Ireland rugby team have only themselves to blame for Six Nations ups and downs . . . and Wayne Barnes

It’s not easy being any of the Ireland half back these days. You’re either told to feck off to Racing Metro then you tear a hamstring against England, get ejected from the squad and be brought back in again like a verse from Lanigan’s Ball , make your debut, shank a few kicks and take the rap for the misery in Murrayfield, get taken off against France as you’re playing the match of your career or you come on with 20 minutes to go, and at the age of 32, you almost provide the match winning play for Keith Earls with a deft kick to the corner. But instead, two minutes later, you break your leg.

And why would anyone want to be a place-kicker? Hours of lining up an oval thing on a plastic thing, endlessly attempting to get it in between two wooden things, over and over, rhythmically, painstakingly, until one day . . . finally, you do it in your home stadium, only for the announcer to get your name wrong.

Its’s not like our outhalf last week has an unusual name like Silvester or Tarquin, so when Paddy Jackson managed to nail a tricky opening kick at the Aviva Stadium there it was in plain wrongness – “Jamie Heaslip’s try converted by number 10, Paddy O’Brien”, bellowed Mr Jollypants with the biggest microphone in town. Now while Jacko has been the subject of intense scrutiny recently, this is the first time he has been mistaken for the former shiny- headed Kiwi referee, so there’s just no explaining some gaffs.

Maybe the announcer watched one too many matches commentated on by Fred Cogley who often name-checked a Trevor “MacRingland” and a French lock who will forever be known “John’s Condom”

We like our scapegoats in Ireland, and while Father Deccie can legitimately be blamed for some minor disasters of late, he can’t really be blamed for injuries, nor to some people’s apparent disappointment, be responsible for the national debt.

At this stage he must be half expecting Les Kiss and Gert Small to pull up in training. Would anyone notice?

As team manager Mick Kearney pointed out, there’s a touch of GUBU about the whole affair.

It’s been GUBU and a half, alright, and as the B part of that suggests, in the end we could have lost to Wales, should have beaten England, could have hammered Scotland, and perhaps beaten France had half our team not resembled the opening five minutes of Saving Private Ryan .

Shoulda, coulda, woulda, but in truth, even with the injuries, Ireland really only have themselves to blame. And Wayne Barnes. Okay, maybe not.

Soldiered on
Luke Marshall certainly soldiered on until he couldn’t take any more against France. You realised as you watched him flopping off the pitch this fella has all the physical attributes of a professional rugby player; the thighs of a rhinoceros, the shoulders of a bear, the heart of a lion and the face of a slapped backside. This is what it takes these days.