nor are they likely to do it this year in the Amlin, however helpful it would be to Ulster. Folk may well rattle on about Connaught not having our resources and indeed they may have a point but resources aren’t the key element that brought success on the pitch in 1999.

The key ingredient way back then was the sense of identity, never better illustrated than by the 20K folk who crammed Ravenhill to its rafters and beyond in a memorable Saturday for the semi final against Stade Francais. The sense of identity which crystallised at Ravenhill and was further enhanced when 48000 plus descended on Lansdowne road for the final has since been diluted and now presents a caricature of the provincialism and little Ulster mentality at its worst. It’s epitomised by the way appointments have been made and in the way UR has and is run.

Brian McLaughlin is a good man and passionate about his rugby and Ulster, no one can doubt that.  Few ships captains ever intentionally ground their boats but many have driven them unto rocks and foundered through inexperience, and incompetence. Right now the Ulster ship is in danger of foundering and some of the blame for that can be attached to Master McLoughlin. In an effort to avoid the dressing room unrest that partly doomed McCall, McGlocks has unfortunately created unease in the squad and caused players to exit either unwillingly or voluntarily due to receiving mixed messages on their future.  The team has been bedevilled by poor selection, dubious tactics on the pitch and a lack of understanding of how the game’s laws have altered leading to indiscretions on the pitch of the daftest kind. For this McGlocks must take some of the blame as he professed not to understand clearly what was happening at the breakdown and this ultimately transferred itself to the players and their on-pitch performance.

It is off the pitch that the most worrying signs have manifested themselves with appointments to head the good ship Ulster that rankle badly given the nature of them and the individuals involved. First the good news though as Kimble reliably informed me last Tuesday that the next phases of ground redevelopment will go ahead as the money is available and that planning permission is being sought to develop the Aquinas end. I wish them well with their planning application as the planners behave like God only less benevolent, less approachable and are truly invisible.

Money seems no object off the pitch in the number of appointments being made to the administration team and one senses a proliferation of managers developing in UR to enable a spreading of the responsibility for what is rapidly assuming a debacle on the pitch. There is no defence coach, nor does it appear to be a priority to get one despite the obvious lack of cohesion in defence. Still we have all manner of suits off the pitch who will no doubt add their tuppence worth when the ship finally hits the rocks. We have gone through 4 coaches in the last 4 years and had a chief executive who posted one of the longest corporate resignations in the history of business.  Even more spectacular is his rumoured return to that business wearing a different suit.  It all adds grist to a busy mill and begs the question are UR serious about business.

I will be attending the URSC’s AGM in the guise of a reporter for the FRU.  I got my press accreditation from Chairman Kimble on Tuesday and though my appearance at this event will be non participatory. I hope others will make clear their unhappiness at the way Ulster is heading as Logie Bear, McGlocks and Dr. Dave will all be there.

On Thursday night I believe there will be another chance to question Logie Bear. Definitely going to this event is my old mate Royster who is sure to fire a few pertinent questions in the direction of Logan and his ever expanding empire of the sun. When Mark McCall once waxed lyrical about Matt McCullough’s potential to become the next O’Driscoll, Royster informed him we wanted him to be the next O’Driscoll NOW! Logan and company can look forward to a few more of these comments which should help engage minds as to the attitude of the supporters. It is important that anyone attending this event should make their feelings on events on the pitch clear and question the direction things are going off it.

Other than attend the above events and ask questions there is little the supporters can do except watch and vent their feelings on the messageboards or as happened on Tuesday night again, leave early.  The war of the words broke out on the UAFC last week with Brigadier Brill, the inaptly named OAWUF heading the charge of the Brill Brigade.  The ‘O’ stands for original by the way as if anyone would have the gall to imitate this individual. Ulster were ‘A’ OK beamed the Brigadier only to be met by a counter charge from the sceptics who are led by the increasingly fraggled Red Hand Hero. Hero’s literary urgings on the messageboard have deteriorated in recent times becoming increasingly hysterical as they have tracked Ulster’s deterioration on the field of play and it’s empire expanded off it.

Last Tuesday night I stood on the Terrace with the Original Kimble, the supporter’s club chairman. He represents all that is nicey about Ulster rugby and their supporters. Increasingly Kimble reminds me of Custer’s last stand as he, the second barrier crew and their flags stand alone, banners bravely fluttering in the wind surrounded by all manner of hostile elements, hypocrites, disillusionists, critics, carpers, castigators and contrary supporters. Kimble and the 2BC flags flutter in the breeze at every positive sign of an Ulster renaissance though the sense of doom gathers momentum with every minute the clock ticks down on the pitch.

They were attacked off the pitch on the UAFC messageboard for chanting offside when in fact they hadn’t a clue about offside, alleged one disgruntled poster. Cap’n Grumpy, Kimble’s side kick and chief chanter repelled this attack almost single fingered by admitting he had in fact perhaps accidentally chanted offside when there wasn’t any.  Disenchantment grows amongst the support, will there be enough fans to fill even one side of the ground when it is refurbished.

I digress, for it is to Ulster Rugby that this blog is addressed and when I saw the old 99 clips I was reminded of the big red hand on the chest that symbolised our sense of identity.  Like that now diminished identity, a smaller red hand now sits in a swirl of a corporate logo, enveloped by a half hearted attempt to move with the times. We have conspicuously failed to move forward in other areas and the failure to spend however costly short term it was in keeping a professional and forward thinking coach has proved to be disastrous in the long term.  Solomons offered us a coherent approach to professional rugby and a consistency in the coaching arena which we turned down and turned inwards preferring world domination to begin and end at Ballynahinch rather than Ballymore and beyond.  It is has come back to bite us big style and there is little to encourage as we continue to pull along the coat tails of 1999 and our European cup win. If there is one thing to be taken from that event it would be to rediscover the true meaning of our identity and embrace the big red hand on the chest.

As I type Super 14 is on the telly and two sharks reputedly leaving the shark tank for the Ravenhill bare pit are playing.  Pienaar is doing a decent impersonation of a scrum half and if he has signed for us will be a good signing.  What is not clear is his and other signings dependent on Heineken cup qualification? If it is it will only add to the sense of calamity surrounding Ulster and its team. Super 14 is sanitised rugby where you don’t win the ball until the other team makes a mistake or they score. I wrote about this uniformity in my last blog and now note that denizen of rugby writers Hugh Farrelly has echoed my sentiments.  (Just thought I’d mention it!)

See you all at the AGM.

As BJ Botha might say, ‘keep the beard up!’

New Labour proved to be just another load of old hash packaged and dressed up to look as if they were the white the Tories blue could never be with all their old sleazy habits and predilections for backhanders and a taste for being on the make at someone else’s expense. New Labour in the long term proved to be even more adept at the sleaze than their opponents they once castigated.

I know nothing about D-Ream, they were just another pop group with a catchy song that had been hijacked by politicians and Brian Cox their keyboard man was just another pop group face.

Dr. Brian Cox could sing a different tune having achieved a professorship. He is currently regaling audiences on BBC 2 with his take on the solar system. Cox may well present the sexed up face of television but his background, having worked on the Hadron Collider means he is equally well versed in his subject which is the physics of astronomy, the atmospheres, the gravitational pull of planets, the substances of moons and the power of the sun. No pun intended, but it is enlightening and presented in an enlightened manner which makes a heavy and sometimes dense subject matter seem enjoyable and interesting.

Whilst for many, things ultimately got worse under New Labour, for Dr. Cox things only got better. He has his professorship and his views which have now diverged from the New Labour ideology he once leant his name to. Time is a wonderful thing in determining the substance of the solar system just as it is in evaluating the reality of ideology and political manifestations.

There is no stigma in admitting to watching a programme of the physics of astronomy and these days my TV viewing is tinged with all manner of ascending embarrassments ranging from Nordic cross country ski sprints to swordfish fishermen and battling French pastry chefs. Well above this compendium of specialised and uniquely individual events lies the ultimate embarrassment of watching Ulster Rugby on TV.

French pastry chefs competing for the Meullier Olivier award, the chance to become a MOF and wear the cherished red white and blue collar on the chefs uniform is like Top 14, a uniquely French event. Where else, bar the Oscars would you see the Chairman of the MOF judging team go all quivering upper lip as he announced the newest recipients of the Olivier awards.

Mais oui, after 3 solid days of pastry chef labour and the ornate construction of huge sugar coated wedding cakes featuring waltzing couples adorned with intricate sugar coated flower arrangements, monsieur was close to tears as he faced the cameras and announced the winners of the competition. After 3 days of terror, stress, sweat and tears during which one competitor and a judges favourite, saw his labour of love crash to the kitchen floor reducing the watching judges to yet more tears, the end was a mixture of frustration for the losers and swearing to never compete again to pride and glowing joy for the winners. It was almost like sport and made for gripping television as the men from the boulangerie and patisseries that dot France came together in Lyon to do battle for an award which set them up as elite amongst pastry chefs for the rest of their life.

As the chair of the MOF’s explained they were looking to see if the recipient of the award would be able to operate at a consistently high level as a MOF and not just produce a one off piece on the day. Thus the competitor who dropped his highly ornate cake was awarded the MOF award because he demonstrated a consistently high quality in his presentations throughout the 3 days. That is part of the unique quality of this competition.

Swordfish fishing is at the other end of the delicatessen spectrum with the overriding concern commercial rather than skill and finesse. Long lines of fish hooks reel out across the Grand Banks off Newfoundland as captains try to maximise their catch and make enough money to cover the cost of operating a boat and hiring a crew. The welfare and well being of the swordfish comes a distinct second as they are unceremoniously fish hooked and hauled gasping unto deck to be beheaded and stored in ice. It is gripping television as the caprices of the weather and the power of the sea operate like vengeful old men. It is in these waters, off the Grand Banks that the film ‘The Perfect Storm’ is based and where a storm can brew within hours making a benign sea turn into a churning hell causing even the most grizzled skipper to manifest fear.

I was going to write about my ultimate embarrassments and grovelling admission that I watch Ireland and Ulster rugby on TV. The subsequent paragraphs have been left blank to let my true thoughts on the subject show through in a transparent and forthright manner:

“

.”

If you watch rugby league on TV these days I would imagine you form a minority grouping of people who continue view this once traditional game now diluted down to a caricature. The last time I saw a game of League it appeared to have been tactically stripped bare, with the only sure fire way of scoring being to punt the ball into the corner on the fifth tackle and hope the attacking player caught it or the defender mucked up the catch. Rugby League sold its soul to the devil before union but as in league the portents for anonymity of union are beginning to loom, as a blip on the screen albeit, the signs nevertheless are being posted.

John O’Neill the ARU Chief Executive reminds me of the swordfish captains I mentioned in the previous paragraphs. Rough, tough and commercially focused with little regard for the end product. No coincidence that O’Neill has been in the forefront of tailoring the union game to fit his commercial agenda. There is no doubt in my mind that he has SKY TV as bedfellows given what would appear to be a decline in audiences watching the Southern Hemisphere game both live and on TV.

Commercialism has always been at the heart of professional sport and rugby union is no different in that it depends not so much on bums on seat but on the power and revenue of television. There is no doubt SKY has been instrumental in bringing the game to a much wider audience than game could ever hope achieve by other means. In entering into a Faustian pact with the devil there is a necessity rather than a desire to do a deal. Something of the soul must be given up even if it at first the benefits appear to outweigh the negatives. It is only now the price of SKY TV is becoming apparent.

Two years ago the Northern Hemisphere game was in ascendancy with spectator numbers up, a vibrant Heineken Cup competition and Southern Hemisphere players lining up to play up north not just for the money but the rugby which had a more traditional flavour. Down Australia way the acerbic John O’Neil was pontificating on the draining away of rugby union spectators with a particular eye on his own commercial backyard Australia.

Enter further tinkering of the laws and two years on the game in the Northern hemisphere is a mess of aerial ping pong, remorseless body charging at what is euphemistically called a ruck but is in fact wrestling Traditional use of the boot at rucks to remove bodies that get in the way deliberately is so heavily policed as to be extinct. Referees put their own brand of interpretation on the laws and advise the players accordingly. It is the middle of the Northern Hemisphere season and referees are instructed to interpret the game at the ruck in a different way from before. The Northern Hemisphere’s premier international tournament the 6N is being refereed by Southern Hemisphere referees who are policing the game in accordance with tinkered laws now applied at the start of super 14 which has had a falling audience base. By the look of empty seats in the background to much of the games the sexing up of the union game is failing to ignite audiences.

The Southern Hemisphere naturally enough adapt their game to suit the new laws but each time there is a further reduction in the tenets upon which the game is traditionally based. There is a super 14 game on TV as I type. There is hardly a lineout in it and as part of the sexing up the ball is in play for much longer. The ruck in its traditional form has all but disappeared with the attacking team committing up to 3 times the number of players as defenders. Usually 1 or 2 defenders commit to the ruck whilst the rest fan out. There is little of the aerial ping pong that blights the Northern game as both teams elect to run the ball. The hard pitches of the southern game suit this. Ultimately the overriding impression one gets is of uniformity and a monochrome feel to the game that shows the game heading in the direction of League.

The IRB seems in thrall of the southern hemisphere interests with the north generally following lemming like in the wake of southern hemisphere tinkering. Clearly a revolt by the northern unions would lead to split in the game between north and south and it is doubtful this would be good for the game in much the same way as the disintegration of the boxing governing bodies has led to a lack of interest in what was once a premier sport. However with the game in a mess up here and having to put up with a change of emphasis halfway through the season there is little doubt that the credibility of the game here is being stretched and in a time of recession spectators may well opt to take their money elsewhere rather than put up with the caprices of the game. If the 6N games proved anything it was that generally the team that opted to attack ball in hand were generally the losers.

Clearly the same laws but different interpretations by the coaches of how to best play them. I note Brian McLaughlin earlier in the week was going on about the interpretation of the laws by referees here and you gotta say, if he sounds confused just think how the everyman spectator feels.

What the game needs now is more MOF’s, judges who are in tune with the competitors, rooted in the traditions of the sport, the game and its skills, just like the French pastry chef judges and not the commercially vulgar practitioners of commercial swordfishing whose only priority is making a quick buck. Clearly the Northern Hemisphere representation at the IRB needs a Dr. Brian Cox. Someone who can get their message across, however sexed up it is but still rooted in the core values and tenets that made the game what it is.

I believe rugby union is in crisis with a genetic rugby engineering programme underway, courtesy of southern hemisphere IRB individuals, to morph the game into a dumbed down version of union and a bastardised version of League. This must be resisted by the NH unions and core values that underpin rugby union restored. The ruck should be reinstated in its pure form, the value of the set piece returned to its traditional pre-eminence and tactical kicking now non existent in Super 14 and blighting the NH game should be given its rightful place.

Where death from analysis by video has become the coaches domain and led to the killing of a players rugby instinct on the pitch so TV will ultimately subsume the rugby star. The game is heading for a pattern-less uniformity and extinction of its variations in tactics and core skills. You heard it here, not for the first or the last.

As BJ Botha might say, ‘If you can’t understand the laws get off the pitch.’

Pretty but ineffective that is until it was too late. Against Ireland, despite all that possession they were ineffective even when it was expected they would mount the by now obligatory 2^nd half revival. Predictably France play for the Slam and Ireland the Triple Crown this coming weekend.

The rest play for the minor placing whilst the old Northern Hemisphere hierarchy is re-established following last year’s blip by the unpredictable France.

This weekend sees the final Irish rugby match in Croke Park before the team’s move back to its revamped Lansdowne Road, the now renamed Aviva Stadium. Once again the teams will line up and roar/wail/bawl or mime through Flower of Scotland, the Scottish anthem, the Presidential salute, the salute to the Irish president, Amhran na bhFiann, the Irish national anthem and finally, finally, Ireland’s Call, the Irish anthem that embraces both traditions of the Island of Ireland.

By the time all the hollering, mime and bawdy bawling is done the players will have stood in a line for about 10 minutes or 15 if you count all the handshakes pre anthems. Predictably not everyone will sing the anthems as some will stare stony faced or sing one of the either Amhran or Ireland’s Call or both and the odd character will look tense with John Hayes often succumbing to the odd tear here and there.

Predictably the anthems cause debate ranging from their necessity to the practicality of 3 different tunes/anthems/salutes. The thorniest of these debates is the playing of Ireland’s Call at away matches in lieu of the Soldier’s Song or Amhran or the Irish National Anthem by another name.

The singing of Amhran was dropped in favour of the all embracing Ireland’s Call as a nod towards the diversity of traditions in the island of Ireland where two separate entities live side by side in two separate countries but play rugby under the flag of the IRFU. It was Mao in one of his more lucid moments, or maybe Confucius, who said something along the lines of a trickle becomes a stream and turns into a flood. This could of course apply aptly to the call for the Irish National Anthem to be again played at Ireland away games.

The calls have been led by the trickles in the shape of Tim Pat Coogan, a tiddler in rugby journalism terms but as always with this kind of phenomenon, how long before we have a tidal flow of voices calling for the reversion to the Irish National Anthem. As is the norm in these ‘debates’ little if any opposition is countered or opposite views proposed, with the players unable, unwilling or disinterested to say what they think on the matter. Thus it is left to the journalist and the fan to promote their views. It is rare outside the raunchier confines of message board cut and thrust to have a view elaborated that espouses of the Northern Ireland ‘unionist’ tradition.

For the sake of clarity, as I do not peddle in politics, religion or socio/cultural matters preferring instead, the green sward and lawnmower to the soapbox, I’m not from a Unionist background. I do however regard myself as British and part of the United Kingdom so I will try and elaborate a view on the anthems from that position which for the ease of communication I will call the ‘unionist’ position with a small u.

The current compromise, for that is what it is, is the most ideal position anyone bar the more extreme elements of unionism could hope for in terms of recognition of the existence of Northern Ireland as an entity. The Aviva/ Lansdowne Stadium is in Dublin and therefore the Irish National Anthem is played due to the location of the stadium. Conversely, where the stadium in Belfast and Ireland played it’s internationals there it is unlikely God Save The Queen would be played pre match even though the location is within the UK . Indeed Ireland playing at Ravenhill is deemed by the IRFU to be an away match. That is an illustration of the one way street that operates at the heart of the anthem saga.

A true compromise would be the singing of Ireland’s Call at home and away games in the way that Scotland sing, Flower of Scotland and the Welsh ‘Bread in Heaven’. As so often with compromises of this nature, it is born out of a position of superiority on one side and inferiority or a lesser position on the other.

There is an implicit feeling that the northern contribution is one of inferiority in terms of powerbase and crucially contribution to the national team. Even at its peak and when the Northern tradition reigned supreme through the Ulster team in the Provincial championships there was never more than 7 or 8 players on the Ireland team, a far cry from the paltry representation of the current 2 and a far cry from the domination of the team by either Leinster or Munster.

The argument of team representation dictating the content of the team anthem is one that has no contribution to make to any debate on anthems. Representing your country at sport and supporting an international team is all about the team carrying your dreams, hopes, aspirations and identity. Thus you see a little bit of self represented in the sporting men and women chosen to represent your country and way of life. What the anthems sung by those same sporting heroes does is elaborate the pride in your country and what it stands for.

What one sees in Irish rugby, where two countries are represented under the one sporting body is tacit recognition of the diversity of the island of Ireland and little more. What one sees in the call for Amhran to be played at away matches is disrespect for that recognition and willingness to press home an ideological and cultural superiority that is threatened by embracing an entity outside the milieu of it’s own confined way of life.

Sometimes a country in economic hardship and recession turns in on itself and indulges in introspection. At times like this diversity and tolerance take a back seat in the face of nationalistic hubris and the re-establishment of bygone traditions and beliefs.

I cannot imagine Tim Pat Coogan and his ilk are in the vanguard of a national movement to re-assert the Irish National Anthem into the away game, match preambles of the Irish international rugby team. It would be a backward step and one I cannot see the IRFU acceding to.

Nevertheless one must be aware of the undercurrent of feeling and sentiment permeating the liberal strand of Irish society so that one is not taken unaware by events that start as a trickle and become an all enveloping torrent.

I am occasionally given to wondering are they open minded enough to see the nature of the compromise on the anthems from a Northern ‘unionist’ perspective. It is a compromise we, the unionista’s are happy to live with as after all we live in a nation riddled with compromises, fudged deals, small ’u’s, capital ‘C’s, De Hont, half baked democracy, inert decision making at a national level and a willingness to sanitise the past for the sake of a quieter future.

No wonder then we see the playing of Amhran and Ireland’s Call at home matches as a better than nothing deal for which we really should be grateful rather than asking the IRFU why they didn’t induct a truly proper compromise and do away with Amhran altogether.

There are more views on Ireland’s Call than there are over Galway Bay . I’ve heard it said it’s a dirge, though if you sing Flower of Scotland in a dirge-like manner it will sound like a dirge. For me I’m happy to maintain the status quo and accept the compromise of Ireland’s Call and Amhran for what it is, another Irish attempt to skirt a problem that will never go away as long as people like Tim Pat Coogan are there to remind you of their supposed cultural and political superiority.

It’s not worth throwing stones over and in the words of Peter Townsend:

I’ll tip my hat to new constitution,

take a bow for the new revolution,

smile and grin at the changes all around,

pick up my guitar and play, just like yesterday.

I’ll try not to get fooled again but in the wee small hours one is sometimes given over to thinking on the insanities and inanities of life. The anthem before a rugby is one such inanity.

Ulster were crop.

The referee was crop.

Rugby is crop.

Alright it’s the UAFC school of constructive rugby criticism for initiates, so let me put some meat on this crusty bone. The guts of this are covered in Dewi’s match report and to avoid any claims of plagiarising I can say hand on heart they are my own miniscule thoughts and reasoning written in my inimitable style. The thought that contract talks and players coming and going struck me as a reason for some of the poor display by Ulster as a team.

The body language of the players was of people whose minds are elsewhere, some of them at least. Isaac Boss is going to Leinster it would seem but it does not appear to have had a negative slant on his play, if anything the reverse is true. In conclusion if Boss can play for the shirt despite his imminent departure to D4 then others should be man enough and professional enough to play for the team.

Post Heineken hiatus is another factor with the seemingly high point of beating Bath and making the Amlin at least, being shot down the following day, pointing to a lack of motivation in the Magners. Still there appears to be motivation enough with a play off place in the league a tantalising factor. Rumours of war again. I’m not about to start one but there would appear to be a distinct lack of togetherness about the team that leaves one wondering is there disharmony in camp aka last season and the one before that.

Tactics are a concern. When we beat the Scarlets at Ravenhill they zig zagged back and forth across the pitch making it easy for Ulster to defend and pick them off. Amazingly we performed in exactly the same manner at Parc as the Scarlets did at Ravenhill and paid the price. One wonders did the coach actually take note of how they played against us last time out?

“It is going to be an exceptionally tough game, the Scarlets at their home ground, in the Magners League. It doesn’t matter who you play at this stage, all these games are tough to win.

We are playing at the Parc y Scarlets, we were there a couple of weeks ago with the Ravens, so we know what to expect. It is going to be a hard match; they will make us fight for every blade of grass.

We have got to play out of our socks and be mentally prepared, if we are going to come away with the win, which we really need.”

I’m beginning to wonder did McGlocks actually believe what he just said there because they way the team went out and played, whizzing the ball back and forth as if on a training spin did not have the conviction of one looking to fight for every blade of grass.

Rather when the heat came on the fight wasn’t there and again tactically Ulster seem to have abandoned the blitz defence which has served them so well in the past.  Whatever happened to the forwards establishing a platform and taking on the opposition pack before releasing the backs. Our forwards were bit part players in the first 20 minutes and thereafter never appeared to get in the game properly.

Not for the first time this season, particularly away from home, the coaching team has got it wrong tactically. Of course the players have to execute the tactical plan and they didn’t do that well either. Perhaps they didn’t believe in the tactics.

One recalls Dragons and Edinburgh away as other examples of a game plan gone wrong and whilst the players can’t be excused poor execution of basics the Buick for me stops right outside the coaching team’s door.  One senses the hand of Doaky in the way ball went across the backs with no attempt to take on the Scarlets defence in a direct manner. We eschewed a penalty chance early on in lieu of a lineout and conspired to muck it up. It didn’t get any better thereafter.

‘The referee should be in the game like the wind and rain.’

So wrote Jean Paul Sarkey.

Mr. Allen when you watch him on TV gets most of the decisions technically spot on. Having seen him ref the Dragons game and then at Parc I realize a growing and irrefutable thought that he by and large is refereeing one team … Ulster, Cardwell’s card was an easy enough decision for him but the card for Pollock was a disgrace.

Time and again Ulster players were first to the breakdown and had hands on the ball and on their feet yet rarely if at all were the Scarlets blown for holding. Time and again Ulster players were told to get hands off arising to frustration with the way the game is being handled by this referee.

He also appeared to be reffed by the Welsh touch judges which is another issue altogether with the tackle on Wallace going unpunished except for a penalty when a yellow card would have been appropriate.  Of course this was on the advice of the TJ. It’s all very well saying play the ref and castigate Henry and the players for not being smart but it would appear to me at any rate that Peter Allen has an agenda in the way he has refereed the last two Ulster games.

It doesn’t make the Magners any more appealing when you see this performance from a referee anymore than the distinctly partisan approach by BBC Wales commentators. I’m a license fee payer and this is public service broadcasting reduced to the lowest common denominator and appreciable by 5 year old.

I’ve heard Welsh supporters complain about Gusher but he is a paragon of objectivity by comparison for what passes as commentating on Scrum V.  It’s time BBC Wales knocked the condescension out of these guys and paid some respect to fans of the opposition by not reducing the match to a jingoistic charade.

Mike ‘I played for Cardiff’ Hall further compounded the view that the presenters on Scrum V lack any kind of tact at all when he rattled on about how little difference the Italians will make to the Magners and how he’d much rather see the Welsh teams playing Leicester et al. As the major broadcaster for the Magners, Scrum V should be promoting it, not sticking the boot into it and at every opportunity.

Rugby in general is in a mess and it’s hard to escape the conclusion that the game is treading water with fans, the lifeblood of the game, in a mire of confusion as to what they are being asked to spectate at. The kicking game has drained much of the technical dexterity from the sport by making it an easy option for players to take and reducing the flare element and risk factor. Some players look like they’ve lost the will to live as yet another boot hits ball into sky and players go on another energy sapping run up the grass like hounds in pursuit of a particularly elusive fox.

The breakdown is a mess with the constant stream of instructions from referees to players telling them they are doing something wrong thereby denying the attacking team a chance of a penalty. If you have to instruct the players then clearly they don’t understand.

Of course there is now a complete weekend’s bellyful of rugby on TV and you could gorge yourself on it if you are that way inclined. The amount of rugby available may be a factor in the staleness being induced amongst supporters but there are times when you believe even the players are becoming numb to the intricacies of the game such is the mindless direction it is taking.

I wrote last week that it is a game for the intelligent but I also conclude the game is being taken in a tangential direction by lawmakers and coaches that is losing sight of the basic aims of rugby. It is time to refocus on the games traditional values and tactics of physical confrontation, passing the ball, tackling round the legs and football skills as opposed to mindless arm wrestling, death by referee dictation and aerial ping pong.

I cannot let this week’s blog pass me by without mentioning Lou Reed being penalised for singing to Trimble as Andy attempted to catch the ball.  I understand Lou, playing at lock in this match, sang his song ‘Andy’s Chest’ as he followed up a kick.  It went like this.

“If I could be anything in the world that flew.

I would be a bat and come swooping after you!”

The TJ and the referee failed to see anything funny about it and penalised the fellow for causing distress to a player. I saw AT in Holywood on Saturday morning looking a little downhearted so failed to follow up this ridiculous piece rugby hokum though I did ask him what went wrong. In true diplomatic fashion bless him, he replied that things hadn’t worked out or words to that effect.

You could say that again Andy. It must have been hard to keep concentration in the face of provocation by Lou Reed but then again the traditionalists of the game wouldn’t have been surprised by a bit of verbals though they might have raised an eyebrow at being penalised for it.

The UAFC is back just like Powermoore one of the message board’s stalwarts. Met him in the Scoop the other week and he tells me he’s back engaging in a little rugger again.

I suppose Paul may as well test some of his message board theories on an unsuspecting opponent.  I wish him well in his athletic endeavours and trust he will survive the rush of blood to his head that made him take up the game again.

The Magner’s is as tight as ever after the last scores have been ticked and the table rearranged. We have slipped a bit but there is only 9 points separating us from the top placed Leinster who look like the eventual winners. All to play for, though if we play like we did on Friday night it will be to avoid finishing just in front of Connaught.

As BJ Botha might say, “Who is this Powermoore and can he play tight head like me?”

If he had played a bit of rugby in his youth he may well have been like myself and went down to the training field in the off season and played a simple game. With a minimum of 2 on each side and anything up to 4 a-side, the game involved punting the ball out of hand down the pitch. The idea was to gain territory from the 22 and eventually win by crossing the halfway line.

To do this you had to punt the ball and avoid it being caught on the full by the players in other half of the pitch. If they caught it on the full and called a mark they were allowed to advance 10 metres and kick it back from there. A knock-on cost you a reverse 10 metres and allowing it bounce cost you territory.

The game was interesting for back 3 players in particular but it also honed your instincts in game tactics, sizing up the ability of your opponents and playing to their weaknesses.  So for example a player who couldn’t kick long was usually a target as you knew his return kick wasn’t going far and it allowed you to advance up the pitch. Fielding the ball on the full and running forward quickly before returning it and before the opposition who had just punted had time to reorganise could catch them out and so on.

The fine tuning of your ability to size up opponents quickly in the space of a couple of kicks and then adjusting your game defensively to cope and also adjusting your game to target opponent’s weaknesses had a spin off on the pitch on a Saturday. Within the confines of 80 minutes on the pitch on a Saturday at amateur level there generally wasn’t video analysis, just the experience of players on the pitch reading the game and making important tactical decisions as the game progressed. One had to think on one’s feet.

I was reminded of playing this kicking game on Friday night last when watching the Ravens play London Welsh. The professionals have all the time in the world to practice their kicking, practice their positional play, practice moving up the line and learning to assess the abilities of opponents. Assessments are done through video analysis and one cannot help but feel that pro players are unable to think for themselves or adapt to what is in front of them on the pitch because they are always looking for what they were shown on the video.  The art of thinking for yourself appears to be steadily dying out in lieu of a coach telling you what you will see and how to react when the players step unto the pitch.

Training at a lowly level meant you were honed to adopt a few key principles such as don’t dally in your own 22 with the ball or create a dog leg in your defensive alignment for example. For a back there were a few simple moves to perform on the pitch and they had easily memorised notation.  ‘M1’ for example meant a pass from out-half to outside centre cutting out the 12, ‘M2’ missed out the 13, ‘F1’ missed out the full back who was in the line between the 13 and the winger.

‘W1’ brought the winger in from the blindside between the scrum half and fly half whilst ‘W2’ brought him in between the no. 10 and the 12.

From these basic moves there were a number of special moves such as the fly half running flat across field playing a dummy switch with the centres and passes to the fullback coming between the wing and centre. Other moves might have been the centre going to blindside and switching places with the wing to draw defenders and of course there were moves with the no.8 and scrum half and so on. In the forwards the lineout had a basic front, middle and back option for throw ins with a low flat ball thrown quickly such as to the front jumper or a the lofted ball usually to the tail. Then there were the variations which involved movement up and down the line and pre arranged signals and so on.

In a match you rarely played any of the special moves and the standard ones could be just as difficult if the pack weren’t providing good ball.   The weather was always a factor and if the wind were strong it was recommended you played down the blindside using little chip kicks to move the ball or if you had a big back row using the ball carriers into the wind.  The bottom line in all this was that the game was relatively simple to play and the key was in actually executing the moves rather than their complexity. In defence you assessed the alignment of the opposition as to clues to their next move.

Thus the centres might lie flat just behind the fly half with the open-side wing slightly deeper. This usually signalled an up and under whilst a 30 degree alignment in the backs usually meant the ball was going to be moved. Out wide on the wing you watched the oppositions fly half’s body language to try and guess if he was going to kick. Usually the ten would look across to see the defensive alignment if he was going to kick.

When play became fragmented you had to think on your feet and second guess the opposition. My point in all this is that you learned to play what was in front of you. Experience taught you how to interpret a players body language, how to assess the way a player run, ie straight line or wavey davey or worst of all a side step. You learned to adapt on the pitch.  If the out-half had a penchant for kicking, you drop deeper out wide and so on.

I really wonder has the professional game robbed players of a degree of autonomy in how they play the game and react to certain situations on the pitch. A player who has trained to do A, B or C depending on how the game is developing will instinctively react as he would in training to a situation on the pitches he recognises. What appears to be happening in the professional game is that players don’t expect to meet the unexpected and if they do, they don’t know how to react. The aimless kicking is a case in point, they appear to have been told run it back, so they automatically do, or else they kick because they have been told to take that option. I suspect they would get a chewing for thinking outside the coaches box. A player like Ian Humphreys reminds me of someone who will react to what is front of him and play accordingly with spectacular results or disaster whilst Niall O’Connor simply plays to a pre-coordinated plan. Which do you prefer to watch? Secondly if your spectating is results dictated who would you prefer to play at 10.

When ruminating about Andy Powell and his unscheduled trip in a golf buggy I said rugby was a game for intelligent people and AP was not someone whom reminded me of possessing much intelligence.   In spite of all the coaching mantra I believe the game is very much for intelligent individuals.  It is intelligence in how you manage yourself in a game, how you manage your ability, manage your temperament and manage your physicality. Andy Powell duly received his just desserts in the shape of a driving ban. This is tough punishment when you think certain players get away with a ban from playing rugby rather than a criminal sentence for intent to do physical damage by gouging an opponent’s eyes.

I noted in my last blog that Logan’s run, the premiere of Ulster’s quest for world domination was panned by critics on the UAFC. I imagine the star, Shane Logan was truly hacked off. Seems revenge of a sort has happened as the UAFC is well and truly hacked. Not suggesting for one moment that Logie engineered a sequel. Things have gone almighty quiet on the transfer front with the only news worth recording is the imminent departure of steady Eddie, O’Donoghue to Leinster. Just hope this and the Boss move don’t hack them off so much that they return to haunt us on the playing fields of Ravenhill and the RDS next season.

Finally the blogs featured fan this week is none other than FRU and Ulster rugby stalwart in exile ‘Flat-top’. As usual, the fan in the can features in song with a few chosen lines from the Beatles Abbey Road song ‘Come Together’. Hum along now…

Here come ole flat top,

He come groovin’ up slowly,

He got Ulster shirt on,

He one Ulster supporter,

He say, “I know you, you know me!”

One thing I can tell you is,

it’s Ulster by three!

Come together,

right now!

Over me.

As BJ Botha might say, “Have you looked at my new website yet? www.bjbotha.com

I don’t for one moment envy those journos whom spew out acres of print on all angles, anecdotes, murmurings, chat and anything else that justifies their cloistered existence amidst the sporting galacticos and journeymen of rugby union.

Rugby union unlike football is one of those relatively staid sports where outside of the odd eye gouge, fake blood capsule, player manager squabble, there’s not a lot to excite the more avaricious media elements.

The peccadilloes, easy virtue and tasteless immorality of 36K a week wages has yet to test the moral fibre of top rugby stars. Rugby may have the odd no.8 who thinks he’s Deuce Bigalow and the occasional guy who wavers into undesirable substances but by and large the rugby chaps go about their business with all the fuss of a granny on mogadon.

Come the 6 Nations they sit down in front of the microphone and mutter how the other guy deserves his place at your expense or how your opponent in the forthcoming game was such a decent fella when you roomed with him on the Lions tour.

No one wants to upset the psyche and give the other team an edge. Really little happens at 6N time to provoke the kind of feral excitement that the Heineken cup evokes with its 16 men on the pitch, fake blood capsules and players extending a welcome to fans by biffing them.

What little excitement the 6N drums up is on the periphery of the game where one might speculate on the substance of Tony Buckley’s sun tan or admire Euan Murray’s religious beliefs which cause him to play for Scotland ‘A’ at 3,000 sparsely populated Ravenhill rather than 60,000 at cacophonous Murrayfield. The list is endless:

Why is Boss on the bench instead of the Dorian Gray of Munster rugby, Peter Flinger?

Will Ireland ‘A’ captain Henry use his insider knowledge on Simon Danelli, his Ulster colleague and attack down his wing given the Scotsman’s turnstile defending?

Will Ryan Caldwell be making the ’A’ lineout calls and will he know whether he’s in or out of the lineout if the ref politely asks him?

Will the Ireland scrum fold like a Haitian house in the tremulous front row collision with Italy’s powerhouse scrummagers?

This and much, much more exercises the mind of the average rugby spectator whilst the fringe minority contemplate a weekend of booze, romance, travel, oh and a game of rugger if they can stay awake long enough.

I’m not excited as yet, as there’s little to get the taste buds, in a rugby sense, up and gurning. Perhaps next weekend’s French game is a little more like it though one imagines as in past years, the only gurning  I’m likely to hear is the sound of the English media indulging in forensic castration of every aspect of Martin Johnson’s English team.

Highpoint of this will be a win against Wales and the resurrection of the English game on a par with biblical resurrections. In reality it could be the hapless collapse of the pack of cards and Hari Kari in the backline in the face of Welsh wizardry. For sure there will be no middle path of reason and clear blue eyed analysis. As I write the former has happened though one cannot be too carried away by England’s win as they scored the bulk of their points whilst Alun ‘win?’ Jones tripped his way to the sin bin.

Death by a thousand cuts to Ireland should they slip up against the Italians with Hook, Pope and Sinker in particularly virulent squawking form as Hook attempts to land a punchline so unfunny as to be comical.  (Does he rehearse them in front of a mirror?).

Doubtless Brian O’Driscoll will play anonymous for 19/20ths of the match and will duly pop up at the death and land a drop goal to win man of the match for his 30 seconds of eye catching play. Indeed the great man is getting all the plaudits for his kicking game which I actually thought was rather poor thing to do since he eschewed at one stage, a raft of players on his inside in favour of the spectacular punt towards David Wallace on the wing.

Depressingly the kicking aspect of the game has returned in the shape of focus on Andrew Trimble for not kicking!!! Will the southern media ever grow up? From rustling up memories of the World Cup game against France when Trimble moved in off his wing under orders to questioning why he was handing kicking duties to RO’G and Kearney it seems the media’s obsession with picking on anything outside the Munster-Leinster comfort zone is unsatiated.

It is depressing that a player who stood out in defence and made one of the few decent contributions in attack should find himself prey to nit picking by journos who clearly are at a desperate stage in moving attention away from some of Ireland’s poorer performers.

It is reminiscent of the vitriol directed towards Bowe after playing in Paris when it seemed he was blamed for just about anything that happened in the Ireland backline. Meanwhile other favourites were ring-fenced and escaped media prosecution.

Bowe himself was relatively anonymous yesterday and carried out orders on the kicking duties and has escaped unscathed from criticism of his performance. Then again he has his Lions tour reputation and the fact he doesn’t play for Ulster which seems to indemnify from criticism.

Doubtless Trimble will be dropped for Paris and Ferris restored and the media will be happy.   You have to ask yourself what Trimble has to do to shut these people up.  The answer is that there is nothing he can do to alter some people’s perception of him as a player.  The fact it is a perception says it all.

The Eve of Destruction has passed and we are into the second day of Armageddon. Scotland – France will be interesting as the central point of debate will surely be whether Scotland can score a try. Indeed this is one of these debates that could rage on much like the enmity between the Scots and English which started due to a foray by the Scots in the 12^th century. Will Scotland score a try before the end of the 6 Nations.  Not even Nostradamus could predict that one.

On the Eve of destruction I found myself astride the Terrace at a sparsely populated Ravenhill and enjoyed the answers to some of my questions I posed in so jocular fashion earlier in this piece. Herr Buckley does have a sun tan and indeed as if in answer to my query he had his socks rolled down to his ankles revealing an extremely orange pair of pins.

It was easy to identify him at ruck time where, one noticed he resembled a doubled up lamp post. We know he cannot be bothered scrimmaging but he can’t be bothered rucking either by the look of it. The Hymn to Tony is from the bottom of my cold heart:

He’s a prop and he’s not ok,

Doesn’t work and he gets his pay,

Dresses up in big girls blouses,

And hangs around in rucks.

Buckley issues aside it was an entertaining game with the local fellas showing their potential. This included one new guy who appeared after half time in Ryan Caldwell’s shirt with a bandage round his head and brought some much needed vroom in the loose. Closer inspection revealed Caldwell had underwent image transformation in more than just looks.  His oomph was a sight to behold and is encouraging if he can transfer that type of display to an Ulster shirt. Another to catch the eye was Henry who was again must have nudged the Ireland selectors with a typical intelligent game at no.8. The caveman gave a typical performance at 13 showing some nice touches in attack and a typically resolute defence.

Hugo performed another cameo to remind us of what we might miss.  Seems he has accepted that getting into the Ireland team is via Leinster and he may well have a point. He is the form 9 in Ireland at the moment, yet can just about smell the ‘A’ team pine. Sad really, though one suspects he may have negotiated a little too enthusiastically with UR and had his bluff called.  It‘s almost certain, despite lack of official confirmation that he will be gone to Leinster.

Half the UAFC board appears to have interrogated him after the match on Friday night about his much trumpeted move. Doubtless he probably said the first thing that came to mind as the fresh faced youngsters from the board surrounded him in true public schoolboy fashion armed with high powered lamps and yodelling away with the same aimless question.   Poor Isaac, I must say his sympathy ratings have tripled as a result of this harassment.

Feature of Friday night was Dan Chewy’s continued rise to prominence in the loose, this time enacting the role of a no. 6. I am forming FODS, a new organisation of like-minded folk whom are celebrating the imminent arrival of a rapidly forming Ravenhill cult figure. Fans of Dan’s can sign up to the fan of dan fan club by simply typing FODS in the response box at the bottom of this column.

I am going to make a point of profiling a fan-a-week in the bowels of this column and to start the metaphorical ball rolling I will highlight ‘moondance’.

A second barrier stalwart he was at Friday nights eve of destruction game sporting an Ireland Viking helmet, a pair of safety conscious horns and armed with the obligatory flag, (can’t remember if it was Ulster or Ireland?). In his honour I have penned a little abridged verse of Van Morrisons ‘Moondance’.

What a marvellous bloke is Moondance,

With his Viking hat above his eyes,

A fan tababulous bloke is Moondance,

Beneath the Ravenhill skies

If you wish to be profiled in next week’s column please send me your own dazzling or derogatory piece on yourself and I’ll sex it up for publication. In fact you can email me here.

In fact I’m almost tempted to offer a prize to the person who can come up with the most bloated self assessment of themselves.

As BJ Botha might say, ‘whoever they are, deserve a prize just for reading this rubbish.’

My conclusions on Ulster and the match in general were much as they had been in the immediate aftermath of victory.   Stade were very poor, both in their mental attitude and how they actually executed their game plan.

They are captained by Roncero, an Argentine international prop and a trained doctor I understand. Now were he my GP I would be a little concerned as to which emotional state I would find when I entered his surgery. He might sing you an aria one day and be all cupped shoulders, shrugs and palm gestures the next.

He might say, ‘so you are half dead my friend, vot doo you vant me to doo? OK, OK! vlet me give you a hug, now you can go, there is nothing I can doo!’

Roncero was in one of his emotional states against Ulster. He is exemplary of the club as they really do not want to play against teams like Ulster, who take them out of their comfort zone both mentally and physically. Having to dog-it is a pain on the backside for them in a manner of speaking, thus you get the kind of performance in their game that we saw at Ravenhill with Roncero losing it and a few others following suit in a vicious manner.

By contrast Ulster played outstandingly well, being in their own comfort zone in front of the baying home fans, they were obviously lifted, though that is not to denigrate the quality of their game.

Clearly Ulster have a problem, not being able to score from close in as was illustrated on Friday night, again. They are scoring from broken play and from outside their opponents 22. Worryingly also, as was demonstrated against Stade and again last Friday night they lose concentration after 60 minutes, sometimes with disastrous results.  Against Edinburgh earlier in the round, the heads went down and their game went into its shell when iHumph missed a penalty. Fortunately Stade were so far up their own backsides they couldn’t take advantage on this occasion but not pushing on and scoring more points/tries has come back to haunt us as we enter the last weekend of the Heineken groups.

Other features of the Stade game were the punditry of Scott Hastings as supporting commentator. I’ve read some criticism of him and perhaps he isn’t fashionable to the younger generation yet I find his comments to be on the money. He is at heart an ex rugby player who still loves the game and his admiration for the skills of the game is undiluted whilst his dismay at the Dupuy gouging was unqualified and unequivocal.

My dismay at Stade‘s attitude and that of its owner mad Max to the whole gouging episode is also undiluted. Having noted that Dupuy and Attoub were in trouble over eye gouging, Stade and its owner announced sanctions against the players involved whilst apologies streamed forth like confetti at a wedding. When it became clear that this would not clear up the matter and that Dupuy and Attoub faced long bans the whole tenor of Stades attitude changed.

When businessmen become involved in sport for commercial reasons, they become like Guazzini, morally bankrupt in their attitude to that sport, if their commercial interests are threatened. Stade have been poor ambassadors to rugby with the prevarication towards eye gouging. They threaten the sport’s ability to govern the behaviour of its players by challenging the ban on Dupuy and now Attoub. Hopefully the justifiable outrage that commentators, players and fans alike felt over the eye gouging of Stephen Ferris will be maintained in the face of Stade’s duplicity.

Ulster can respond to this duplicity by completing the one thing that will hurt Stade most. That is, going out and winning in Bath whilst Stade falter against Edinburgh and we earn a quarter final spot in the Heineken Cup. An unlikely scenario but still tangible.

On Friday night Ulster put themselves in a position where they are in with a chance of either that quarter final spot or a quarter final slot in the Amlin Cup. Either would reward their commitment and endeavours on the rugby pitch. To get there they had to face down the season’s nemesis Edinburgh, playing in horrendous conditions. The howling wind and rain were remote from the Terrace grandees whom now have faint memories of previous seasons rain and wind contorted spectating.

Having purchased a pint pre match, I opted to stand outside the beer tent with Gillian and Ron the Spark. Dewi Barnes the e-steamed editor in chief of the FRU appeared out of the night, so to speak, to hold an impromptu editorial meeting with me in a force 6 gale. It was interrupted by the appearance of a fan, someone prepared to admit they read the FRU! This man should have been curated, so rare a species is he.

I somehow suffered the indignity of representing the garrulous Ulster supporter with the surprise appearance of SKY TV cameras. Firmly in the lens of the cameraman I uttered a strangled, ‘c’mon Ulsterrrr!’ whilst holding the plastic beer glass up to hide my visage. The camera lingered as I smiled self consciously towards my aghast ‘friends’.

With Dewi disappearing in the direction of the Prom/Scoop/toilet, (delete as appropriate), Mid Ulster Maestro appeared out of the dark. MUM is promoting himself as a windbreak these days and positioned himself twixt beer tent and my position on the rails next to the car park. Despite MUM’s hulking presence my beer resembled a Hawaiian surfing beach as a small breaker appeared across the surface of the lager courtesy of a gale blowing off the beer tent roof.

Having made our way to the Terrace we stopped off amongst the second barrier, as Gillian had decided she might have a bit of craic amongst them. Chairman Kimble, permanent president of the supporters club appeared from the east bearing 2 glasses of Ireland’s finest tightly grasped in his mits whilst cap’n Grumpy used me as a conveyor belt to transfer some of Ireland’s finest black stuff from the west to a near neighbour.

The things you have to do standing amidst the 2BC and as if that wasn’t bad enough, Kimble enquired had I made a transfer to the second barrier position.  I was minding Gillian I informed him, dispelling any notion I might be integrating into the ‘oik’ society.

Kimble these days is one minute sounding like babel fish and the next gushing homilies of homespun freshly laundered thoughts with a side salad of ‘pearls of wisdom’ garnished with forelock tugging. He was gasping for the oxygen of publicity as he sought my company and enjoined me to presage an honourable mention in this blog. His wish is granted as I could not resist the all enveloping charm of the man.

I found myself twixt a concrete wall and a hard place amongst the second barrier crew who I might say were in fine voice. It leant considerably to the atmosphere, which was raucous in the manner we are rapidly becoming accustomed to, following a brief hiatus of several seasons when voices were dulled by the paucity of the rugby on show.

Ulster meanwhile are producing the goods on the pitch with a fine technical and disciplined display of keeping the ball up the proverbial jumper.  So good was their first half keep-ball that at the end of the half, Edinburgh’s tackle count was 101.

Ulster, having kept tight rein on the ball for the first 3 minutes of the game and gained about 3 metres just outside their 22, inspired Cap’n Grumpy to predict they would battle to the halfway line by halftime.  Progress into a fierce wind was just that at times, a matter of millimetres gained.

Disappointingly in the second, with Edinburgh pinned inside their own half our impatience to lay hands on the ball, allowed them back in the match when the excellent Berdos lost patience and binned Ferris.     We did recover and with iHumph kicking that critical penalty we closed out the game.

A good win and good to watch leaving Kimble in magnanimous form afterwards as he elucidated on the many facets of life in the boondocks. He is promising to install himself in the Rosie next Saturday and bring his old man along. I hope the old boy will leave the Rosie with the biggest of smiles following an Ulster victory.

That victory is an elusive animal and we will have to break the tradition of 10 years or more of not winning in England.  You somehow feel this has become a psychological issue rather than one of physicality or skill.  Simply the mindset required to win away from the home comforts of Ravenhill is still missing.

I will not predict a victory though I realise we are at some point going to break the duck of not winning on English soil in the Heineken. I hope it is Saturday and indeed optimism is at an all time high amongst the players and supporters alike, so why not? The dream of winning a quarter final place in the main competition is way beyond us I feel though a place in the Amlin cup isn’t. The dread factor would be not coming up trumps at all.

When one looks back for a key moment, it was in Edinburgh when iHumph missed a penalty and a 7 point lead was all we had to show for our superiority. This inspired Edinburgh to go one and win.  A turning point which we can now look back on, as not just a missed kick, but as a missed opportunity to kick on.

If there is anything needed to motivate the players to victory it is this.   Munster, Leinster and Connacht all look to have qualified for the knockout stages of one or the other competition.  Ulster don’t want to be left out of competition come April and May whilst all the other provinces enjoy that feeling of trying to win a cup.

As BJ Botha might say, “we’re gonna do it! calm yourself man.”

Despite the poor attendance there was certainly a bit of a buzz around Ravenhill on Friday night for this must win game against Edinburgh.

The Sky TV team were there in force swooping on unsuspecting punters around the beer tent, lighting up Parky and startling him into shouting “Come on Ulster”  as the camera lights woke him from his pre-match slumbers.

After a brief discussion on the now somewhat hazy future of Isaac Boss and the sterling work he does with the Newforge Taggers it was generally agreed he would be a big loss should he depart at the end of the season, it was my turn to be startled when I was mobbed by a fan!

Yes, The FRU has a fan as I found out when an old acquaintance from South Africa tracked me down to tell me about his enjoyment of the site! Suitably buoyed by his encouraging words I made my way round to the Scoop Bar where I could drink in obscurity amongst the second class hoi-polloi that can’t quite afford a place in the new stand but would never slum it in the terrace.

On the way I bumped into Rory Best and a quick chat confirmed that he hopes to make an appearance in March in one of the Ravens games. Happy days indeed.

I reached the Scoop in plenty of time for a few pre match pints and finding my normal spot filled by a performing band I made my way down to the back of the bar to spot a collection of Grousebeaters having a good grouse! After listening to their doom and despair on all things Ulster I made my way outside for a gasper passing satanslittlehelper and pwrmoore on the way and after a brief chat on the latest exploits of the Turkish Cork Branch of the Ulster Supporters Club I got outside for my smoke to find the referee and touch judges going through a strenuous warm up routine in the car park behind the old stand.

A couple of puffs and it was time to collect a few pints and Flat-top and make our way to the Prom. Very disappointed to find it comparatively empty for such a big game but the atmosphere was pretty good, no doubt boosted by the live bands and the extra drinking time.

The match kicked off and the atmosphere rocked as Ulster set about their opponents. Boss underlined his value to the team with a cracking display and though the match was by no means a classic it passed quickly and to plan with Ulster defending well.

The try in the first half settled the nerves and the quick scores at the start of the second gave more comfort and despite an attempted comeback from Edinburgh, Ulster always looked in control.

Plenty of fun in The Scoop afterwards with Simon and Garfunkel’s Mrs Robinson being a popular request with the band and as the saying goes the supporters partied long into the night!

Hide him in a hiding place where no one ever goes

Where have you gone Willie John,
A nation turns its lonely eyes to you,
Woo, woo, woo…….

As the rugby grinds to a halt (metaphorically speaking), as it actually slithered to a stop, there is the distinct sound of the meshing of media gears as they crank up the ante in the wake of the Robinson’s affair.

A man on the radio opined that the dots required joining, citing Mrs Robinson’s announcement of a breather from politics pre-Christmas, Mr Robinson’s denouement of Mrs Robinsons behaviour post Christmas and the subsequent revelations from the Beeb on the whole shebang. Just how many dots this man needs to link all three together is a source of some puzzlement.

For me you just couldn’t make it up. I imagined myself as a script writer on some TV drama turning up for my script writers session with the producer and presenting my scenario for the drama which was to be based on fact.

“Morning BP, what ideas have you got for us?”

“Well ok, we’ll start with the 50 something female politician who gets too close to a young man following a bereavement.  She arranges for a loan or two from business friends to help the youngster start up a business, falls out with him, demands the money back, gets it, repays one of the donors and redistributes the rest to a church and herself.

“Hmmmm, carry on”

“OK, the politician’s hubby is also a politician and leader of a wee nation.  Well not exactly, he has to share the leadership with a guy who used to be part of a gang that terrorised the country.  Anyway the hubby finds out about the money and the affair and calls a press conference in which he tells the wife very publically that she’s on her own as he himself is er, rather blameless.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, the local TV are on their trail and expose the female affair, precipitating a political crisis for the wee nation.”

“Eh?”

“Throw in the odd planning application, property developers with a penchant for donating large sums of money as ‘gifts’, a political advisor turned whistleblower who is more honest than a 2 month old baby and a herd of opposition politicians baying for blood and you have a perfect recipe for a blockbuster episode.”

“Nah sorry, but we want something that our audience can relate to and touches reality. Anything else you can offer?”

“OK let’s try bearded fanatics hijack aeroplanes and fly them into the tallest buildings in the United Sates killing 3,000 people and simultaneously try to fly an aeroplane into the Pentagon!”

“Right that’s it, your fired, we wanted something believable!”

“Ok, ok, how about large man in charge of a semi professional rugby team that wins the rugby equivalent of the Champions League. The large man goes on to…”

“OUT!, no more of this fantasy stuff, you’re fired!”

Well you actually could make it up and no one would believe you. As the king sang, ‘it was only make believe’ as Ulster’s bearded out half, Ian Humphreys took a razor to his flowering hirsute material round the lower half of the face, just as it was becoming almost prerequisite to wear one, given the wind chill evident in the weather. This act of wanton destruction clearly and substantially altered the wizard no.10’s features beyond belief. His second row teammate apparently walked right past him without a hint of recognition causing a minor wit to remark that opponents have been doing this most of the season and last.

Now of course this conforms to the old cliché that iHumph couldn’t tackle a fish supper and still can’t. These are the sort of perceptions that sometimes stick to a player like a political smear. There is a germ of truth in there which tends to obscure the bigger picture and gets magnified beyond all recognition. I have in fact been quite impressed by iHumph’s ability to tackle. There is no doubt he is not the biggest player and with 16 stone no. 8’s barrelling down the 10 channel, tackling becomes something of a suicide mission at times. It is all in the mind though and one reason Humph becomes a target for the naysayers is that he clearly suffers an occasional crisis of confidence in his tackling that translates into body language which says he isn’t interested in tackling.

As an absolute paperweight when I first started playing I found that even in the lower echelons of the game when I had bulked up to 12 stone, tackling was still an issue of confidence. Make a hit early on in the game and the confidence flowed, miss a tackle and all of a sudden the doubts crept in leading to abject failure to even look like I was tackling. With a lack of bulk I have no doubt that iHumph does have the odd moment of doubt creep into his mind and opponents no doubt also attempt to target him as a means of unsettling him. We as spectators must persevere with iHumph’s senior moments in the tackling stakes and hope that it is generally a passing cloud before order of confidence is restored as no doubt his forte lies elsewhere in the game of rugby.

All the Irish provincial games were called off and the daily diet of rugby news was as thin on the ground as the ice that prevents the games being played. The local media has gone into overdrive on the Robinson’s affairs. Her appetite for lovers on the side has apparently tripled since the Spotlight programme was aired according to the Sunday Life and I’m waiting to be named along with 3,000 others. Rugby in our local newspaper is a diet of quotes and the odd opinion from the writer based on something he has been told by UR. I suppose I shouldn’t expect much else when the Belfast Telegraph actually sponsors Ulster Rugby. My attention has increasingly turned to the Irish Times rugby coverage which is both up to date, opinionated and does cover UR even though it primarily focuses on the big two, Munster and Leinster. Liam Toland, Setanta’s respected pundit, in his Irish Times column for example had some good things to say about us and also analysis of how we could and should do better.

Ulster outhalf Ian Humphries has real oomph in his game, which affords his team-mates real focus. In these days of packed midfields Simon Danielli’s second try was a gem that should have had Ulster baying for blood and Munster in disarray with the ease of their penetration.

It is this kind of reasonable comment that is missing from our local papers and increasingly the Telegraph appears to syndicate its rugby coverage from the Indepenent group of newspapers with the result that its website carries large headlines about Glasgow or Gloucester as well as Ulster rugby.    The Irish Times website has kept me right up to date with events in the big rugby freeze up and now gets my vote of confidence with the Bele Tele reduced to an occasional read.

Can’t pass the time of day without being amused at the UAFC site. The big freeze has turned the pundits on it into minor weather vanes. I’m waiting to see who turns to acorns for something original on the weather fronts currently sweeping in from Siberia. The weathermen are led by Armagh’s biggest tractor with a home computer in the cockpit. Can you be stopped in a field for posting whilst driving an agricultural vehicle?

Let’s hope not, otherwise Rooster Coburn will be silenced for long periods on the net and I’d sure as hell miss his frost tinged homilies on anything from temperature to permafrost and pig piss as anti freeze. Keep up the good work Rooster. Credit to UR for getting the finger out on the pitch.   It’s amazing how the threat of having to play outside Ravenhill has focussed minds.

Reading my flavour of the month newspapers, The IT and Independent.ie, I am heartened by the fact that the pundits in these esteemed journals do not see Ulster’s group as a given for Stade and believe it will come down to the wire. Reasons cited are that Stade have not been playing well recently and Bath have picked up a head of steam and begun winning matches.

This may be a little too positive thinking pour moi, as I believe Stade will pick their game for the HC and that it’s a big ask for Bath to win in Paris.  If they do achieve that considerable feat then we will have to play them at the Rec in the last game which will be too big an ask for us to win.  Meanwhile Edinburgh would have to lose to us and beat Stade at Murrayfield. It’s all too much for my mind to comprehend at this late hour and I’ll settle for us beating Edinburgh on Friday night and losing to Bath the following weekend, with Stade winning both their matches.  We will at least be able to say we beat Stade and well.

As BJ Botha might say, ‘don’t count us out just yet young man!’

I have found watching him in recent times, as his career declines, an act of extreme irritation with his easy come, easy go manner. Nevertheless, there he was on stage at some sort of compilation concert and he was doing his thing, which usually involves a few trademark licks as intro to a song before abandoning the fret board in lieu of singing.

At some point in the song he will effortlessly incorporate another guitar lick or solo. It was during his mid song guitar solo, he played just two notes amongst many, that hung for a moment on sustain, in the air, like early morning mist over a lake. They were beautiful, a truly outstanding moment in a sea of musical casualness. It’s the sort of moment one lives for, which comes every now and again like a rare butterfly in summer from exceptional artists and talent.

Now what has all this to do with rugby and for a moment, still entranced, I struggle to recall. Upon thinking about it, I realise that as in music there are moments like this in rugby when truly great players conjure up magic amidst the run of the mill. I struggled to think of a current Ulster player who would fit this synopsis and no disrespect we do not have any, though it would be ‘Ferris’ to say that we have a few who portend to greatness that comes with maturity.

Ireland do possess one player whom, despite a declining physical prowess still possesses that unique ability to produce match winning magic, a turnover or a sleight of hand that can both surprise and delight.

Brian O’Driscoll’s game has changed visibly over the years from when he first arrived on the international scene with Ireland and the Lions. No longer is there the acceleration over the first 10 metres that we were used to seeing, so crucial to top class backs and which left opponents grasping thin air. It has been replaced with a mature approach which owes as much to the rugby brain as to the physical.

O’Driscoll now has the ability to arrive in key areas of the game at key times. Defensively his game has matured and he is now as well known for his repelling of attackers as he was for attacking rugby. Of recent times in big games he has battled solidly in midfield without setting the game on fire only to appear at crucial moments to seal a victory or save defeat.

The Autumn Internationals are a classic of those keynotes struck at the right moment. With prescient accuracy his last gasp try against Australia saved Ireland from defeat and his last gasp wholly committed tackle against the Springboks ensured victory. It made O’Driscoll stand out amongst other very good performers on the day. Gone are the days of waltzing through defenders to score tries, stunning for their execution and sheer chutzpah. With age and maturity O’Driscoll has re-invented his game to ensure his longevity in the pantheon of rugby greats.

O’Driscoll reminds me of the guitar great and legend in his own lifetime Eric Clapton. With a languorous but deceptive ease, Clapton these days plays the guitar in a state of controlled animation and no less technical skill.  Gone are the drug fuelled ecstatic guitar licks which burned the fretboard and anything within its orbit. Clapton these plays with the aura of one who has served his apprenticeship, the greatness being earned and doesn’t require to be proved every time he straps on a guitar. I’m not suggesting by the way, O’Driscoll’s early career was drug fuelled by comparing him with Clapton but my comparison is he has an aura of greatness that doesn’t require elaboration when he plays the game.

I suggested no one player at Ulster has that greatness tag but I do believe that Steven Ferris has the potential for glory and a seat in the modern pantheon of rugby greats. His game at present very much relies on athletic power, physicality and of course a decent rugby brain.

Mainly though he stands out for his physicality as a blindside flanker who has speed off the mark that belies his size, can run a bit, pass the ball and of course stop opponents dead in their tracks. With maturity and as the top edge of the raw physicality declines Steven Ferris has the brain to adapt his game away from sheer athleticism into a more rounded rugby player whose rugby brain will take him to places his feet once fearlessly tread.

He requires to bring greater consistency to his game and of course preserve his body against the rigours of modern rugby which now serve up an intensity in physicality not nearly so evident in the amateur era.   If he can stay injury free he will I believe mature into a modern day legend in world rugby.

For now we must believe in the seeds of greatness so evident in Ferris’s game on Saturday night against Munster and hope that we will be privileged to watch it grow.  We the unprepossessing spectator can often be too mindful of the moment and oblivious to the flowering of sporting excellence as we waft in the wind of sport’s vagaries.

Yet within this decade we have been privileged to witness a sporting great play for Ireland and another potential begin the path to glory and sporting idoldom.  These are the moments when we gasp with awe and sporting legends of yesteryear shake their heads in disbelief and wonder what if they had been out there.

Just being there is a privilege, lost in the moment maybe, but relived a thousand times in years to come.  Like B.B. King’s two notes, us sporting fans live for the sporting moment when the right chord is struck with all the dexterity of an artist on top their game.

As B.J. Botha might say, ‘have you seen me lately?’

‘They could argue, of course, that they should never have been behind after a first half in which they were on the wrong end of the original hometown refereeing performance by George Clancy.

Who wrote that?

The Raven? the FRU editor? Fu Manchu? Niall Crozier? nope!

It is a direct quote from Peter O’Reilly in the Sunday Times last weekend reporting on the Ulster interpro with Leinster. Perhaps O’Reilly’s antipathy towards Leinster was peeking through there, but it is refreshing to see in print, an elaboration of a problem that bedevils the Magners League. I enquired more in sarcasm than anything else had Niall ‘Bele Tele’ Crozier written this and alas, the supine nature of chez Niall’s tomes for the Tele, means he is completely at sea as far as telling it as it is. Despite a debut, all a flurry with speculation and potential breaking news which ended damper than a gunpowder plot featuring sugar, Niall’s rugby writing toes a line so middling it makes Scotland’s border with England look like an international conflict zone.

My point here is that Mr. O’Reilly highlights a problem that rumbles along below the surface of the game like an iceberg which occasionally catches the unwary vessel. Referees like Clancy in my opinion come to the game with preconceptions derived from watching videos of teams and then referee the game looking to spot the misdeeds by individuals they saw in the video. They also appear to be of the notion that the team at the top end of the league are there because they proportionately give away fewer penalties, in this instance Leinster.

Admittedly I’m no expert on the laws of the game and I’m careful not to tread were the ground under my feet is metaphorically spongy therefore I will only highlight the most blatant aspects of Mr. Clancy’s performance as follows. A Leinster player (Sean O’Brien) kicked the ball out of Isaac Boss’s hands as he played it from a ruck. From memory this happened 3 times, twice I think from the same Leinster player and later in the game an Ulster player committed a similar offence. These offences all merited yellow cards yet Mr. Clancy chose to focus on an Ulster player going off his feet whilst Ulster pressured the Leinster defence in their 22. How this merited yellow whilst the other kick ball efforts didn’t will remain a brain storm in the inner recesses of Clancy’s head.

At the end of the evening Ulster had lost a game they could so easily have won and of course Peter O’Reilly apart, the press chose to focus on other aspects of performances in the game. Whilst this kind of refereeing conundrum is perpetrated, spectators of the sport will start to wonder are they watching a fair contest between teams or are they observing the workings of a middle eastern sharia court presided over by a religious zealot.  Ulster won’t win games whilst referees like Clancy preside over them with all the focus of a gay Cyclops.

I’m not going to bother rattling on about poor passing, dodgy defence or players falling off tackles which were some of the offences committed by Ulster because my baseline here is that Ulster, as Mr. O’Reilly rightly observes, were on the wrong end of the original hometown refereeing effort.   I just wish our local media (FRU excepted), had some steel in their nuts and the wherewithal to put into print, events as they happen in front of them and not portend to a line of writing that is from the wishy washy end of the spectrum.

Granny smith hits correspondent on the head.

It wasn’t a great week for another correspondent at the same game as he speculated in print that Ulster’s outhalf Niall O’Connor had been removed from the game at halftime as a result of poor performance. Mark Jones, the unlikely sounding rugby correspondent for the Tribune must have felt like he was having an Isaac Newton moment as granny Gertie O’Connor laid into him with all the bustle of a return fire crime victim. Where Newton discovered a thing or two about gravity after being hit by a Granny Smith, Jones discovered only rectitude of a righteous kind following granny Gertie’s broadside.

Clearly an Ulsterwomen of the right kind, who tells it as she sees it, the disgruntled granny questioned whether Mr. Jones had departed for the bar as a priority at halftime rather than reporting on the game. One ventures that Mark Jones will be more careful in future when he reports on a rugby match as he had indeed missed Gerties grandson being halved by Isa Nascewa.  Let’s hope it doesn’t put an end to Mr. Jones sporting, reporting career due to psychological damage inflicted by a disgruntled grandmother.

White Mouse of the Weld.

During the month of November the garage attached to my house is invaded by mice coming in from the fields that surround two sides of the building. Occasionally one slips the defences due to an open door or an unplugged gap in the wall and makes its way into the house itself. It has to be ruthlessly hunted down, trapped, and eliminated in a permanent manner. If the rodents are not hunted to death it stores up a whole lot of trouble for the unwary householder as they leave a trail of devastation behind them, exemplified by a line of little black droppings.

I was uncomfortably reminded of this nature event when reading the UAFC message board. Having previously and gratuitously reported in my last blog that White Knight of the Weld had been let out for the day, I regret to say he/she is back on the board and behaving like the mice that invade my garage.  The UAFC moderators should take the same line against white mouse of the weld as I do against natures rodents and eliminate him from the board.

The UAFC have been warned … ignore pests at your peril.

Only a Winter’s day!!

Our little country is once again half paralysed by a few centimetres of white icy powder. This would be no bad thing, having a proper northern white New Year and all that, except that one recalls a previous game with Munster being called off.  Not because the pitch was unplayable but because the environs to Ravenhill were unwalkable.

Could history repeat itself on January 2^nd?

Strangely enough yes it could, as it’s not looking terribly good weather ways.

I recall last Sunday morn, setting off for the newspaper shop to fetch Mr. O’Reilly’s missive and as usual I was on foot and hoping to reduce my carbon footprint by not using the car. Fine and dandy, except by the time I had reached the footpath, about 3 metres from my front door, I was an unwilling participant in dancing on ice.

Dressed in my new Kukri Ulster jacket, beanie hat, gloves and Timberland boots I made John Sergeant look graceful as I slithered across the frozen tundra of the road before sliding back down the camber of the ice encrusted opposite footpath unto the road again. All this without so much as a dance step in between. Fortunately this was at an early hour of the morning otherwise neighbours would have given me minus 1 for performance on ice and probably telephoned the emergency services.  A quick change into my guddies and off again I set up the north face of the development. I eventually reached my local newsagents feeling like Captain Scott and wondering how I was going to get home again. Well it was worth the effort if only to read Mr. O’Reilly’s tale of the errant whistler.

I would not want a repeat performance of my prancing on ice effort down Onslow Parade this Saturday, so let’s hope the weather moderates sufficiently for the Munster game to be played.

As BJ Botha might say, ‘does snow give you vitamin D or just cold feet?’

Le Stade Hyacinth house

What are they doing in the Hyacinth house,

What are they doing in the Hyacinth house to please the lions,

yeah this day.

I need a brand new friend who doesn’t bother me,

I need a brand new friend who doesn’t trouble me,

I need someone yeah, who doesn’t need me,

I see the bathroom is clear,

I think that someone is near,

I’m sure that someone is following me,

Oh yeah.

Supporting Ulster can be like the Hyacinth house, a cocktail of paranoia, confusion, conspiracy, sublime and ridiculous. Why? Take last weekend, when a weather blighted trip to Brussels to watch a game of rugby turned into an epic akin to doctor Zhivago’s train journey across the Russian steppes followed by an ending straight out of ‘Night at the Opera’. That was just for the fans, who must have felt like those American tourists who do Europe in a weekend.

‘OK, zis morning ve are in Brussels, later today ve vill visit Paris and tomorrow you vill be in Luton airport, nice?’

For the players there were a delayed journey to Brussels, a train journey to Paris the next day and on the 3^rd day they played a match!  They were beaten or even steamrollered by a heavier pack on a heavy pitch.  The Ulster photographers by all accounts suffered heavy mob intimidation from Stade Francais staffers in a show of strength reminiscent of old style communist regimes and new world dictatorships. The behaviour of Stade Francais is a story book in good cop, bad cop antics, with Stade showing a row of shiny white molars one minute by declaring their remorse for stooping to the lowest common denominator in breaching rugby’s code of ethics by gouging opponents.

Conversely they have demonstrated all that is unpleasant when a bully has been exposed as a cheat by intimidating witnesses, claiming they are victims and so on. Hey, this is European rugby and the French, we have been here before as I recall the line of track suited French ‘security’ blokes who stood staring into the crowd at Toulouse after a player had physically assaulted an Ulster fan.

They of course faced the wrong way as the threat was coming off the pitch from players, not unto the pitch by spectators who showed remarkable restraint in the face of heavy handedness and physical violence.

The Many Faces of a Jackal

Some of that violence emanated from one Gareth Thomas, whom many Ulster fans will vividly recall his contorted visage, hate filled throughout the uncontrolled display of venom towards them at the Toulouse game.

Thomas is in the headlines again, this time “coming out” as gay and not unnaturally for him is unwilling to leave it at that.

I see the headline on BBC Sport bawls out, ‘sport must face gay issue says Thomas.’  I haven’t bothered to read it. The ‘man’ sees himself as someone important, with a message he thinks everyone will hang on to his coat tails to hear.

For me there are more important issues than being gay or not. He needs to own up to his snarling,  hate filled behaviour in Toulouse, as any decent minded witness will testify.

Thomas needs to go away and examine his whole attitude to those he appears to deem inferior to his own lofty and greatly self exaggerated image. Rugby is a broad church in my opinion, which can tolerate many kinds of religion, gender, politics and a host of other diverse issues. It cannot and should not tolerate gratuitous or institutionalised violence.

Telling the sporting world you’re gay is a message of self publication that has little resonance with those who enjoy rugby for what it is and not as a vehicle for one man’s journey of self discovery in the media.

In The Hyacinth House with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Schizophrenic performances are not all confined to sociopathic gay rugby players or marketing conscious, multi millionaire financed Parisian rugby teams. Ulster rugby fans themselves could hardly be blamed for wondering which face of their team will turn up next week.

This is not just limited to the raucous confines of its Ravenhill home and the comforts afforded by the 16^th man but away games as well.  They go away and beat the Ospreys one week and fall to Edinburgh and Glasgow at home with performances that are as unexpected for their lack of zeal as the away wins are spectacular.

So what can we expect on Saturday against Leinster? Expect us to lose by one point to Leinster in a battling display, thwarted by a Brian O’Driscoll forward pass, 2 Leo Cullen lineout takes against the head, 3 Shane Horgan verbals and a yellow card for Ryan Caldwell. This will be followed by a thrashing at home by a Munster 3^rd XV.

Isn’t it any wonder one can’t go to Ravenhill without thinking:

What are they doing in the Hyacinth house?

As BJ Botha might say: ‘We’re all in this together, oh yeah!’