A LOAD OF METAPHORS

A ROAD OF METAPHORS

Belated Christmas greetings to my acknowledged & known readership of three! A thousand dark looks to the thousands of readers of this blog who are in denial and refuse to acknowledge they read it. Not forgetting Christmas greetings to the ubiquitous Editor, Owner and general good Charlie of this site, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Dewi Barnes!!!!!!

Every Sunday morning, without fail, I take a walk to buy the newspapers at my local newsagent. Invariably it is early, too early for the inhabitants of my village in County Down. Inevitably I walk in relative silence untroubled by human activity, save for a few early morning cyclists and a couple of district nurses doing the rounds. A few Sundays ago it was a crisp and chilly minus 3 or 4 degrees. The landscape of housing developments, green fields and empty roads were coated with a white sheen of heavy frost.

The village with its single newsagent, a Mace with a face lift, a pub, a rather dowdy looking house grandly labelled a hotel, a chemist, plus assorted shops of nondescript function and of course the inevitable garage cum jack of all trades shop make up a core round which the single estate and numerous housing developments exist. This is the small ‘p’ in provincial Ulster and a fitting metaphor for Ulster rugby, the provincial rugby team through which many thousands of this, 1.7million strong country focus their passion and channel their sporting dreams.

So it was that frosty Sunday morning I was in reflective mood, acutely aware of my surroundings, scanning the roadsides for evidence of life. Inevitably the bits of turnip lying in a pile against the kerb did not escape my scrutiny. Remnants from Turnipstan left in hasty retreat, the detritus of their defeat at the hands of Ulster rugby. A crow squawked from the top of a telegraph pole, clearly some were still celebrated winning this particular war. What of crab, cockles or Corrigals? There were no signs of the Connaught team in full retreat, as it fled the massacre at Ravenhill. I searched in vain to see if the village had been painted red to honour the putting to flight of Scarlets rugby. Alas it remained a stubborn hue of white, grey and light blue.

At the village square a man stands awkwardly half way up a ladder, clearly unsure of his position but wanting to climb higher. This was surely a metaphor for Ulster rugby. Ambitious to fly higher but having to make steady progress uphill whilst finding their feet, having come off the rails in spectacular fashion last season. I wanted to tell the man it was safe to ascend further up the ladder but was cautious of his ability to make it to the top.

The village is Hicksville, USA, with its main street running straight out of town into the surrounding countryside like the road to nowhere in a sphagetti Western. As you walk up a slight incline you leave the shops behind, pass the last church, one of two in the village and top the hill. Before you lies the vista of small holdings and low acreage fields that represent the solidity of Ulster provincial life. Stretching into the distance interspersed with trees and hedges, modern bungalows and farm sheds. The microcosm of Ulster’s heritage dwells snugly between the country lanes. This is north County Down, but it could be anywhere in Ulster away from its capital city. The bedrock of Ulster Rugby’s support is located amongst the four wheel drives and country accents.

From the top of the hill outside my village as you look beyond the hedgerows trees and bungalows, you can see the linear Black Mountain as it gazes soulfully down upon the bustling capital city that is Belfast. Nestling in the Lagan valley, it is a sprawling town of half a million people crammed into housing estates in the North, East and West of the city, whilst further out on the ring roads and main arterial routes to the hinterland lie the better off in the myriad housing developments that have sprung up round the city in the last 20 years or more. In the East of the city lies Ravenhill, Ulster rugby’s home ground.

Located amongst a mixture of working class and middle class homes, the compact, dilapidated ground has hosted a rich heritage of rugby over the last century and into this one. Players as famous and illustrious as Willie john McBride, Jack Kyle, Mike Gibson and many, many more like them have walked below the Memorial clock and run out unto the hallowed turf to demonstrate their skills and captivate an audience.

Lately the shine and allure of the old ground has worn thin in the minds of Ulster supporters as the team has struggled to make an impact even on the domestic stage that is the Magner’s League.

Yet as the incoming antipodean coach has sought to impose his own brand of physcological and disciplined but freewheelin’ style of rugby on the team there are signs that the glory, glory days have not been left that far behind. With some shrewd antipodean signings and the nursing of home grown talent well underway Ulster rugby’s trajectory appears once more to be on the rise.

The players from South Africa, Australia, Scotland, Southern Ireland & Fiji all appear to have bought into the rugby and cultural heritage, recognising that there is a long and valued tradition in this little provincial outpost. The days of a solid scrum, last seen when another South African, Robbie Kempson helped anchor the scrum with a wealth of experience in the dark arts, appear to have returned with the signing of BJ Botha and the evergreen Fitzpatrick propping at loosehead.

Like the man halfway up the ladder, it’s difficult to tell if Ulster can rise higher and hit greater heights than in recent times because of course, their re-invention is still underway. It is a work in progress, but nevertheless one that is beginning to show signs of maturity. It is early days yet. Like my Sunday walks, only repeated effort brings reward and the ability to interpret the signs that litter the road of metaphors.

A Happy New Year to the readership and to the players and management of Ulster Rugby. Got to be optimistic about 2009 and why not, the signs are there, let’s see them crystallise.

Postscript

As I post this, Ulster have been beaten by Leinster at Ravenhill. A fairly aimless display of kicking allowed Leinster to retain possession for the bulk of the game and ultimately win it with not even a losing bonus point to cherish. A repeat display will see us plunge to bottom of the Magners League again.

I see Willie Anderson has been brought in to help the Ulster pack. What is the thinking here? If it ain’t broke don’t try to mend it. I’m not a huge fan of WA and I disliked his appearance in the beer tent before the match last night. There was something illogical about a coach parading around the beer tent whilst the team he’s supposed to be helping out is preparing for a big game. We lost, that coupled with WA nosing around amongst the spectators only confirms my jaundiced attitude to his appointment, which clearly didn’t have the effect it was supposed to and doesn’t inspire much confidence in me for 2009.