Fantasy Rugby at the Causeway.
In fecking years from now, London Irish fans will claim attendance at this friggin awesome game. All those that made it will live off this victory for a fair friggin while yet, and those that watched on the box will have similar thoughts, but a dull ache at not fecking making it.From the arrival at the causeway in the Limo’s, to the departure by the same means, it was just a fecking awesome adventure.
The pre-match ‘Gay Disco’ affair offered by Wycombe Hospital radio was mental and provided a means to pad the 4 hours before kick-off. Still, I believe the self-checkout rate at the Hospital may have shot threw the roof as bed bound feckers found the strength to get the feck home. YMCA blaring out of the headphones on a Sunday afternoon can create minor fecking miracles!
Pintage offerings of Bulmers (feck off, that is what it is really called) and AG ensured the Irish feel was built upon and maintained.
The usual suspects had travelled well and made a real presence of themselves in both voice and colour. The wait for the 6 pm kick off delivered a real friggin opportunity to get the vocal cords lubricated as well as building the anticipation for the main course………
… and by feck we were not to be disappointed.
From the kick off, the games make-up was splashed the feck on and the scoreboard began its rotation, at a speed faster than proddie going through Parkhead. Super Topsy Ojo grabbed the pill after a Birkett mis-field from Flutey’s starter, before Casey popped a beauty into the hands of dat huge fecking centre Feau'nati. The man then battered his way over the line to grab a 40 second score.
Irish were up for this fecker then! This quickie even caused Jock Exile to fecking knock his pint over the hoarding, landing on the field of play, fecking waster. Phil Murphy, warming up in the area, seemed friggin miffed at this poor drink admin throwing a ‘Fecking Eejit’ the way of the Sweaty clown!
The fecking Pests seemed pished off with this shoite (the score, not Jock’s pint spillage!) and went about getting themselves into this M4 derby. The home fans didn’t have to wait long, as Erinle threw some shapes normally reserved for the dance floor before dotting down. He was put away by Abbott, the soon to be Hairy Queen, and a man that was superb in attack all day. He is class, and the Wasps will miss this fecker next season.
Voyce then went over after excellent ball retention and movement with Van Gisbergen claiming the extras making it 12-5 to the fecking Pests with friggin 6 minutes played.
Time for the game to settle down and the defences to start slamming in the big tackles, but not in a homo way.
Like feck it was.
Casey thought he was a 10, as he lobbed over an ugly kick into the awaiting hands of Van Gisbergen, who duly marked it. His sliced attempt of touch finding found the hands of Leguizamon, the Puma star who has made a huge impression on the exiles this season. The corn-beef cake battered some yardage out, before Armitage picked and kicked ahead. Ojo then put on the after burners to leave Van Gisbergen in his fart stream, before kneeing the ball into his hands and grabbing the 5 pointer. Spreaders needed to go to the TMO, but it was fecking obvious that it would be given.
Flutey fecked another conversion, this time drilling the ball at head height towards the posts, posing more friggin danger to Shaw than the uprights! Catt would relive this burden from the Kiwi until Flutey claimed a second half pen.
Wasps then grabbed another try, as Staunton weaved a magical trail from the halfway line, through non-tackles and a flailing Armitage to dot down between the posts. The extras were claimed to extend the Pests’ lead to 19-10 after only fecking 12 minutes.
The home side then tried to take the pace from the game and retain possession on their fecking terms, oh until another spillage allowed Hatley to put boot to pill and hack on. Still no drama as Shaw picked up and replicated the Karate Kids one-foot pose before getting twatted by the onrushing Roche. The hit was big and dislodged the ball from the massive paws of the huge fecker into the path of Danaher. Danaher then pinned back the ears and headed towards the Jewson Stand before getting hit on route. His off-load to Flutey was sublime and allowed the 10 into the corner. Catt landed the tricky extras.
Danaher’s contribution to this match was huge and he is starting to show the form that landed him a fecking English ‘A’ cap. Ireland’s loss could well be England’s gain as he displays a maturity of game not linked to somebody so young. He was one of a few that actually tackled, but was big in the contact area as well as being prominent in attack.
This score seemed to be the kick up the arse required to get the lads back to winning ways. The bonus point was needed to get back into the top four, and this duly arrived after a mere fecking 16 minutes! The BP at Bath before the break was outrageous, but come on to feck here lads, 4 tries inside the first quarter.
Catt, the inspirational leader of men and controller of all turned in another fecking awesome display in pass distribution and vision. The Wasps rush defence is a fearful sight when one is holding the pill, but Catt just laughs in the face of it. A little chip over it while in the 22, scoped up by the ever-willing Leguizamon, before a final involvement at the business end. His cute pass in contact and out of the back of the hand was perfect in allowing the young speedster Tagicakibau to scoot in at the corner. Un-fecking-believable from the great man, however, his conversion attempt was pure shoite, as he seemed to kick his own ass on route to contact!
Irish were now as rampant as a sexed up Prescott on viagra. They seemed to be scoring at will, with little oppo to prevent them. After 23 minutes, the fecking first scrum of the game, an attacking 5 for Irish, fell apart gifting a free kick to the visitors. A quick tap enable a Troy like siege to be enforced before yet another pop pass out of contact, this time from Feau'nati, allowed Casey to stretch over the line for the fecking fifth try for Irish. Catt added the easy extras leaving the score at 29-19 in favour of the Reading All-sorts (one for the Glaws feckers!!!!!).
Wasps were now facing a battle just to keep in touch, but they aren’t fecking Champions for nowt. A wounded buzzy thing is a fecking nightmare in the wild, and these friggin Insects aren’t much better.
They had a good period of territory, and only panicked defensive alignments prevented another fecking try being posted upon the over-worked scoreboard. This desperate defence ultimately lead to Paice going to the bin for fecking dodgy stuff in the tight, in attempt to slow the Pests ball. Van Gisbergen brought the scores to a converted try gap by kicking the resulting pen.
This gap was breached right on the half end. Irish, with good field position, tried to get the ball wide, only for Flutey to pass into the eager hands of Voyce. He then strode unhindered to between the posts for the equaliser and also a try bonus for the homers.
29 apiece at the interval was not a widely predicted score line. All talk from the mixed masses was of poor fecking defences and a game that seemed to be out of control. Super 14s rugby being played out in Buckinghamshire!
Now, the second period would surely offer some stability and curtail both green and black supporters from wooping like teenage girls at more scores. Well, this was fecked after 50 seconds. The fecking Pests doing to their guests that they had received on the onset of this mad match!
Wasps won back the pill from their own kick-off. Various routes to the line were blocked off before a fecking 4 on 1 was created out wide, with dat fecker Voyce profiting from it, claiming his hat-trick in the process. Voyce is the real deal in the try-scoring stakes. An immensely strong, powerful runner who deserves more caps to his fine name.
Paice’s binning had allowed the Pests to post 15 points and take them into a deserved lead. Irish would now need to dig deep to pull this fecker out of the bag. LI of old would have capitulated under the raw power of the London Wasps, but this is a new era. The Brain Smith reign has bought flair and awesome attacking rugby, but it has also brought togetherness and will to succeed.
This was proven once again as Irish reclaimed the lead through the man of the match fecker, Catt. A beautifully weighted kick over the blitz defence found Dallaglio napping, and a rushing Irish skipper purring through like a Jaguar to claim the spoils.
The bragging rights were still in the mix, with the Pests now back on the front foot. Two divine interventions from Catt kept the Irish in the lead by preventing certain scores from occurring. His first impact was to chase down the ground between a flying Erinle and the try line before launching a text book tackle to stop the fecker in his tracks. The other was by putting his body on the line by diving on a loose kick heading ominously towards Jock Exile’s discarded pint pot. These 2 events shaded the MoM award over Danaher and the superb Magne.
Wasps were also guilty of missing the proverbial own-goal. The highly effective Abbott made yet another break only to see his offload spilled by the normally reliable Voyce with the white-wash screaming his name. A real let off for Irish and a mistake confounded by yet another fecking try at the other end.
With the home side still persisting on getting ball wide, Staunton, having a great game, fired a pass that found Armitage instead of Abbott. Armitage thanked the former Munster man on route to the posts and seven points. A wave towards Kenny Logan in the Sky box went down like whore promised a 50 to blow, as he waved back at the adoring Irish followers!
Van Gisbergen landed a penalty to put Wasps back within six and set up an exciting but tense final 15 minutes. The edge of this was smoothed slightly when Flutey landed an outrageous penalty, moving Wasps away from a losing BP.
Still they came at the visitors, and the fecking countdown clock seemed to have stalled. Most of the travelling fellas seemed more attracted to the timer than the events unfolding on the pitch.
This tightness of the chest was to be relieved as Ojo claimed his fifth try of the season. Hodgson, after yet another breathtaking display, had been replaced by Willis having picked up an injury. The new scrummie showed a fantastic turn of pace and broke the Pests defensive line, before pinging a perfectly timed pass to the supporting Ojo. The fecking kick was missed once again, but feck it, the game was won and the half-century had been reached.
Then, a moment later, another fecking Irish try was posted. Flutey picked up after more Pests mis-control and sprinted in for the score. Now this was getting fecking outrageous with 9 tries bagged. Geraghty, on for the Catt, nearly landed the toughie, but as the pill landed, Spreaders blew the final whistle. Irish had secured a place in the play-offs by issuing one feck of a fecking, the likes of which haven’t been seen since the great Swedish orgy of April 1972.
To a man, this win was found through endeavour and teamwork. London Wasps were in this match for 90% of play, and could have stolen the spoils. Not a great day for defensive coaches, but an epic for free flowing rugby, a fecking try-fest of huge consequence. Not one of the players let the side down, and the real MoM would have to be the team, under Catt’s leadership.
A word on the home fans must be made. The banter during the match was fecking awesome, but the remarks after were amazing. This side may lose the opportunity of defending their Champions tag if they lose to Glaws next week, but the fans were real Champions towards us yesterday. A real sporting lot, who, to a man, praised the Irish and wished us the luck required to claim the big one. Really added to the whole days events.
Brain Smith has generated a lot of excitement at this fine club, with more to come. Win the next 3 games, and a shiny ting will be placed in the cabinet, but the holy grail would be 80 minutes away. Now this is getting fecking silly now lads.
See you all in the play-offs. Feck me, that sounds weird!
-- Master Scribe