Munster on the way

The Archipelago

The run into Christmas is a time for clichés. I don’t know why but I find myself spouting them, ad nauseum, to anyone who will listen to me. It just kind of happens. I get all sentimental or something. Must be the chill in the wind. Or, more likely, the stout and whisky in the bloodstream…

Today’s cliché – what a difference a week makes. Actually, is that a cliché? I’m not honestly sure. And anyway, it had really been eight days since the Glasgow debacle, not a week, but you know what I mean. 

Not many would doubt the commitment of the 21 Ulster players who made it onto the pitch on Saturday and not many would say that it was the performance of a team of sub-standard players with no hope. Say what you want about Ulster’s performance last weekend but one thing that must be said for Brian McLaughlin and Jeremy Davidson is that they don’t make the same mistakes twice.

For me, there is always something mawkish about watching Ulster playing Stade Français in Belfast - especially when the cold winter sun is drawing long shadows over the pitch, Ravenhill is packed to the rafters and its so cold that Gusher’s tears would freeze to his cheeks before they dropped off his chin. My mind, like most, can’t help but go back to 1999. 

I was sat in the very back row, in the Aquinas End of the main stand that day with my dad. We weren’t regular stand dwellers. In fact, we’d spent most of that season huddled in the middle of the terrace with three men, a dog and some school kids who’d chant, “Ulster, Ulster,” in a mildly haunting alto. The sudden surge in demand left us with the prawn sandwiches, one of the worst views in the ground and owing some family friends a favour or two, but that’s another story for another day...

I remembered this view as I watched on the TV yesterday. For all of the weird angles and pillars that blocked our view, Ravenhill had never quite seemed so beautiful as it did that day, especially when David Humphreys raced into the corner below us. Certainly, I had never before witnessed 20,000 Ulster fans inside Ravenhill and I doubt I will again but it was something more than that. The crisp air, the blinding sun, the pinch of the cold on my teenage cheeks… Somehow, in the warmth of my living room yesterday, I could feel those sensations again. This game felt just as important to Ulster as that one did in 1999 and not one of the 42 different camera angles that Sky could muster could make up of the feeling of not being at Ravenhill – although one or two may have picked up one or two things I would not have seen from the back of the stand. 

It is, let’s be honest, folly to compare the performance on Saturday to the one in 1999. There are similarities, of course – both games were dominated by an outhalf called Humphreys, both games produced some of the best tries that Ravenhill has ever seen, it was Ulster who played the glut of the rugby and, perhaps, on a slightly more depressing note, the Ulster front row came out second best on both occasions. 

In terms of significance to the history of Ulster Rugby, Saturday’s result, or course, simply doesn’t compare but in terms of the performances, I would be so bold as to suggest that the opposite is true. Saturday’s performance wasn’t the perfect 80-minute performance one would hope for but it contained the best 55 minutes of rugby Ulster have played in a long time. 

Stade were arrogant in 1999 – they arrived in Belfast a few hours before kick off and left a few hours after the final whistle. These are not the actions of a team that were going to take the opposition seriously. Stade arrived in to Belfast expecting the driving rain, hail and wind that has haunted nearly every ‘big’ team to visit these parts in recent seasons and, instead, found themselves playing in perfect conditions for rugby. Stade failed to play what was in front of them back in 1999. The weather and pitch should have been perfect for Dominguez et al to cut Ulster to shreds but Stade stuck rigidly to a failing game plan and couldn’t cope with David Humphreys’ inspiration and Simon Mason’s boot. 

Despite this, that game was in the balance until the final whistle. Ulster never quite got out of reach of Stade and when it seemed like they had, the Parisians pulled themselves back into it. Stade outscored Ulster three tries to two and, on another day, could have left Belfast with the spoils. Ulster may have ended that match slightly the better team but it was a flawed performance from a team playing on gall, passion and on the noise of 20,000 baying Ulstermen. 

Saturday’s affair was different – for the first 50 minutes, Ulster were on top and were, by some distance, the better side and they were able to sit back in the closing quarter, knowing that the hard work was already done. They frustrated and harried the French forwards and left them with no answers. Lionel Beauxis may have had an unusually unproductive day with the boot but his failed drop-goal, as well as the disgusting (alleged, of course…) actions of Julien Dupuy and Rodrigo Roncero’s continual discontent were the signs that, whatever Ulster were doing, it was working. The tries, again, may have come from moments of outstanding individual vision but it wasn’t these moments that turned the game. It was the Ulster pressure that led to the wayward kick that eventually led to Brady rumbling over and the desperation that grew in Stade at the start of the second half that left the right flank so exposed. 

The Ulster defence was solid for 70 minutes and was undone only by a sublime set move. Cave and Whitten dealt with the threat of Basteraud in the middle of the park and Ferris and Henry hit anything that came near them. In those first 60 minutes or so, it was an almost flawless Ulster performance. The lineout still proved to be a little shaky and the scrum was in trouble throughout but at the breakdown, and with ball in hand, Ulster were supreme. 

It is fruitless to select individual players for comment – there were too many outstanding individual displays to write about but McLaughlin got the tight calls right and it really showed. In the absence of BJ Botha, it may have been easier to switch Tom Court to tighthead and bring Bryan Young in at 1 but Declan Fitzpatrick, certainly in the loose, made his presence felt. Tuohy and O’Donoghue, similarly, were dominant in the second row. By rights, these performances won’t have given McLaughlin too much to think about but they will weight heavily on the mind of Ryan Caldwell. 

For too long, Caldwell has lived on the reputation of being Ireland’s next big hope in the second row. His potential is obvious and he has often got by on belief in this palpable, but latent talent. The trouble is that Caldwell is now 25. By the same age, Paul O’Connell had captained Ireland and been on a Lions tour. There comes a point where this potential has to be realised. He has shown his limitations in leadership already but the more obvious concern is the decline in his overall performances. We know Caldwell can carry the ball, can be a superlative athlete in the lineout and can be a bear at the breakdown but it’s been too long since we’ve seen any of that. What made his indiscipline forgivable has slowly waned. 

If Saturday is anything to go by, Tuohy and O’Donoghue should now be Ulster’s second row pairing of choice. One can only hope that Caldwell has the maturity to up his game and challenge for the starting shirt. Similarly, while never having put a foot wrong in a white shirt, Robbie Diack may return from injury without a shirt to step into, such have been the performances of Chris Henry. Henry's leadership has been priceless for this inexperienced Ulster side but, individually, he has found himself the focal point of a very talented and young Ulster backrow. For once, the management has the good kind of selection headache and it will show in the coming seasons. 

Bar the recoveries of Paddy Wallace and BJ Botha, it makes little sense to change the winning formula. Schifcofske was excellent under the high ball and Trimble and Danielli both played confidently and were dangerous, although in very different ways, with ball in hand. The half-backs showed exactly how dangerous they can be going forward and the pack, as a unit, gelled better that it ever has before. 

The only worry is that rugby matches are 80 minutes long. The game was won after 55 minutes but this kind of sitting deep and riding out the game has cost Ulster dear before – not least against Edinburgh at Murrayfield back in October. Next Saturday comes quickly and it will take an 80-minute performance to take anything out of Belgium.

There is, once more, a sudden expectation on the shoulders of the Ulstermen and the flipping between doom-and-gloom and boundless optimism is once more in full swing. Make no mistakes about it – Stade were beaten, and beaten well, in Belfast but playing away from Ravenhill, even in Brussels. will be a different proposition. Ulster, traditionally, have not travelled well in this tournament – it is well known that Ulster have never won in France or England (although, technically, Brussels is in neither and one wonders if this stat will, conveniently, be trotted out in coming seasons, regardless of Saturday's result?) but the last time Ulster won away from home was against Treviso in January 2006. The last away win against non-Italian opposition was in Cardiff in January 2003. One win against serious opposition in eight seasons simply isn't good enough. The fact that Stade are, technically, not playing at home next week may be a disadvantage but not one so large as Ulster’s away handicap. 

The truth is that, in the Heineken Cup, Ulster have already exceeded the expectations of some this season, Neil Francis included. To have beaten both French and English opposition, even at Ravenhill, is no mean feat but with these performances comes expectation. For the first time in a number of seasons, Ulster go into the second half of the pool with a realistic chance at qualifying for the knock-out stages but it will take two big performances in Brussels and Bath and a massive performance against Edinburgh at Ravenhill. Even this old cynic is beginning to believe the unthinkable is possible but I won’t be counting my chickens just yet.