(The Calm Before the Storm!)
The headline’s not a reference to one of Mote’s posts, or my blogs. Rather it’s a line from a song whose artiste is long forgotten but whose rotten repetitive lyrics have stayed rooted in my mind anytime there’s a lull before something eagerly anticipated is about to happen.
The rugby pre season still seems as far away as ever despite the noble efforts of the Front Row Union’s editor and Mr & Mrs Commando to rally the troops ahead of coming battles. True the Tri Nations staggers along under the weight of New Zealand hype and power, Australian optimism and Springbok injury and insidious bluff.
A Return to Wheels
Rugby’s taken a back seat. I’ve reluctantly focussed on other activities and leisure pursuits. As noted a few weeks back, I purchased a push bike. Not to live out dreams of the Tour De France I hasten to add, for this is no radiant drop down handlebarred, 30 speed gear, carbon fibre frame job.
No, it’s to pedal my way round Ballygowan back roads and cycle paths that converge and emanate from Belfast’s slowly emerging new metropolis. A summer’s evening cycling the country roads is a pleasant experience, rarely threatened by the roar of car engines and enhanced by rolling fields, vaguely distant hills and silence of the lambscape.
That silence is occasionally broken by my heavy breathing as I labour up another of those drumlins formed aeons ago when the land scraped and tortured under the passage of glaciers.
If my fitness is not quite up to speed, it soon will be and the lungs should be at full capacity in time to bawl out the usual chorus of brays and neighs on the Terrace in 3 weeks time.
Good Mountains – Bad Roads
As part of my pre season build up I chilled out in Donegal last weekend in an area close to Dungloe. For those who don’t know the county and I don’t, it is on the West coast.
With a pleasant cottage, a book, a few bottles of wine and just my wife for company it was a meandering few days spent soaking up the rural Donegal air and assessing what it is that people from Northern Ireland like about it.
The landscape here is rugged and uncompromising for all but the hardiest livestock. Cow herders need not apply, it is a rock strewn, series of mountain peaks interspersed with low lying bog land and lakes both small and large.
The rugged stone hills and crests rumble off into the distance like reefs of corrugated iron, turning a deep blue under leaden, cloud strewn skies. It is a blue so beloved of Irish painters such as Paul Henry. Their paintings are evoked as you judder along winding roads just wide enough for passing cars.
With a map largely devoid of roads I was depending on signposts and a detailed route description from my host to find my way to our cottage destination. The signs are Gaelic so a little imagination is required. Unfortunately for such a tourist orientated area of Ireland they are inadequate.
The landscape’s rugged beauty is now scarred with the detritus of new developments. New houses sit amongst the rock strewn hills like bright eyes in a darkened room. It is the price of progress, that the once virgin and rugged hills now resemble a scattered housing development.
Coming Down From Mountain Katy Daley
It would be a lie to say I was entirely devoid of rugby tittle tattle. Stephen Ferris tweets on the condition of his wonky knees as one whose glass is half full. Therein dwells the chasm between his optimism and the Irish management’s realistic assessments.
Ferris may make the World cup squad without having played much of a semblance of competitive rugby. It’s a measure of his stature that he should be one of a coveted few who are almost indispensable.
The injury to his knee sounds like one I suffered when I played my first competitive, adult rugby match. Inexperience made me remain on my feet too long with two heavyweight tacklers weighing me down.
I eventually hit the earth and when back on my feet, thought I was ok as I ran in a straight line. The moment I veered off line though was when the full reality of my damaged knee hit, there was no support twixt upper and lower leg.
I retired to bed in my parents’ house and didn’t get up for 3 days. If a blanket so much as tapped lightly on my leg it sent burning pain shooting into my knee. Even when I was able to walk during the first week, if I so much as tapped a kerb or other object on the ground the pain was just about bearable.
Through not having much choice and not wanting to repeat the experience I realised rest was the only cure. It was 6 months in total before I returned to action, this time playing soccer on an astro turf pitch 3 or 4 nights a week.
So I wish Stephen all the best as do I’m sure many other fans. If his injury is something similar to mine and I of course didn’t have all the recuperative treatments these guys have, then now is about the time he should getting back to serious running about.
Let’s hope he makes it to the World Cup.
Go big lad, you deserve a turn of good fortune.
The Godfather
David Ford seems to have some sort of fixation with justifying his existence as a Justice minister. Draconian measures such as 3 months prison for having alcohol on a bus to a sporting fixture is over the top and a waste of custodial space.
Most nefarious is the branding of rugby with those other sports where the actual problem lies. Ford like most of our politicians is afraid to point the finger were the real problem lies. He hides behind the umbrella of our 3 main sports including rugby as though this will save him from accusations of finding problems were none exists.
His behaviour is reminiscent of a sheriff in a Wild West town. Like most ministers, sorting a problem involves punishment of all and sundry whether guilty or not. There is another way, such as convincing people in their minds that excessive drinking before a sporting event is counterproductive.
It wouldn’t be government though if sorting problems didn’t include mugging thoughtful law abiding citizens to line government coffers some more.
ST’s the Only True Spectators?
Ulster Rugby’s fixation with trying to force punters to purchase a season ticket is becoming tiresome. The latest effort is make the family evening available to ST holders only. I’ve been at the last 3 of these events and if they muster more than 60 people for it on the basis of ST holders, then I’ll be delighted to print an apology.
Otherwise the repetitive mantra of ST holder only syndrome is wearing my patience thin. I didn’t miss a match last season and the season before that and so on and on and on and on…
Corrections, comments or questions?