Brizzle Bassed Off
Saturday rugby in September returned to Reading for this crucial home Guinness premiership game to the new boys of the league. The 3Gs was rammed with punters awaiting the departure of the shuttle buses, by partaking in the fine atmosphere of anticipation, a few pints to start the route to getting trousered.Up at the Madstad, the weather was perfect for a running game with little wind and a firm, fast paddock awaiting the two teams to do battle. Most of the Odd-Shapers, less the ugly feckers of Jonah and Giles, were firmly encased in the AG corporate box supping G and T’s and pretending to be somebody. Of course, these beggars looked more like knackers than corporate types, with constant references to their slum housing and talking of their favourite Thunderbird tipple.
Meanwhile, the two real rugby people sat quietly in the East stand, turning down the opportunity to rub shoulders with the tossers over in the West box, preferring to view the might of Irish with like-minded and knowledgeable supporters. Oh and the fecking drum corp.!
The match started with LI taking the game to the West Country side, letting ball move through the hands, in an attempt to get the ball wide. The forwards, especially the back row, were making the gain line at every attempt. Bristol tried to slow the ball, which eventually lead to the first of many whistle blows from the Mayhem fecker. Barry set aside his recent poor kicking form and slotted the ball between the uprights.
3 – 0 Irish. Barry Pen.
Bristol came straight back into it and started to use the ugly forwards bastards to force Irish back, deep into their own half. Two trips into the exiles territory resulted ill discipline and penalties awarded, both taken by the consistent Strange.
6 – 3 Bristol. Two Strange Penalties (I mean the fella, not the decisions!)
Irish needed to steady the ship and start to convert the possession into points. Catt started to get the trademark long passes going, allowing the back three to get their legs moving. Staniforth was buzzing and looking hungry, well until be collided with the ‘Chiropractor’, a collision that was always going to deliver one result. Scott, having had the bones cracked and re-distributed throughout his body, tried in vein to ‘Run it off’ and had to leave the field of play. This meant a complete re-organisation of the midfield, with Storey on, moving Penney to the wing.
1 – 0 ‘Chiropractor’. 6 – 3 Bristol.
The team continued to press the Brizzle lads back with some direct running. The forwards provided a good platform for Dodge to sling the ball out to Barry, who took the drop goal to restore parity on the scoreboard.
6 – 6. Barry Drop goal.
The Guinness man started to do his rounds with his twenty pints of the black stuff on his back. The offer of sixty quid for the entire pack was not taken, fecking eejit. If he had sold it, he wouldn’t have to carry the thing around, and we would have twenty pints to get through in the sixty minutes of rugby that remained. We may have needed a bit of help, but volunteers would not have proved a problem.
The Bristol fans were also starting to get their voices, the loud buggers, using the beat of the drums to co-ordinate their lung and ear bursting screams of ‘BRISTOL’. This seemed to have the reverse effect on their guys, as Irish started to control all aspects of the game. A break by Bish, straight through the heart of the Bristol defence set up the first real try scoring opportunity. This broke down after Barry was given crap ball, which he tried to make the best of. With a three-man overlap, Barry’s reverse pass went behind them all, before making touch.
The groans from the home supporters were so loud it woke the fakers in the AG box, who were more interested in proffing everything in sight. Upandunder vented his spleen over this moment of utter madness, returning to his old rants on how Barry just isn’t good enough to play in the Reading fifths side.
This was unfounded as Barry was making some excellent breaks and passing more than he kicked to get the girls moving. His kicking for touch may have been a tad iffy all afternoon, but he was looking the part. Piss off Upandunder, you twat, the Boot is all right.
Mayhem was having his standard game as well. Not helped by his touch judges, this blind fecker was missing most and blowing for offences that would fit better in the twilight zone. At least he seemed to be consistent to baffle both teams and supporters. The Bristol pack had a real obvious dislike of the man, targeting him deep in the Irish half, and leaving him flat on his kisser. Good result all round for their forwards as they still retained possession, as the only award the battered Mayhem could give was a scrum to the team that had just assaulted him.
With ten minutes left of the first period, Irish produced the move of the game. Brain Smith has given them something this year, but he would have been happy with this little beauty.
Big Bob secured the ball in the lineout, a chore that he performed well all afternoon. Quick ball was pinged to Barry just outside his 22. He passed to Catty, who could sense that something was on, who in turn launched a beamer of a long pass to the flyer, err Spud. The Canadian pinned back his ears and flew up the outside of the Bristol defence, offloading to Bish in the five metre channel before he either spewed or got caught. Bish put the ball under his left arm and sprinted for twenty plus yards, giving the ball back to Spud, who had somehow, continued his run along side him. He looped the pill over the defence to Dodge. The wee man stretched to reach the pass, knocked it forward before catching the bleeding thing and scampered over the line to score a try against his old team. Barry missed the wide conversion.
11 – 6 Irish. Dodge Try.
Five Minutes later and the wee turrets dodger did it again. Hardwick joined the Bristol team for a few seconds, coming through the ruck from their side with permission of the ref and TJ, before chipping the ball into the scrum half’s hands. A quick lob over the defence and collecting it himself left him to dive into the corner. Barry slotted the extras from out wide.
18 – 6 Irish. Dodge Try. Barry conversion.
Strange and Barry exchanged penalties before the best decision Mayhem had made by blowing for half time.
21 – 9 Irish. Strange penalty. Barry penalty. Half time.
A good strong first period by Irish, a score line that did not flatter their endeavour. More of the same in the second half and a second try bonus was ours, surely.
Ah, like shite that would happen. For all those that have been supporting the green of Irish, the second half was going to be the normal situation of allowing the opposite side back into the game so that the LI heart condition could be added upon.
From the off, Strange slotted a penalty to reduce the arrears to nine points, before Magne got a yellow for an apparent elbow to the head of a Bristol lad, believed to be Contepomi. This was in front of the East stand, a foul that was not spotted by the green eyed Cyclops feckers that is our home support. If it is indeed a bad bit of elbow management, then the citing geezers may want a piece of our Frenchy sin binned beggar. Strange kicked the resulting penalty to come within a converted try of Irish.
21 – 15 Irish. Two Strange penalties.
The exiles needed something to cling on to, as the Bristol team were starting to get serious about winning the bleeding game. For the fact that they had not a drop of speed out wide, they could have been well in front. The Irish defence made little effort in tracking down their opposite number when Brizzle did get it wide. Finally Mayhem awarded a penalty to the home side, right on half way. Barry pointed to the posts from a similar position he had missed from in the first half. He knew he had the distance, just needed to adjust the aim slightly. He did and delivered the valuable three points.
24 – 15 Irish. Barry penalty.
The visitors now knew that time was not on their side, so a try was needed. The Irish defence continued to repel all attempts of this score with some big hits and law bending dark side antics on the ground. There didn’t seem to be any hope for Brizzle, until broken play allowed Lima to skate through fragmented defensive lines to touch down under the posts. The build up to this involved a huge tackle by the debut boy Franze, which seemed to make the Bristol lad spill the pill on contact. Again both ref and TJs missed this and allowed the play to continue until the try was taken. After the Hardwick infringement in the first half, maybe this was some sort of rough justice. Strange took the simple extras and the game was back on.
24 – 22 Irish. Lima Try. Strange conversion.
Fecking blood pressure was increasing with every passing minute, especially as Bristol now had the momentum to finish off what had looked like an unlikely comeback. Wuss game feelings was starting to be etched into everybody’s minds when the ref blew for a penalty out wide, near the half way line for Bristol. The super dependable Strange elected on giving it a lash. Collective hearts in mouths all around the stands and a deep breath was taken. Thankfully Strange came up short, but the bounce added more drama to the result as it hit the cross bar before falling into the hands of the sub, Ryan.
The stadium scoreboard, displaying the match clock, stopped at 80 minutes while more and more time was played. There must have been eight minutes of injury time played before Barry kicked the ball out to bring about the final whistle and four crucial points in the Irish premiership account.
Overall, the better team won and won by the correct margin, as Bristol had come out in the second half to win this game. Games against the Irish are always targeted for wins by all opposition to Reading, a target not realised by Bristol. A bit of belief and a lot of backbone must now be taken from this rollercoaster of a match to start getting the right results at home. Take the first half performance and double it, and somebody is going to get a scoreboard kicking. Take the second half performance and double it and we are going to be fecked.
Hats off to Brizzle for excellent support and a team full of spirit. Dick Hill must have issued a right bollocking at half time, which seemed to have sparked the fight back. They will trouble teams this year, but may not get the results until some fast feckers make the starting line up. Best of luck to them, but here’s to hoping on being above them at the business end of the season.
-- Master Scribe