Bath time For the Catt, as Bish makes 150
An inspired leader of men and battling against his former employers pushed Mike Catt towards the legend status of this fine club. From the start and all the way into the early evening, he conspired to bring down the West Country lads with boot, ball and fierce tackling, leading the Irish from the front/rear/middle, well every fecking where he glided. It was a master class and a return to the World Cup form for England, and a real smack in the chops for the wreck boys.Brian Smith must also be a smug fecker having re-introduced himself to the club that he served so well in the past, then set about destroying the awesome power of the Bath weaponry; their pack.
Yes, they had been weakened by international call ups, but this was also felt by the forward unit of LI, and Knuckles had already declared he had a team to compete and beat this exile team.
Other than Catt and his girls, the dark destroyers came in the huge frames of the fat boys in the pack, where a depleted back row fought for all and won so much.
The line out was the outstanding area for the forwards, especially in the tall, lean and greedy Nick Kennedy, who must be in the nightmares of Dixon as a regular visitor after his awesome display of thieving Bath ball. Nick and Bob seemed to be everywhere, with Casey banging in the tackles like a demonised feckwit, leaving shoulder impressions on the white-shirted shower.
Also, the scrum was as solid as a big brown bag full of solid substances with Hatley, Flavin and Rautenbach heaving their way in every set.
With the fat boys securing ball from set-piece and the loose, the girls were handed a platform to express themselves and set about picking the visitor’s defensive line apart. A full house from the Magic one as pleasing to all the exiles present in the crowd, which was just short of the 9.5K mark.
Flutey had another outstanding game with his distribution and tactical kicking against the Bath rush defence. He opened the scoring with a drop goal that the injured Malone would have been proud of, a score from fully 50 metres to get things underway. He was also the inspiration for the first try of the afternoon.
After Dunne landed his first penalty after two failed attempts to keep the game tight, Flutey found ball in hand just outside the opposition 22. He flouted a beautifully weighted kick towards the touchline with Staniforth sprinting like a mad fecker after it.
The Rugby Gods smiled upon the home side, and a bit of the ‘luck of the Irish’ was all over the ball as it made its decent towards terra firma. The scampering full back, Best, had no chance when the bounce of the pill went at a right angle to him, leaving him flat on his kisser in touch with the ball falling nicely into the Aussie try machine’s hands for him to crash over.
Whilst scoring the try, Stan sustained a knock that would eventually force him to leave the field of play, after 25 minutes. The ice bag placed over his crown jewels was not the right reward for grabbing the try, and also made grown men weep all throughout the masses.
This released Bishop on from his benched confines to finally reach the unbelievable milestone of 150 premiership matches, the first non pest to do so. Congrats to the great man for this remarkable achievement.
The exiles - after the piece of good fortune for the try - were starting to take the game by the scruff of the neck, and started to dominate most aspects of the game. The whistler, Debney, was having a marvellous time in baffling all those present with a superb application of his versions of the laws and how to apply them. No gripe here, however, as both sides applied pressure to the whistle blower, an experience that will see him well for the future.
The easiest decision he had to make was when the Irish man, Dunne, aimed and connected with a punch to Big Bob, right in front of the ref. This may have been a retaliatory swing due to Dunne being pinned while attempting to roll away, oh and a bit of rucking to his bod as he was on the wrong side, but he had to go.
For all the pressure, the home side could not post territory on to the scoreboard, well not until the pin-ball wizard had a word.
Catt received the ball below the West stand, fairly wide out and set himself for a pop at goal. The attempted DG then struck every man, his dog and a few Bath boys before landing in the arms of the Irish skipper, who thanked his old muckers and crashed over for the try. This was a glorious try and one, I feel, he had played for! This man really knows his angles and he used them to great effect. Flutes missed his second conversion of the game, this time hitting the uprights.
Flutes made amends with a penalty before the break to leave the scores at 16 – 3 after the Dunne incident, before heading down the tunnel to a standing ovation from the home supporters.
Much deliberation at the interval by the faithful followers was more on the concerned and cautions wording, asking whether 13 points to the good would be enough. Our boggy opponents have found it in their powers to come back and feck us when the win was there for the taking, so we headed back to our seats more in hope than confidence.
Such conversations should not have been uttered, as the second period produced dominance from all the players involved. Dixon continued to receive the pressure offered him in the first half, and by Jesus, the yips had him by the short and curlies. Nick carried on where he left off, with Bob helping his lock partner scoop more and more Bath line-out ball. Ryan came on for Nick around the hour mark, but the damage had already been done.
The next score would be the key, even after Dunne had reduced the arrears with a three pointer. This went the way of the Irish with a try that had it all. Multi-phase forward power, use of the girls, more forward grunt and a lot of patience before the Flute-man skipped over to complete the full house having converted from close in. This was getting good now. Feck me, the Irish were going to beat the might of Bath, although nobody was saying this as yet.
Another score would be needed to stop the nerves and lead us to the promised land of a victory over dem bleedin craic Wreckers.
There seemed to be a period of consolidation from both sides as the players looked kinda fecked from all the hard work around the paddock. Ten minutes where nothing seemed to be happening soon led to the moment the Irish had been dreaming of.
A penalty deep in the exiles half was cleared well in to the Bath 22 from the bomb of a left boot that is owned by Flutey. The resulting line-out afforded the lads in green possession, with the forwards keeping the ball as tight as a tight thing, before the Canadian hunka-hunka burning love dived over to claim the bonus point. The Madstad went frickin mental as the realisation of issuing a mullering to the one-syllable team was starting to sink in. Flutes helped generate more grown adults acting somewhat out of character with an excellent conversion from out wide.
30 bleedin 6 to the home side, what the feck was happening. This even silenced the pot-noodle horn blowers from the West, as even they knew that DGs or Elvis were nowhere to be had to retrieve this situation.
Flutey then made way for Barry to come on and add his shoulder and boot to the cause. He did this by claiming 6 points from penalties as LI edge ever closer to a much-needed 5 points in the premiership, the second of the campaign so far.
Danie also replaced Flav at hooker, and what a find this chunk of meat is going to prove.
Gussie also came on, oh then fecked off back towards the bench with a yellow card, rather quickly.
The visitors kept going to the final whistle, and more power to them as they sort to get the try their efforts would surely deserve. This arrived in the final play of the match, with Lipman steaming over in front of the East stand to provide scant consolation after a miserable day at the coalface.
Dunne took the extras and the full time whistle blasted around the soulless concrete jungle that is the Madstad, so soulless in fact that had there been a roof on it, it would have been transported to the West Country on the wave of overjoyed exiles, their families and their partners, oh and 3 or 4 Gloucester fans!
The LI team on this day, 5th November 2005, had delivered a performance that was required and dreamt about. A try bonus point was an absolute fecking, er bonus, to be sure, but the way the lads set about the task was immense. The team were, to a man, the men of the match, with contributions from all that wore the green that day, but Catt must take it by a nose. He skippered the lads to a HUGE victory that may be talked about for at least a week or so.
Bring on Squeaky’s mob. I hope we can maintain this winning rugby and induce a whinge from dat fecker!
-- Master Scribe