A Trip Down Memory Lane.
February 24 2007. A momentous day in Irish history, how often that word is overused to describe events of mere banality but on this occasion, momentous truly suffices. A day that was to bring Ireland a long way from the shadows of its past in line with the rest of the world and how so easily it could have been a step back had some narrow minded bigots had their way. These bigots had no beef with the GAA, no interest in rugby, they were just bearded lefties in their British football jerseys calling for no rugby in Croke Park, as Ralph Wiggum would say, “the ironing is deliciousâ€. No these people were not relatives of victims of the massacre of bloody Sunday, they were the mindless thugs and scumbags who riotous behaviour marred the Love Ulster parade on another interesting Six Nations weekend in the capital. They deserved the scorn poured on them and thankfully it was plentiful. For this was a day when a sport that crosses the divides in this island would see the country united as one in that fateful ground at Jones Road.
So to the day itself, having had the heart ache of Shane Horgan falling asleep and letting Clerc in for their last gasp winner we had the build-up to the big one, it was All Ireland-esque, bigger perhaps, certainly there were more column inches and talk shows covering it than would have been in September. On top of that a media, far out of touch with the people of this country intent on stirring up the emotions as only they can and giving these obnoxious opponents far more airtime than their numbers merited and head honcho no 1 in letting these gobshites have their say, the one and only Mr Joe Duffy ladies and gentlemen, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman and you’re very welcome to Livelineâ€, cue music and another sharp intake of breath from the pond scum that is Clontarf’s Joseph Duffy. “Well we’ve got Martin on line 1, well Martin and what do you want to talk to Joe about. Well Joe I think it’s a disgrace that the English anthem will be played in Croke Park on Saturday evening, an absolute disgrace, after what our forefathers had to endure for our freedom it feels like such a slap in the face†and so on and so forth from someone whose grandfather probably wasn’t even born prior to independence, egged on even more by the sure, sure, sure of the man himself. Even on the day itself, we had playback after playback of these radio clips.
All this negative media attention was really starting to **** me off as I knew deep down that there wouldn’t be an ounce of trouble at the game, it wasn’t a soccer game, it was a rugby match and in terms of the fans there’s a big class difference, the same fans who gave the English a standing ovation 34 years previous while the Scots and Welsh, our Celtic brethren had taken the cowards way out the previous year, an elephant never forgets and we certainly didn’t that day. There was something strange in the air, leaving the house, Italy had already scored three converted tries and had the Scots on the rack, what on earth would we get at Croker? Well we got a pissy day to start off with and as we made our way to the ground there certainly was an electric air of anticipation and not nearly the number of anticipated protesters either, those that were though were well and truly put in their place by yours truly, one scumbag in a Celtic jersey starts shouting, you’re not even fit to be called Irish, to which I reply well at least I’m not wearing a British jersey, cue roars of mocking laughter in his direction not to mention his look of bemusement.
Into the ground and it’s ******* rain, the terraces are over packed, nice job done by the stewards but eventually I manage to get a decent place, a few sips from the hipflask to warm up the oul vocal chords and we’re in business as on comes the announcement of the arrival onto the pitch of the English team … **** sake they’re standing up in the Hogan, this isn’t 73 again but I suppose let them make their point, on come the Irish, Christ that was some roar, deafening and still going, hairs certainly standing on the back of my neck now. So many nervous twitches and cameras flashing as MacAleese is meeting the teams, Christ it takes her an age to get back to her seat, the stadium is silent, what’s going on lads, then on the big screen comes Bertie giving MacAleese a kiss and the silence is broken. Right GSTQ now, Jesus there’s feckin loads of English fans here, never heard a rendition like that before in Dublin, but as predicted by mise it passes off without incident and we’re ready for Amhrán na bhFiain, better give it a bit of welly in response to GSTQ, everyone else must have thought the same cause by Christ it was impressive, even as I’m thinking back on it now here come the goose bumps, WOW, all that and we’ve still got a match to play, there’s no way we’re going to lose that match, just no way.
Not even Jonny’s early penalty put the wind up me, everyone was playing with composure, knew what they were doing, even O’Connell was playing well having been shite previously, ROG was kicking beautifully, everything was going to plan and bang on cue doesn’t Grewcock obliges with his mandatory yellow card and fast-forward a few phases and D’Arcy’s bit of magic sets up Girv for the first try, and you knew there was more to come, the much vaunted English scrum being destroyed by the Irish front row made Wallace’s try all the more sweeter, everything just looked so comfortable, it just continued in the second half, despite Strettle’s try, with Horgan getting in on the act from ROG’s crossfield kick, never mind the crap they spout about wanting to score a try like that in Croke Park of all places, it was nothing new and Boss with the icing on the cake following the shambolic intercept. We were getting greedy them, come on lads there’s still time, lets put 50 past the f***ers!!! Not to be but we’ll take a 30 point hiding, God knows it’ll be the last one we give for a while.[/b]
