Grand Slam

I started writing this blog all those months ago discussing the launch of the 2008 Six Nations campaign. The 2009 tournament has just ended, in a manner that will go down in sporting folklore, as one of the most dramatic endings to a rugby match ever witnessed. The contrast is marked. Ten months or four blog postings later and the Irish team have written themselves into the history books. Sixty-One years ago a team led by the mercurial Jack Kyle led Ireland to its first Grand Slam triumph. Mr. Kyle watched from the stands of the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff as Ireland’s ‘Golden Generation’ finally lived up to it’s billing.

In 1994 my father took me to see my first rugby international. Ireland beat England that day and I was enthralled by the physicality, the commitment of the players, the pride with which they wore the famous green. The shade of green may have changed in the fifteen years since then but not much else has. This was one of the great displays in Irish sporting history, undoubtedly the finest collective performance, but also one where individual performances rival that of McGuigan, O’Sullivan, Carey, Coughlin and Harrington in the Irish pantheon. To that list add the names O’Driscoll, O’Connell and O’Gara.

My memory of the game itself has been condensed into moments of despair coupled with elation (Though John Hayes on the right wing offloading with quick hands is an indelible recollection.) I left the room when in the 80^th minute, the Wales out-half Stephen Jones struck the penalty that could’ve spiralled the nation into depression, contemplating the possibility of 62, 63, or 64 years. Or worse. I made it back in time to see Geordan Murphy touch the ball down and boot it into the timelessness of touch. Ireland: Grand Slam Winners.

I watched with disbelief the replay of that faithful kick for the first time on Sunday. Knowing that the kick fell short did nothing to alleviate the sense of surprise when it dropped under the goal. For forty-seven of its forty-eight metre journey, it looked to me like the crushing blow we all feared. To watch it live might just have killed me.

Ireland dominated the game, scoring two tries to Wales’ none, dominating the lineout, gaining parity in the scrum and making numerous line breaks. So it wasn’t just the result that swells the bosom. The manner of the performance matters too. If not for Wayne Barnes, Ireland’s victory would have been more comfortable. The penalty count was 15–5 in favour of Wales. Ireland, who have been on paper at least, the most disciplined side in the Six Nations were penalised three times more than their opponents. If that stataistic was merely a reflection of Ireland infringing more than there opponent one could accept the penalty count (particularly in the latter stages of the match when nerves played their part) but throughout the match the referee's performance was strewn with inconsistency.

Yesterday (Sunday 22^nd March) to mark the homecoming of the Grand Slam Champions. Thousands of supporters cheered the team on Dawson Street in the Capital, where the players, coaching staff and management were received in the Mansion House. O2, the Irish team’s shirt sponsor, distributed branded flags to the joyous masses. RTÉ erected a stage, large screens and a speaker system to facilitate the thousands who were the length of the street from the focal point. They failed in that endeavour as the video feed and sound were out of synch and what little sound emanated was barely audible. Those who cheered merely did so, mimicking the crowds further up the thoroughfare.

I would like to think of this as a beginning for this team. But if it is to be another 61 years to our next Grand Slam, I can now at least, rest in peace, thankful that the Millennium Stadium roof was open, the cooler, fresh air perhaps offering more resistance than the warm air an enclosed arena may have. They say in international rugby that the difference between winning and losing can be millimetres. For Ireland on Saturday evening, it was probably about a thousand of them.