Irish on cusp of greatness
Jamie Heaslip celebrates scoring Ireland?s crucial try against Scotland at Murrayfield yesterday
Eighty minutes to go. Eighty minutes to consummate the most successful era in Irish rugby since the 1940s with the crowning glory last achieved in those years soon after what we called the Emergency and everyone else called World War Two.
Eighty minutes away from putting an end to the criticism which observes that, for all their excellence, their multiple Triple Crowns, their wins over southern hemisphere opposition, the current golden generation have under-achieved.
And, because a lot is asked of those who have much to offer, it'll have to be full duck or no dinner next Saturday evening in Cardiff. There have been years when a Six Nations championship would have been regarded as good enough. But while we can conceivably lose to Wales and still win that particular title, that won't feel like victory. It has to be the Grand Slam now.
It is a big ask but perhaps the main opponent Ireland will face is the enemy within, the little voice which reminds them that it's been 61 years since our only other Grand Slam and that they'll once more be dismissed as also-rans if they don't finally close out the deal. Hardly fair, considering what they've given us over the years but that's the way it is.
Since the wonders of that initial victory over France, which presented the vista of a season shining with infinite possibility, the team has looked a bit too aware that history's hand is on their shoulder. Hence the stuttering display against England and the first half yesterday when we seemed, yet again, to be suffering from Slamophobia.
Slamophobia is the disease of being afraid to go all the way in the Six Nations. The text-book case occurred at Croke Park in the final minute against France two years ago and for the first 40 minutes in Murrayfield, it looked as though we'd had a relapse.
Enter Peter Stringer. Well, enter quite a few people because we looked a different outfit in the second period, as though we'd realised that Scotland weren't going to hand this one to us, that like Italy against Wales they had no intention of giving a nominal effort and allowing us to proceed to the final day showdown with minimal fuss. We were going to have to win this one. The realisation provoked a much improved performance from everyone.
But, all the same, enter Peter Stringer. It is a truth universally acknowledged that for all the little general's gifts in terms of passing, kicking and all-round tactical astuteness, he will never produce a blistering break. It also used to be agreed that he would never be a threat on the short side until he foxed Serge Betsen to score the crucial try when Munster beat Biarritz to win their first Heineken Cup final.
He went against type then and he did it again yesterday in similar game-turning fashion as he scampered through the Scottish defence 10 minutes into the second half to put Jamie Heaslip in for the only try of the game.
It has been a funny couple of years for Stringer. Scapegoated more than any other Irish player for the general systems failure in the World Cup, he seemed to have fallen way down the pecking order behind both Tomas O'Leary and Eoin Reddan.
Yet, outcast from the big games, he was the guiding light behind Munster's midweek miracle show against the All Blacks and that seemed to presage the revival which was completed yesterday.
What Stringer offers above anything is not potential or intimations of some more expansive way of playing the game. He, like his manager, offers proven ability and a no-nonsense knack for doing the right things under pressure. It goes without saying that we weren't brilliant against Scotland but, though it is the bravura performances which come to mind when we think of Kidney's Munster, a legion of efficient and workmanlike displays were what their success was built on. So it has been with Ireland this year.
Eighty minutes to go. Eighty minutes when we will have to play more like we did against France than we did against England or Scotland. Eighty minutes when Slamophobia might prove to be fatal. Eighty minutes which will either be the most replayed or the most mourned in Irish rugby history.
There is no team which deserves to close out the deal the way this team of O'Driscoll, O'Gara, Hayes, O'Connell, O'Callaghan, Wallace et al does. Think of what they've given us. Imagine how you'll feel if they do it.
Now hold that thought for the week.
- EAMONN SWEENEY
