MUNSTER… 22
GLASGOW WARRIORS… 31
My brother moving to Limerick for work 33 years ago was the point at which this corner became equipped with a proper understanding of and gra for rugby.
One has no problem admitting that, prior to that, my impression of the egg chasing was that part of it was what we’ll call, eh, portly lads trundling around a pitch jumping on top of each other. A few fast lads who put the ball under their arm and ran for the corner flag with it and usually one fella who was the designated place kicker.
To put a bit of flesh on those bones, in one of the above brackets you’re talking Keith Wood and Peter Clohessy and Simon Geoghegan and Richard Wallace in the other while the fly half duties were generallg split between Ralph Keys and Eric Elwood.
Once Des moved to Limerick, though, just a passing interest was never going to be enough for him. And, by extension, for me.
Quite simply because in the Treaty City, rugby is religion, and that naturally spread throughout the province. Fuelled in no uncertain terms by the red army embracing European Cup rugby like perhaps no other entity ever has. From the time the southern province made their debut in the competition against Beyonne of France in the old Thomond Park on a Tuesday afternoon. Watched by more avian and canine spectators than human ones.
To the ecstasy of winning of winning the most coveted trophy twice in three seasons and every modicum of heroics and heartache in between. From ‘The Hand Of Back’ incident where former Leicester Tigers are England back row Neil got away with one of the most blatant acts of cheating this writer has ever seen in a rugby field what it was a clear he had his hand in a Munster driven ruck as it is that DJT is the most dangerous maniac on the planet.
Then there was Munster’s John O’Neill being rode out of a completely legitimate try against Toulon the following year and, slightly more recently there was their late, great coach and spiritual leader Anthony Foley passed away while the group was in France preparing for a match later that same day.
The other side of that coin, though, are the good unforgettable days. Standing tallest among them all – even more so than the two Heineken Cup triumphs themselves was the aptly named Miracle Match. When the brave and the Thomond Park faithful did pull off the seemingly impossible.
Defeating Gloucester by the four tries and 27 points they required to advance to the knockout stages of a competition the fabric of which the red army have long been woven into.
Thus, even though it’s heading scarily close to three decades since my ‘in’ to the Munster rugby scene moved home from the south, the pilgrimage to Thomond is still regularly undertaken. Indeed I’m due a spin down that way myself.
However, there was a time back in the day when the obsession with the red army became so all consuming that, to say it soured the taste around the dinner table would be to opine that the Iona Institute wouldn’t be major fans of change.
When all and sundry were treated – and the term is deployed very loosely – to the entire Munster squad being rolled off the tongue by their nicknames. “ROG and Strings and Axel and Uncle Fester and The Claw and The Bull”… On and interminably on it went. To the extent that it almost, not entirely, put me off my favourite Munster player of that or any era maybe – the man whose moniker was that of a member of the cast of The Addams Family. Keith Wood.
Or Keith Gerard Mallinson Wood to give him his full credentials as they do in rugby with odious pomposity. Surely the greatest hooker the oval ball code has seen. Absolutely the most efficient footballing one. As well as the rudiments of his ‘day job’, it was in no way unusual to see the Killaloe native fill in as auxiliary full back dispatching kicks from the back field or, on at least one occasion, splitting the posts with a drop goal.
Cognisance of the last fact in particular should have lessened the shock that at least one of his sons (I haven’t seen Gordon in action yet) would ply his trade in the backs. Then again, so abject were Munster in Scotstoun during the early stages of last Friday night that everything was a blur.
Never, in all my years of even loosely watching the egg chasing, code have those in red been witnessed conceding the bonus point try (fourth) prior to half time. Yet so it was as the locals assembled a 28-5 buffer before half of the 80 minutes had elapsed.
Now, with possibly any other rugby team on the planet, that would spell curtains in terms of chances of getting anything out of the fixture. However, even the Cistercians would have heard by now that those who are now Clayton McMullan’s charges are not any ordinary rugby operation.
Thus, yet again they set about and almost pulled off another seemingly impossible feat of escapism. A try from impish, Stringer-esque scrum half Ethan Coughlan had taken the blank look off the scoreboard prior to the short whistle and, though place kicking woes continue to hamstring McMillan’s men, tries in a ten minute spell from Dan Kelly, Brian Gleeson and Diarmuid Kilgalen gave the impression they were about to do as they always do one more time.
Those whom the Gods wish to destroy, they first make mad. So it was that after the introduced Tom Wood, learning on the fly, literally, became acclimatised to his new environment, having nailed the conversion of Kilgalen’s five pointer – from the wrong side of the field for a left footed kicker – the young utility back was long with his restart. In other words, the ball went out on the full, without bouncing.
So it was a scrum to the Scots from where Wood had taken the kick. Thereafter, almost inevitably, the locals manufactured a penalty from the fallout of said scrum and there went Munster’s latest attempt at the seemingly impossible. It can consider itself fortunate not to have been conquered. A bump in the road, they’ll be back on its case in no time. And, contrary to popular opinion, you will absolutely be able to tell the Wood(s) from the trees!
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