Rugby, Racing and the Fear of Relegation

 I enjoy the Rugby Six Nations more than any of the other sporting competition – it is I suppose because of its history and the old rivalries renewed. I’ve been watching it since the early 1960s when our Cork school used to go en bloc. I particularly enjoy the Welsh match because they take it so seriously and history has sown the seeds of some serious antipathy. Many will remember the Mike Philipps farce in 2011 where a dim-witted linesman ( “it’s the correct ball”) allowed a clearly illegal try by the opportunistic scrum half. Older folk will remember the infamous punch delivered by the Welsh captain Brian Price to Noel Murphy (no angel mind you) in 1969. And on a personal note I always found the Welsh fans tendency (in the old Landsdowne Road days) to use the terraces as urinals a tad unseemly. So I certainly relished last Saturdays’ drubbing – although like most I was disappointed that the team took its foot off gas in the second half. The pack were outstanding, flawless in the line out and solid in the scrum with the back row in particular doing well – O’Mahony in the line out and Doris and Van der Flier everywhere. Keenan was superb at full back – brave and reliable as usual. 

 

The Dublin Racing Festival at Leopardstown was compulsory watching for anyone interested in top-quality racing and in form spotting for Cheltenham. The one slightly sour note was the absolute dominance of Willie Mullins, and to a lesser extent McManus as an owner. Mullins has become the Manchester City of racing with many of the big buys by the big owners ending up in his stable. Gordon Elliot is his only substantial rival with Henry de Bromhead in very poor form so far this year – even the great Honeysuckle has been vanquished. A feature of the racing was the number of Mullins hot shots who got beaten, only for the stable 2^nd or 3^rd string to triumph. These included Blue Lord at 1-4, Lossiemouth at 1-3, and the ostensibly unbeatable Facile Vega at 4-9. It’s rare to hear the generally amiable Mullins being critical of Paul Townend his stable jockey but in two of the cases mentioned he had a go at him in the after-race interviews. Of Facile Vega’s run he said next time Townend should “ride him like a racehorse and not a machine.”  State Man in the Irish Champion Hurdle, owned by my old school mate Joe Donnelly, put Honeysuckle (over the hill?) in her place and he has to be considered a serious rival to the much hyped Constitution Hill in the Champion Hurdle. I was unimpressed by Galopin des Champs in the Paddy Power Gold cup and can’t see him winning the Cheltenham Gold Cup. I’ll be hoping de Bromhead’s pair (A Plus Tard and Minella Indo) recover their mojos. Another impressive performance was John Kiely’s A Dream to Share (see image above) in the bumper on the first day – a race that always throws up Cheltenham contenders. He was up against 7 Mullins’ horses (Willie, Thomas and Emmet all had runners) but won handily. A small owner and trainer prevailing - with a McManus horse in second. I had a decent bet on him at 14-1 and will be hoping for a repeat performance in the Cotswolds. While I’m on the subject of creatures being “over the hill”, would somebody please retire Ted Walsh. His son Ruby is probably one of the shrewdest analysts around and is always worth listening to on RTE and ITV and his daughter Katy doing her interviews on horseback is a nice touch even if it’s all a tad incestuous and unchallenging - many of the winning horse are attached to a stable with strong family connections. But do we need three Walshs? Ted has atrophied into a caricature of himself – with a desperate need to be blunt and salty (is using “arse” every time he’s on TV written into his contract?), and a singular lack of detachment.

 

Not many people know that I’m an Everton supporter. But I’ve been at it long enough to see them win leagues, cups and even the European Cup-Winners cup in 1985 – beating Bayern Munich on the way.  Their golden age in the 80s coincided with the Liverpool-inspired European ban for all English clubs – irony of ironies. I can’t remember why I started following them but assume it must have been because of the number of Irish internationals they featured in the 1950s: Peter Farrell, Tommy Eglington and Mick Megan to name a few. Kevin Sheedy was on their great 80s team. In recent years I’ve kept this near-fatal attraction quiet. The notion of them being relegated seems unspeakable – especially when you know their history and have seen at first hand the pride and esprit-de-corps at Goodison. But they have fallen into bad company in recent years and the management merry-go-round has been farcical. I was happy to see a no-bullshit, pragmatic manager such as Sean Dyche appointed . If anyone is going to drag them out of the slough of despond it’s surely him. So I was very pleased to see stirrings of pride and honest endeavour last Saturday when they beat Arsenal. I just wish it hadn’t been against Arsenal who I have begun to take an interest in because of the fine football they play and of course because of Arteta – their Everton connection. Now a result against Liverpool next week would be a different matter.

Burly Brits Best BOD and Buddies in Bog

These days it's almost impossible to source tickets for Six Nations matches at Landsdowne Road so it was a pleasant surprise to be offered one by the brother at short notice through an in-law connection. A daughter had the good sense to take up with one of the Irish team and the family gripped some of  his  generous ticket allocation.  Apparently each player is given four free tickets and the opportunity to buy a dozen more.

Although the days dawned wet, grey and miserable there was no temptation to light the fire, open the wine and sit back to watch it on TV.  There's a special buzz about being at the event even if you miss the fine detail of the action.  It starts on the DART platform in Dalkey as the beefy middle-classes congregate in their Irish favours - talk is of O'Driscoll's child born earlier in the day and of the abysmal weather.

This English team has built their recent reputation at home and I had the feeling that they may be vulnerable away. The weather was eroding this optimism. England are better equipped for a war of attrition in the mud than the more creative and free-running Irish. Plus their metronomic kicker Farrell will keep the score ticking along through penalties.  I felt increasingly pessimistic as we trundled towards Landsdowne Road.

And then a fine creamy pint in the stadium before the match and we settle back to watch the drama unfold.  How all occasions did inform against us.  Zebo, the man most likely to sparkle on this dull day, goes off injured and is followed by Sexton, the fulcrum of the team.  Heaslip gives away two soft penalties and there is an outbreak of fumbling across the team - handing good ball back to the English.  O'Gara is either nervous or over the hill - he slices three consecutive kicks into touch and is as usual targeted by anyone looking for easy access to our goal line.  England are hugely efficient in defence and kick far better than us. They made far fewer mistakes and deserved to win.

We trudge through the rain to Smith's on Haddington Road and revive our spirits with a trio of excellent pints.  Talk is of Lincoln and Richard II - the recent film and an impending play.  We've taken it on the chin and moved on.