What a weekend for those who, in a world that’s falling apart, cherish the engaging distractions of sport. That epic in New Zealand, the sad sight of Rory McIlroy not collapsing, but failing to rise to the occasion. And not least the skill and passion of Limerick and Kilkenny at Croke Park.
I watched the Ireland-New Zealand match on my own in a house in Bayswater while my hospitable nephew followed his Saturday routine of sleeping in after a hard week at the helm of a financial institution. It didn’t stop me shouting and roaring while texting my rugby Signal group the while. I have been watching rugby since Jack Kyle played out-half for Ireland, served at scrum-half by John O’Meara and then Andy Mulligan. (Kyle told me many years later, when I asked him which he preferred playing with, that Andy took the pressure off him by making the breaks himself, while the length of John’s pass meant he had more space.) I’ve seen Ollie Campbell’s inspired Triple Crown performance against Scotland and Michael Kiernan’s late drop goal against England. I watched in horror as Ireland threw away a World-Cup quarter final against Australia at Landsdowne Road – hang down down your head Rob Saunders, hang down your head Jack Clarke. And I listened in from a roof-top in Havana as Ronan O’Gara dropped that goal that gave us our first Grand Slam since Jack Kyle’s day in 1949. However, the match last Saturday was surely Irish rugby’s finest hour. Every man jack of them contrived to have the game of his life - even the occasionally flakey (especially defensively) James Lowe. His left boot proved a lethal weapon in our arsenal. While pundits focus on the way we obliterated New Zealand in the first half, I’d prefer to point to the character the team showed by not panicking when they were pulled back to a three-point difference. There they showed the grace under extreme pressure that was often lacking in the past. What a climax for that great old war horse O’Mahoney, and what a resurrection for Tadgh Beirne after his dismal early career. And what a show from the seemingly ageless Sexton. We have never seen the All-Blacks so put down.
Rory, oh Rory what have you done. Four clear of the field (apart from the quickly fading Hovland) on a benign day at St. Andrew’s – the stage was set for you to finally end your major drought. You hardly missed a drive all day and you produced some magnificent iron shots – albeit never quite getting them into easy birdie territory. However, it was your old Achilles Heel let you down – your putting. You didn’t sink a single long putt in the entire round. Nor did you miss any short ones mind you. But to be a champion you need to produce the odd piece of magic – as Woods, or Nicklaus or Ballesteros did in their prime. You plodded around conservatively, like a latter day Nick Faldo, and unlike Faldo your conservatism was punished by an astonishing display of virtuoso putting by the relative rookie Cameron Smith. You didn’t lose it, you hardly made a mistake, but Smith won it by performing best when the occasion demanded. That will hurt – even unto your death bed.
I have a problem with Kilkenny – I do confess it. And especially with Cody’s round-head regime. I hated their hard-chaw physicality and their cynicism, allied it must be said to the sublime skills of the peerless Henry Sheflin. That master of the dark arts Tommy Walsh (the judicious push in the back a speciality) epitomised their approach to the game. Their glory days overlapped with one of the better Tipperary teams of the last 50 years, and it was only towards the latter stages of the decade that the Tipp cavaliers learned their lesson – giving them two good hammerings in 2016 and 2019 to make up a little for the two they left behind earlier in the decade. There was a time when Cork were our bete noir but for the past 15 years they have been more to be pitied than feared. So I was by no means neutral watching the final last Sunday. While still being ambivalent about the tax-dodger subsidised Limerick, I assuredly wanted them to win. Cody cannot be beaten too often or too hard for my liking. Bitter moi? Anyway it was an outstanding final, fast-flowing, sporting and astonishingly skilful. And of course great drama too. T.J. Reid is no mean Sheflin stand-in and the Kilkenny team stood shoulder to shoulder with this outstanding Limerick side. Cody has renounced his brute pragmatism and joined the cavaliers. Now please retire.
