Saturday night's alright for shoutin'

All week at the desk, the not so famous Shamus had been regaling me with the Beeb’s weather charts. Notorious for changing direction faster than a gazelle chased by a cheetah, the charts showed Monday to Friday changing by the day whilst Saturday remained stubbornly rooted under heavy cloud, pouring rain and high winds. Thursday was supposed to be a ‘watered down’ version of what was to come on Saturday and believe me, travelling down the M2 that day in the wind and rain was something close to scary.

Not so famous Shamus aside, there’s a host of other guys who work nearby and are Ulster supporters. Monday morning can tell a grim story when we’ve been beaten. A tight smile here, a grim post mortem there, agony etched on the faces everywhere. Mid Ulster Maestro, whom some on the UAFC board would know works not more than half a rugby pitch down the room.

The build up to the Munster game was laced with the sort of pathos reserved for ‘some mothers do ‘ave ‘em’ shows. There’s the nervous ‘resigned to defeat’ jokes, dark threats about not turning up again if they lose and the conviction that the Munster nearly first XV are actually a very strong team. Much is made of the fact that the Munsters stopped sending their 1sts because they got beaten regularly, so cunningly sent their 2nds and lulled us into a false sense of security.

By Friday evening famous Shamus and the rest were resigned to stinking weather, a possible rendezvous in the beer tent on Saturday evening and little else. Saturday morning dawned and I found myself partaking of sausage and egg soda in one of Comber’s finest traditional old restaurants. When I used to play rugby I would feel the nerves start to rise as early as 10a.m.as I had breakfast, to the point that I could hardly eat.

Not that I played at any great level but there was always the unpleasant expectation of being knocked out, busting an arm, being creamed on the outside, having a stinker or just meeting the unexpected 17 stone at pace. Oddly as a spectator I still felt that butterfly feeling in the pit of the stomach. It was the fear of defeat, anxiety of embarrassment at another desperate display, the underachievement of my team. Over the last 2 seasons watching Ulster those anxieties have amplified to the point that the first sign of a knock- on or penalty giveaway induced a feeling of dread.

Saturday 25th October 2008 and I was feeling remarkably relaxed as I read the Guardian and tucked into breakfast. This is my paper of choice these days with a little bit of everything in it, from film reviews to culinary cuisine. One thing it doesn’t cover is the Magners League!
I swotted up distractedly on the EDF energy cup but my mind continued to wander towards the evenings game and Ulster v Munster still to come.

By late Saturday afternoon, I was returning from my sister’s house near Dromore having almost completed the re-decoration of her en-suite. Three hours to kick-off and along the A1 the trees wilted and swayed in the wind to a background of one of those big cobalt blue skies so favoured by Romanticists of the 19th century, who revelled in the apocalyptic theme of nature in turmoil. The spray from cars and lorries drifted across the carriageway like a gas cloud, I was prepared for the worst weather possible at Ravenhill later on.

Walking from the car towards the hallowed ground did little to dampen my gloom as the rain came down in sheets. Despite the waterproof coat my jeans looked as though I’d stepped out to sea like I was a trailer for the rise and fall of Reggie Perrin. From the depths of the beer tent the steady drip of rain on the roof appeared unending. At approximately 6.50pm the rain suddenly called a truce on it’s war on spectators and as I made my way to the Terrace with my daughter and friends the skies showed a relative calm and the wind ceased to howl indignantly.

With the teams on the pitch I was encouraged with what was being presented. For one of the few times this season Ulster had a referee who arrived on the pitch with no apparent preconceptions as to how the teams perform and as a result Ulster’s penalty count stayed relatively low. For the first time in a while I found myself really getting behind the team, shouting a lot more than normal and having sore hands from clapping as half time loomed.

Here they were playing with renewed purpose despite missing an easy penalty chance early on and despite Warwick failing to fluff his lines when it was his turn. Pollock had a few breaks for the line but lack of support meant his endeavours came to nothing in the way of points. It was mainly all Ulster though with the much vaunted Ireland squad, viz a viz Munster reserves failing to shine unlike the same fixture last season, when the Quinlan/O’Sullivan combo in the loose and Mick O’D in the lineout stole the game from Ulster.

This had to be the best atmosphere on the Terraces in a long time, for it was clear the crowd realised that Ulster’s performance was the real deal. Not only had the backs begun to play with precision but with Pollock key at openside in a marauding role, the forwards were giving Ulster all the momentum. Fortunately Bryn Cunningham, who can unnervingly appear to be out of position at full back made it across to prevent Antony Horgan touching down. From my humble perch on the Terracing he had got nowhere near putting the ball on the deck but Rollaind had to be sure to be sure.


For sure there will be harder games to come, but at last all the little things that make a team tick and were evident in previous games seemed to click into focus. Not to get carried away and certainly the munsterfans website was brimming over with angst at their teams performance. The gist of it. Ulster were no great shakes but Munster were worse. However as more of them watched a re-run of the game so it dawned on them that Ulster’s performance was actually quite good.

A big smile permeated everyone’ s face on Monday morning in work and a few post mortems of the positive kind took place. Even after the match when I came across UAFC alumini in the shape of Goody she was remarking how everyone looked happy. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts and consider, where to, from here? Well it is clear that Williams is working away behind the scenes and a team in his own image is taking shape. In retrospect we should have put more on Munster. Then again, had you said that before the game you would have been laughed out of court at the thought of just getting a result.

A number of key elements crystallised last Saturday night.
Pollock is key to a balanced back row with all due respect to Kieran Dawson.
The resurgence of Trimble is impacting on the back play as he gets fitness back.
There is the understated but steadying influence of Paddy Wallace.
BJ Botha in the scrum and O’Donoghue/ Caldwell, (stupid penalty apart) in the lineout and loose combining to give a balance to the front five missing when Harrison was around.

A decent referee such as Rollaind sadly seems to be a key requirement. Otherwise Ulster are subject to those dreadfull pre conceived refereeing decisions that have blighted a large amount of their game time to date. It is going to take time to bring the team up to true test match type intensity of the type we see from Leinster and Munster in the Heineken. For all that we are on our way to achieving this, sooner rather than later.

I have some confidence going into the Connaught game late November but we need several key players, namely, Wallace, Pollock and BJ. Not forgetting Fijian wing Nagusa whose pace when put into space is a match for the best.

All in all things are looking better, but Ulster are a work in progress and it is difficult to see us achieve much other than finish above Connaught in the Magners. Next season as the youngsters mature we could see a different scenario as we climb out of the Magners foothills and into seriously contending in the Heineken. For now though I’ll accept our progress for what it is. A decent piece of reorganising which is beginning to bear fruit in results, at Ravenhill, at least.