Sorry Sarries
Another league away day in Watford, another 4 points and another fecking hangover to continue the festive period, but oh it was a sphincter twitcher to claim the spoils and leave all that witnessed in various states of shock.Having braved the sleet and snow on my way down the M1, my driver found a good parking slot and off to the Red Lion we went. A few blacks for Christmas cheer, then off to freeze the nads to raisin proportions, high up in the South stand. The Drum Corp had already taken up residence just below my station, and my they put on a display. The lot of them ensured a 16th man for the visitors was ours, and fair play to them.
For this hardy fan, the comparisons between the last game attended, Tigers, and this fecker was an absolute chalk and cheese session, not just in the result, but the application.
This was to be a Barry day of which will remain in the mind of all exiles for some years to come. Four penalties, one fecking awesome drop goal from somewhere near the M25 and a magical assist in Horak’s try was his swag, but the final pen showed dat dis lad has frickin’ balls.
The foundations for this win were laid as early as four seconds (the hang time of the Sorries kick off) by the fat lads, who dominated the majority of the game. Having received the kick off, a maul was formed that fecking battered its way 40 odd metres before the home side had had enough and brought it down. Barry thanked the forwards and slotted to open his account, but the exile 8 had made it clear that no prisoners would be taken.
Now, I am unclear if Sarries are really this shite, especially with the personnel at the Diamond geezer’s disposal. A mixture of excellent rush defence coupled with some big tackles kept the homeboys on the back foot. Their forwards were MIA for the first hour or so and the backs seemed clueless, with Glenda being the main point of destruction.
Possession that was theirs was either kicked away, or thrown out of the reach or behind supporting runners, certainly for the first period. Only inept blowing from the inconsistent Barnes allowed Sorries to keep pace with Irish on the scoreboard (if one could be seen). They even had the fecking gall to turn down points from pens, choosing to chase tries at 3-0 down, obviously in their pursuit of the guaranteed BP against the shite that is London Irish.
This lack of respect bit them firmly in the ass as the visitors dominated in the loose, tight, out wide, through the centres, in the bar and on the terraces.
Delon was starting to get involved in everything at the venue where he so embarrassed himself with the swallow dive, drop the ball skill be had perfected, during the last clash of these two sides. He was fecking iced by Bailey while chasing his own kick in their 22, got twatted by some Sarrie as Horak scored his try and finally got a yellow for asking Skirving out for a beer in the second half. Oh, he was also tackling well, passing off both hands and running good lines in attack. Fun day for Armitage!
The set-piece was the real winner for the forwards. The Sarries scrum was creaking with every engage, the exile line-out was purring, while the Mullet boy, Byrne, lineout throwing was as straight as Elton John.
In the front row, the three were enjoying the combat, but Barnes was taking pity on the backwardly mobile Black three and gifting pens and frees for fun, but the Irish lads persisted in their dominance. This lead to wave upon wave of Irish attacks being launched before they finally got the just reward.
The aforementioned fat lads good work, multi-phase possession and the ball being pinged left to right before retracing that route back the other way was ended with Barry taking the pill. He looked up and saw the on rushing defence, so kicked a delicate ball through allowing a foot race to ensue, Horak winning and dotting down for the try. A great team try and the South stand exiles went do-fecking-lally.
The game continued in the same vein with the Irish pack turning up everywhere. Leguizamon loved the contact, and Gustard and Danaher were getting through a shedload of work, seemingly being first to every breakdown. Roche and Casey were also prominent in the loose, and providing secure set piece ball.
The girls were also working hard with Mordt and Penney closing any holes in the midfield and Bishop banging in the shoulder with big hits. Dodge was buzzing and getting good ball out to Barry, as well was hitting above his bodyweight in every exchange he was involved in, and by Christ it wanted to be involved. He is such a wee fecking terrier. Horak was reading the game well, covering the gaps as well as joining the line intelligently in attack.
The half time score was sat at 14-6 to the lads in white, a score line not reflecting the play at all. Diamond would have his time with his lads and give them fecking hell for the poor showing, but he would also be happy to still be in it. There would be no chance of the Sorries being allowed to perform so poorly in front of a large crowd, if his hairdryer bollocking technique could help it.
The second half proved to be a far more even game, as the home side started to show their wares. Vaikona, the hunker hunk of burning love, was starting to get more ball and drive into the determined defence of the Irish, Bailey made a few breaks, and the dirty bastard Vyvyan was getting involved, but still they fecked up at the business end of the field. This allowed the exiles to clear their lines whilst under huge pressure.
With Barry extending the lead, the Sarries were faced with catch-up rugby to pinch the game. Barnes continued his erratic whistling, effecting odd decisions on both sides as the pattern to the game fell away, until it spilt over into frustration.
Delon and Skirving had a few words before Ben threw a punch at the LI academy graduate. This started a 25 man handbag session, with Barnes heading 25 metres North to safety, knowing a well placed missed punch could be his reward for his fine game! The PA helped quell the outbreak by blaring out ‘I Predict a Riot’ by the Kaiser Chiefs, before the three officials brainstormed their way to card the protagonists, namely Delon and Skirving. Now there was a real edge to the game.
Glenda reduced the deficit for the home side to 8 points, and still the home side chased for more. This game was by no means over, and this was proven when Mitchell grabbed a lifeline with a try converted by Jackson. The Sorries had worked the position well, before Vaikona received the ball 15 metres out and a clear run to the line. Dodge came from nowhere to put in a superb tackle in on the big fella, but Vaikona was able to pop up the pill for Mitchell to dive over.
The minimum lead for Irish was the only difference in the sides now, and by God, the bitter cold of the afternoon was in the very depths of the mind as we headed in to the final chapters of this pulsating affair.
The Domino’s 5 minute Mayhem was blasted out by the PA, announcing to all that this was going all the fecking way, with Sorries having the momentum with themselves.
The Irish response to the try was magnificent, as the exiles won the ball from the re-start and launched a wave of attacks to get a decisive score. After repeated repulsion from the home defence, Delon got the ball and dropped at goal. From the South stand, all was looking well, only for the bar to deny the 3 points and allow Sorries the 22.
A quick re-start found that chunk of meat Vaikona, out wide and motoring for the gap. Bish hit the fecker, but the ball was retained and brought into centre field, inside the Irish half. Desperate defence, and with the ball out of the ruck, Gussie, who had a superb game, snagged Bracken and stayed on his feet to grab the ball. Bracken held on, but Barnes pinged Gussie for dragging the wee man into the ruck. A fecking unbelievable decision from the ref, and one that allowed Jackson to place the ball between the posts to move Sorries into an unlikely lead with just over a minute of play left.
This score apparently also allowed all that attended a 2-4-1-pizza offer at Dominos as they had scored during the fecking 5 minute mayhem!
Now we had a conclusion to chase, and one that we would have deserved given the balance of the entire contest.
From the re-start, we had a chance as the ball was spilled towards the visitors. The fat boys banged into their oppos as if their lives depended upon it. The girls refused to panic, and the ball was passed through the hands until a gap appeared out wide right. The door was closed quickly, but illegally as the home side heard Barnes whistle blow for a penalty against them. The clock ran down to feck all, but the arm of Barnes was raised high in the direction of the drum corp. Ummmmmmmm, last chance saloon.
Barry took the kicking tee and placed the ball and set about his routine. By God, the noise generated by the home following was horrendous with booing, and probably the most noise they had made all day. This may have added the desired focus required by Barry, as he struck the ball sweetly towards the uprights. A hush and then a third of the crowd went fecking mental, as the TJs held their flags aloft.
Final kick of the game to claim a 1 point victory is some way to win a game, and helps the AG longing intensify beyond belief.
Fair play to Brian and his squad for pulling this fecker out of the bag. These are the types of games that have been lost over the previous couple of seasons (Sale aside!!), but oh so important. The dizzy heights of third is ours, but momentum into the next three games must be maintained.
The strong bench provide that the game will always be fizzing after substitutions, showing the great strides made in getting strength in depth.
Pests and Tigers at home, followed by an away day to Castle Grim should provide the focus. A 10 point haul from these three would be an unbelievable take, but a target that can be achieved if the heart shown at the Vick is maintained.
By the way, I thought Doug Wheatley had fecked off back to work with Gary Gold!
Starters:
Horak, Armitage, Penney, Mordt, Bishop, Everitt, Hodgson,
Hatley, Coetzee, Rautembach, Casey, Roche, Gustard, Danaher, Leguizamon.
On de Bench:
Wheatley, Russell, Strudwick, Murphy, Catt, Edwards, Laidlaw.
-- Master Scribe