Last Friday evening an unusual event took place at the end of the Ulster game. Grown men stood shaking hands with one another as the final whistle blew. A palpable sense of relief swept the terrace like a tsunami, fuelled by the feeling that the great escape had occurred.
Well perhaps there wasn’t a universal clasping of hands as though at a Masonic convention, in fact, it was the fellow beside me and his friend both shook my hand. It demonstrated the collective feeling of supporters having just been through something of a rugby trauma.
I was minded to remind Chief Muller at the quizicist convention on Wednesday night of the need for the team to stop dealing in these cliff-hanger type games as it is bad for the health of, not just elderly supporters, but Ulster fans in general whose tickers must be now in danger of overheating.
Perhaps Event sec could be persuaded to abandon their customary terrace kettling techniques and standby with defibrillators to revive tired, emotional and exhausted Ulstermen women and children who cannot take any more of this edge of the seat, sorry barrier stuff.
We can thank referee James Jones once again for his commendable Nelsonian attitude to minor offences and his brevity in handling the advantage rule. With umpteen forward passes, (by both sides) being ignored by officials, JJ could well be in line to referee a Super 15 match.
I have no doubt Southern Hemisphere audiences and commentators would take the fellow to their collective bosoms given the entertainment value he perpetrates in a rugby match.
It remains to be seen this evening whether Ulster will continue with their policy of playing a game of two halves. The first is played in the opposition half and the second in their own. It’s what gives these palpitations of the heart as the game reaches a climax with the scores locked in a deathly struggle, much like Moriarity and Holmes at the Falls.
C’mon Ulster, stopping teasing us loyal supporters by pretending for 79minutes, you don’t really want to win and put to tonight’s Glasgae game out of sight with 20 minutes to go!!
Can they do it? Yes they can!
Quizicist Convention Caters for Boffins and Buffoons.
After months of mental conditioning and physiological evaluation, 22 teams gathered for the annual boffin bash in the Long Room at Ravenhill, the boffins and butties quiz.
FRU captain, Glynncommando (GC to his friends), had taken a leaf out of coach McGlocks book and announced a 36 man squad in advance of the quiz. With 6 per team required, GC’s team finally took to the table with 4 members, due to injuries, late withdrawals, apathy, mental block and an assortment of other excuses.
The team, cunningly called ‘Chariot for Sale’ consisted of Mr. & Mrs. GC, Dergman and yours truly. After I had drawn the ticket we were joined by the illustrious but shy Mr. Pienaar. We finished in mid table having avoided the relegation zone due to the heroic efforts of GC, Mrs GC, (speciality subject Harry Potter), and Dergman.
I prefer not to dwell on my performance and alas poor Pienaar. He was unable to come to terms with questions on obscure British history such as who succeeded Elizabeth 1 to the throne. It’s a shame our South African friends weren’t accommodated with a round of questions on South Africa.
Even my intellectual colleagues, Dergman and the GC’s, struggled to answer such weighty questions as how did Lord (your country needs you) Kitchener die? We decided it was from gout! which was as far from the truth as Armitage Shanks was the name of 3 brothers who set up a porcelain factory in the fifties.
Mrs GC came into her own on Harry Potter questions, boosting our standing temporarily, whilst Mr. GC showed a hitherto unknown talent for recognising obscure musicals. Dergman presented a steadying influence in midfield whilst myself and the faintly embarrassed Mr. Pienaar floundered amidst historical events, catchphrases, sporting and food questions.
We finished in mid table obscurity, shook hands with Mr. Pienaar and wished him better luck in a real contest like this Friday night before retiring in a reticent manner.
All Hues in McHughs.
I watched the Ireland match last Saturday evening in the basement of McHugh’s bar in Belfast on a scratchy screen, with dodgy sound.
A rotund Englishman, complete with obligatory rose adorned shirt sat nearby beside his young friend in an Ireland shirt.
As the Queen screeched out, the Englishman rose to his feet in splendid isolation and clutched the rose on his shirt as though in the throes of a heart attack. Following this unexpected display of patriotism, four colleens at the next table rose unsteadily to their feet and warbled Amhran before the whole bar collectively belted out Ireland’s Call.
It could have been a musical GC might have recognised. As the match ended the young man in the Ireland shirt was getting a tad confrontational and was keen to parley with me. Recognising I could use Irish interrogation techniques on him, a methodology possible when the subject has had many pints of Guinness, I proceeded to quiz him.
Obligingly, he confided he’d played Ulster under 16’s but had been suspended for obscure tactics on the field of play. Asked if he was still playing he confided, these days he drank Guinness and spectated, in that order.
I lamented the rudderless passing of idle youth and disappeared into the darkness with my companion Ron the Spark. Later that evening as we rounded the front of the City Hall, we passed a group of weirdly dressed youngsters, some as young as 14 or 15, gathered at the gates of the renowned establishment.
A fragment of a vodka bottle slithered past us across the pavement, though it was clearly being jettisoned rather than thrown at us and we walked on. Just past this group of imbibing youngsters we came across the rotund Englishman and the confrontational young man in the Ireland shirt.
There had been a confrontation we were informed between the confrontational young man and the confrontational youngsters resulting in the young man phoning the police. Ron the spark counselled the young man before we moved on.
I mentioned the youngsters at the City Hall gates and someone said, “ah, the Goths.”
“Goths?, more like nasty gargoyles”, I expostulated.
I shook my head, the lost generation of today.
Help! Munster fan!
UAFC members show their humanitarian side in this little exchange with a Munster fan.
Munster Fan: ‘Hi could anyone please help me out, I am hoping to obtain a Programme/Teamsheet for the Ulster Ravens V Munster A match at Shaws Bridge last week if one was produced.’
Ulster fan no. 1: ‘I was at the game, and unfortunately don’t think there was one. Sorry.’
Ulster fan no. 2: ‘I’ll draw you one with crayon for 50 euros…’
Ulster fan no. 3: ‘You’re a Munsterfan, I think you’re beyond help…’
…and finally reality dawns!
Ulster fan no. 4: ‘A programme for an A match you are lucky to hear they are happening more than a day in advance never mind get a programme.’
Corrections, comments or questions?