The Power of Three Wreck the Hoodoo
Well feck me, what a result, and one beyond my wildest dreams. Nothing can beat raw pace, and the back three exiles proved this to help Irish to a huge 5 points in the pursuit of a top four finish.On a perfect day for rugby, with a fast track and the sun blindingly obvious overhead, the Wreck seemed unusually quiet for what was a very important game for both sides. A strange feeling for a venue steeped in tradition and the scene for heartache over the years for the exiles.
Maybe the home lads felt, after their recent good form, that the visitors were in for a kicking. Such optimism was expressed in the Boater over much needed pre-match League sponsor refreshments.
Casting an eye over the match day programme, especially the line-ups, this optimism seemed to be the correct call, however fecking misplaced it proved to be.
As it was, in all departments, the two sides were well matched and both were attempting to get width on their phases with the ball. Brian Ashton has made an immediate impact on Bath Rugby, very much in the positive as his chargers looked to get the pill to the dangerous backs, Bory being their standout. Irish, to their credit, continued to try the same game plan that had seen away day friggin’ happiness at Glaws, Sorries and the Falcons.
The fat feckers started their battle, one that lasted the duration of the game and resulted in a few casualties. At set-piece time, both sets of forwards kept up real pressure on attacking ball ensuring that retention and the forming of a platform was down to pure friggin’ force and skill. The back row lads were having a rare time with Lipman, Beattie and an impressive Delve going toe to toe with underrated Roche, the hugely influential Magne and the awesome Leguizamon.
The front row warriors were having a similar fecking war with some real force being applied all over the field of play. However, the much-anticipated second row duals lived up to the hype, only being ended with the withdrawals of Casey and Grewcock in the second half. Both partnerships fought for everything, laying body and soul on the line to gain an advantage for their sides. A real battle which had me salivating at every exchange.
London Irish started the match at a feverish pace, getting right into the West Country side from the kick off. Having turned over the ball and electing to kick for the corner on two penalties awarded by our friend Sean Davey, the game plan was apparent. The visitors were going to give this a real fecking lash.
After a long period of possession, from the back of a scrum five, the ever impressive Leguizamon breached the defensive line to open the afternoons account for Irish. Happy fecking days for the travelling faithful, and a start that gave all Irish involvement a belief that this could be the day when the hoodoo of the Wreck could be ridded.
Molly Malone, who had a mixed bag of a game, reduced the arrears shortly after the try from a penalty, before the fecking ridiculously priced admission fee was paid back in full by one of the back three lads. Super Topsy Ojo, making his first start since bagging four tries for England U21s in Italy, got the ball from turnover in his own half. With a twist, a turn and fecking unreal burst of pace, he beat at least 300 hundred defensive beggars, leaving an exposed and out of position Stephenson in this gulf stream, before dotting down for the Irish try of the season. Un-fecking-real 5 pointer that offered the old dude a period of time to squeal like a teenage girl!
Flutey added the extras, on a day when he was looking to get back to full fitness by getting pitch time. He and Hodgson were having a ball, getting some real attacking flair installed into the Irish attacking alignment. The former Hurricane is proving an unbelievable signing for Irish this season, and Hodgson seems to revel in his presence.
Another Molly penalty kept Bath in the hunt, a point’s difference that looked under threat with every phase strung together using their newfound Ashton adventure. Fuimaono-Sapolu was proving a real handful, but was robbed of delivering anymore mischief when he had to retire early due to his leg falling off, or some other leggage problem.
The West Country girls looked fairly sharp when given freedom, but were undone by a freakin’ mean defence and some poor handling at key times of the attack.
As it was, this adventure was to prove the catalyst to the homes sides demise. A wayward pass and a lack of control in possession from the fat lads, namely Bell, gifted both Ojo and Armitage tries from deep. Four tries and a bonus before half time at the Wreck! A bookie would have snatched your hand off and given fecking huge odds against that happening.
26 – 6 at the break in favour of the lads looking resplendent in their white shirts. Brian Smith must have been wetting himself at the score line on his return to the fine city; however the other Brian must have been perplexed at the arrears. His side had not played that poorly and the score was more a reflection of their mistakes rather than the pattern of play. A good bollocking or a re-think on the tactics was required.
Irish fans enjoyed ten minutes to visit the worst toilets in Europe, even worse than the one in Trainspotting, still feeling nervous at the score. The previous years have afforded the faithful a steep learning curve in the art of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory at this venue. This was well founded as the second half took shape.
The home side seemed to change their style to facilitate their perceived strengths, namely the pack, and set about chasing down the deficit. Two line outs straight from the training paddock allowed both Delve and Mears to claim tries, gloriously fecking backed up by our nemesis, Malone, with the boot. This left the difference of 5 between the sides and delivered the ring twitching sessions of previous years to a less vocal away support.
This was a period of the game when strong leadership was required, it was also a time to consolidate the winning position the Irish were some how struggling to maintain. Feck me, it was a time, before the points started rotating the scoreboard into a frenzy under the Bath column, when intelligent rugby should have been played. Four tries and a 20 point margin should have allowed the team to start applying pressure by kicking the corners, not a continuation of chasing more tries.
Finally, after a disallowed try in the corner for a forward pass for the chasers, Catt came to the fore. He stood above the rest and started to have the impact needed to carry his team over the finish line against his former employers. Some fecking huge clearing kicks and huge tackles in the midfield help steady the slowly sinking ship and also help the fans to rediscover the vocal chords. Five hundred suddenly sounded more like five thousand, drowning out the one syllable shouts of the home supporters. Fan and player were again in tandem.
The scoring slowed to a trickle to defend the slender lead before a well worked girls move created an overlap for the final back three lad, Paddy Tagicakibau, to fly into the corner and extend the lead to 10 points.
It became a tense finale due to a spirited fight back from the home side with a Crockett try, but the lads held their nerve to take a deserved victory.
The nerves had taken a fecking, with thoughts of a bar visit during play left firmly alone, but Davey’s final blow ensured missed AG fornication was to be applied to the evening.
The Irish fellas looked relieved, but ultimately very happy on their lap of honour. The Wreck sadness of yesteryears were being filed firmly to the back of minds and marked for deletion. Well done lads, a fierce victory of Biblical proportions and one that could prove to help propel the club into the HC next season. Except for Barkley, this was a full strength Bath side. Excuses from the last fecking at our place cannot be used for this win.
London Irish are now on the verge of a West Country total fecking with five wins from five. Brizzle will prove another mighty ask at theirs, but a bit of history is now in our peripheral vision.
Now on to Saints next week. It must be the responsibility of all Irish fans to make arrangements to get to the Madstad on Sunday and lift the side to what could be a huge win.
-- Master Scribe