KISS OF DEFENCE
Pour moi, the rugby season has yet to begin. Time though waits for no dude, the wannabee pundits are in full cry. Chief object of their deliberations is Paddy Wallace, Ulster’s diminutive no.12. Paddy lines up for Ireland at inside centre with Ronan O’Gara and Keith Earls either side of him.
As I type the doommongers have donned black hoods and adopted gravelly voices as they strive to outbid each other to deride Paddy’s defence. Things are exacerbated they claim by the presence of them other lightweight practitioners of the tackle, Earls and O’Gara.
Mon dieu, you are talking up your collective derrieres. I see Paddy’s defence not as a liability but a victim of the Kiss of defence as initiated by Ireland’s defensive strategist, Mr. Less Kiss.
Against Scotland Paddy’s defence was targeted by their big runners and the Armageddon analysts detected him being knocked back metres at a time.
There is a hilarious photo on the front page of Sunday Times sport section. It shows that megalithic, bulldozing, blockbuster of a full back Chris Patterson being tackled by THREE Irish defenders and still standing.
Chris Patterson? Yes Chris Patterson! All 13 stone of him is pictured with Tomas O’Leary, Johnny Sexton and the much maligned Paddy Wallace hanging on to his waist, all rather reminiscent of the Marx Bros and a Night at the Opera.
What is unique is that none of the trio have clearly thought or more like been instructed to grab his legs. It’s well known to the most idiotic rugby player that humans don’t travel very far when you are holding on to their legs.
Mr. Kiss’s offensive defensive strategy is clearly to stop the ball being played at the expense of yards travelled. None of this Paddy’s fault as he is only following orders and I imagine he is more of a legs man when it comes to tackling given his size. Under orders though he is engaging in the kiss of defence to implement Ireland’s squeeze on the ball players.
Much of this is lost on the Paddy’s Armageddon analysts who spy only opposition momentum gained in yards and it’s all the wee 12’s fault. Now with two more wee men either side of him expect to see more breaches occur in the Irish defence than at the Battle of the Bulge.
Wise up I say and get off the wee man’s back, he’s playing to orders and doing a good job. Seem to recall him stifle the mighty Ma Nonu in New Zealand a few years back despite the doomsayers relegating him to the realms of also ran over.
BAYONNE BEATING
The Ulster Season Ticket Holders were given a right royal hiding by the Bayonne Babarians in the sun kissed south of France on Wednesday night last.
Lamented Ulster’s Directeur of Humphreys, Mr. David Rugby, “it was a good experience for the youngsters in the team,” as he just stopped short of admitting they were thrashed.
The youngsters in the team seemed more concerned about being sun kissed off the pitch than the kiss of defence on it. Lets’ hope if any of them return to Clermont Ferrand in mid winter the lack of sun kissed opportunities off the pitch will focus minds on it.
A FEISTY FEAST
Big news of the week was the announcement of the FRU’s forthcoming dinner and awards night. Main topic of interest is whether I’ll be at the same table as Glynn Commando. Earlier in the week there were revelations of wine throwing at GC’s dinner table.
GC seems to engage in medieval re-enactment dinners which gradually deteriorate in to wine throwing, profiterole pelting and custard slurping.
What to wear will be a key ingredient for the evening of 3rd September. It promises to be a heady palate of Stella, (or should that be stellar) drinking and customary revelry.
Can’t wait!
TWEETIE PIE
The tweetie types amongst the Irish rugby community were in fine form during the week. Rory Best tweeted a picture of a sheep looking at George Bush junior on the TV. Eerily reminiscent of Gene Wilder’s attachment to a sheep in Woody Allen’s ‘Everything you want to Know about Sex’, Rory declared it big Tom Court and Andrew Trimble showing affection for George Bush after their night together.
Wasn’t immediately clear who the sheep was but big Tom, without a mainliner in sight, stormed back at Rory. ‘Go stand in front of a mirror & take a long hard look. I think the up-coming milestone is effecting your judgement!’
Later when he’d cooled to a simmering 500 degrees C, big Tom responded with a picture purporting to be Rory and Andy T together.
The inimitable Andy T’s response to this ridiculous tweetie soap has so far gone unreported.
On a more prosaic note Ali Birch, was worried he wouldn’t be recognized by the kids at the Ulster Rugby Summer camp. Plaintively he tweeted to ‘chad’ Henry-
‘Going to an Ulster Rugby summer camp today… Won’t be using my own name… Maybe I can use yours @chrishenry2000’ In full blown mentoring mode, chad tweeted back with permission and some kisses blown over cyber space.
All this ‘man’ affection is so out of step with the days of yester yore when being recognized was the least of a chaps rugby career.
WHITE HARES
I was somewhat taken ashock to be fined by the FRU for mentioning a town north west of Larne and left of Ballynure. A more unmentionable place for me is a town north, northwest of this unmentionable town.
Recall playing them at rugby and it was fool’s gold who you might meet on any given Saturday afternoon. Guesting for a minor league team, we came up against a senior league 2nd row who just happened to be ‘coming back from injury!’ or should that be, ‘We’ve no game today so I’ll rehabilitate against these minors’.
Their team was positively bursting with under 20’s. As the 2nd row ran amok and the under 20’s bustled with energy all over the pitch it was a cue for sniggers and off the cuff remarks from them as they steamrollered us into the ground.
The next time we played their somewhat weakened team, I was glad all over, victory never seemed sweeter.
I remember a game against the legendary Willie Duncan in a friendly. Playing way below his normal level he had opted to line out in the centre opposite moi.
After one spectacular collision when I arose from the pitch spitting grass the ref enquired if I was ok. I understood that Willie was taking it easy without ever being condescending towards those less gifted than he, unlike the charmless team from B’town.
THE DEMISE OF HTC
No its not the end of hormone treatment for cats but I am sad to report the collapse of the HTC cycling team.
There’s no more spectacular sight in pro road racing than the 9 man Columbia train at the front of the peleton hunting down breakaway riders and setting up the stage win for their sprinter Mark Cavendish.
Corrections, comments or questions?