Many years ago Ulster were known unofficially amongst the supporters as the ‘white knights’. A name at the time that seemed so apt given they played in chivalrous, ruthless fashion, in their white shirts emblazoned with a big red hand, shorts and red socks.
At one stage a newspaper as I recall it, held a poll to decide if the ‘white knights’ would stick as a name, as the fad at that time was to call teams Warriors, Chiefs, Tigers, Llamas and so on. Some of the names on offer in the poll were awful and the sobriquet ‘white knight’ failed to top the poll, indeed I remember red Indian lookalikes prancing round the hallowed ground at one stage. King Arthur, our Chief Executive decreed that Ulster would be called Ulster and there the matter rested.
Thankfully the name that topped the poll was put to bed. Supporters like myself still peer into the rose tinted ether of seasons past and recall those days when ‘the white knights’ seemed an entirely fitting sobriquet, even if Camelot or Ravenhill by another name was anything but the white shining castle on the hill. The wizard Merlin in those times was the entirely appropriately named Solomons and under his stewardship ‘the white knights’ and Camelot became a fortress which was well nigh unbreachable.
A few wizards of a ‘would be’ nature have came and went through the revolving employment door at Headquarters and even King Arthur has abdicated. Newspaper adverts soliciting a new Arthur who will take Ulster into the 21st century on the back of a suitable business degree and various other rather grandly spelt out criteria have been placed to find a person for all seasons, who would need to be somewhat multi dimensional to take the strain of potential death by committee.
So it was to Friday night last and Camelot, at least one side of it, had an entirely new look. From my seat high up in the old stand, the shining new metal and concrete of the freshly constructed grandstand gleamed in the flood lights and the pitch had a grassy sheen as if freshly clipped. The ‘white knights’ took to the grass with all the zest of men in fighting form, their weaponry sharply honed, their morale soaring on the back of a foray into south west Wales where they had handsomely defeated the Ospreys.
As befits a team with their tails up, the ‘white knights’ took the battle to the opposition with no little skill and a ferocious desire to engage the enemy, the Edinburgh Gunners. Picking passes off the feet at speed, the back line fairly motored with no little skill, aided and abetted by some quality support from the forwards. It seemed early in the game that the Gunners tackle count was already stratospheric. Ulster did score twice, though as I remarked rather fearfully and drawing on the gnawing uncertainty of recent seasons, the 10 points on the scoreboard seemed a miniscule reward for all the endeavour and work-rate by both backs and forwards.
The Gunners made a brief foray into the Ulster half duly scoring and converting the try to boot through the metronomic kicking of Chris Paterson. Passes didn’t go to hand either in that first half and ultimately the lack of clinical finishing of chances would prove fateful to the ‘white knights’.
If not kicking the points on offer through a penalty and two conversions was a factor in the defeat by the Gunners, it could be deemed to be the lesser evil, the other being tactics and tactical substitutions. For this, as at the Dragons the management must take the blame for poor judgement. Humph minor was subbed for Wallace who then had a fairly miserable night by his standards. Humph minor thrives on a high tempo game were his instinctive rugby brain allows him to play ‘off the cuff’ as it were. By the time he was removed from the field of play the ‘white knights had already adopted the less risky slow tempo game, preferring to drive the ball up the middle and only occasionally moving it wide. That said they were still comfortable until the sin binning of the unfortunate Wallace.
Disappointing as the result was, it is hard to feel downhearted given the standard of rugby played in the early part of the game. The Gunners, the standard bearers in the League this season were made to look ordinary and it is some indication of the home team’s domination that the opposition’s coach admitted they were lucky to survive. It has to be hoped that our coaching staff will finally sort out the kicking from tee.
Folks on the UAFC have been going on about this particular aspect of Ulster’s play for quite some time now and one can understand there alacrity. Tactics have to be sorted and were the coaching staff can take credit for the O’s game, they will also have to take the brickbats for the tactics in the Dragons game and the tactical substitutions in the game against the Gunners.
Elsewhere on Friday night one observed a little sea of humanity within Camelot and could not but help notice the emergence of human life on the expensive seats in the new stand round about or just after half time. It emerged that Arthur in a last act of defiance decided to chuck a few of the moneyed aristocracy out of bar to encourage the impression the seats were after all more than just empty appendages to a concrete floor. All it needed was for the announcer to reprise John Lennon’s variety performance remark to the audience. ‘Would the people in the cheap seats clap their hands, the rest of you can rattle your jewellery’. Indeed in the really expensive seats above the expensive seats many figures could be seen standing and actually watching the match.
I still, after all these years, don’t understand why you pay for a ticket to a rugby match and then go and spend your time in the bar. Now I know it’s a democracy and you pay thus you have a choice. Surely though if a drink with your mates is all you need then a ticket for a rugby match is an unnecessary expense and inessential item for your night out.
Essentially Camelot has changed forever. The banks of fans that spilled up unto the top of the hill on the old terrace are now a greatly reduced mass to be replaced by the square tables of the corporate hospitality boxes and a new beginning for the ‘white knights’. Even some of the rugby on offer took on a dimension not seen for many years since the wizard Solomons was rendered redundant.
Were the ‘white knights’ withered on Chris Paterson’s right boot, so Munster lowered the standard of the Magner’s way beyond what we have come to expect of a league with lofty pretensions to excellence. Now I don’t hold the Scarlets any closer to my heart than I have affection for Scarlet Johannsen, nor am I part of an anti Munster axis. But the way Munster infringed their way to victory at the Scarlets made me cringe and fearful for the league as a whole were all teams to adopt their tactics.
You know it’s bad when Alain Rolland brandishes a yellow card after just 9 minutes and 31 seconds. First Leamy went to the bin and then Doncha Ryan before the first half concluded. During that time, with the Scarlets going forward cavalier fashion, Munster infringed repeatedly at ruck time, coming in at the side, lying over the ball and so on, added to Mafi attempting to strangle Mark Jones with a poor challenge. Ryan again
transgressed in the second half but Rollaind failed the Magners League in not giving a second yellow and sending him off. To add insult to injury Munster won at the death, with Ryan still on the pitch.
Some folks on the UAFC eulogise Munster and some it’s forwards for being streetwise, playing the ref to the max and being clever about slowing down the game when they need to. Sorry, don’t buy it, as I said, if every team adopts these negative tactics then the League is going to lose its healthy supporter base. If Munster win the League this year, it will more than likely be on the back of performances such as last Saturday night’s by Irish squad journeymen. I for one will not be lifting a glass in celebration to this kind of rugby Armageddon.
PS: Any references to ‘knights’ is in no way connected to a certain welder on the UAFC messageboard who continues to splash posts about like a trainee fashion designer with a pair of jeans and a bottle of bleach.
See you all in the Rosie on Friday night.
As BJ Botha might hum, ‘where is the sunshine, my only sunshine, it makes me happy when skies are blue!
Corrections, comments or questions?