IF YOU ASK ME:Of course we can beat the Aussies – "if they click", says Paul McNaughton. Stranger things have happened, but not much stranger, writes RISTEARD COOPER
WELL FROM an Irish perspective it’s hard not to feel like we’ve been through this before. Although the Ireland camp have been at some pains to deny any similarities in preparation, style and behind the scenes “atmosphere” to the dreaded 2007 World Cup, the last time we had this feeling, Eddie O was being lampooned by “comedians”, if you don’t mind.
Of course naughty comedians really should be put in their box to allow serious journalists get on with the task of nurturing relationships with coaches, especially while the prospect of a book is on the cards. However, let’s not jump the gun, the circumstances then were different as Ireland looked about as confident as Fianna Fáil before the most recent general election.
Not surprisingly there are certain media types here coming out with the “I always said Eddie was a great coach” after the USA fortuitously finished within 12 points of Ireland last weekend.
Whether Ireland played poorly or not, the flashily attired spangley fella’s intercept try could hardly be put down to a masterclass in great coaching. Furthermore, presumably it’s not too great a task to motivate an American team on the 10th anniversary of 9/11.
Ireland team manager Paul McNaughton, who is beginning to resemble a Willie O’Dea disguise from The Joke Shop, was keeping his front foot forward with talk of giving the Aussies a roasting next Saturday.
“If they click” that is. Stranger things have happened, says you, but not much stranger.
Admittedly it sounds like clutching at straws, but maybe the problem is Ireland’s kit! Four years ago they donned the first of those streamlined shiny Canterbury jerseys that looked deeply shocking on any ordinary human, given they had a propensity to accentuate parts of the body you hadn’t realised existed.
But this time it’s the leisure and training gear that rankles. Witnessing the boys strutting around in red and white polo shirts doesn’t exactly stir feelings of patriotism and correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t recall ever spotting an England squad hanging out in green, white and gold.
Overall the first weekend of oval ball action was put in perspective by the fact it was left to Warren Gatland to lift the spirits as his team were comically denied three points by the officials.
Apologies to all Welshies, but well done George Clancy and the boys for denying Ireland a likely quarter-final meeting with Wales instead of South Africa. You’d have to wonder had Wales pipped the Boks, how much Ireland would have wanted to beat the Aussies if the prize for topping the group would have been to play the Boks at the next stage.
And even though there was an inevitability about England sneaking past the Argies in the end, it was nice to see the regular shots of Martin Johnson in his coaches box, slamming his fist off the shaking perspex and mouthing some bold words in the direction of the referee Bryce Lawrence.
New Zealand TV know their rugby and who to place the camera on when a 50/50 decision is made. Johnson may have his critics but he plays the bad, angry villain better than anyone else.
Horror movies’ loss is rugby’s gain, it would seem. The Kiwi ref was blissfully unaware of Johnson’s frothing snarls as he punished England at every opportunity, especially at the breakdown.
Yes that word again. It’s an appropriate word for a facet of the game that nobody seems to fully comprehend (least of all the players, by the looks of things) and which most spectators will suffer from if it continues to dominate this tournament.
A breakdown is surely where Lawrence Dallaglio is heading, if his outing as pundit on ITV is anything to go by. In the pre-match build-up with silky smooth Steve Ryder (a sort of Des Lynham light) his eyes widened and his neck veins bulged at the notion that England might struggle to get out of their pool, while claiming “James Haskell is now probably the best number eight in the world”.
Was this a coy reference to a well established beer commercial? Either way it’s a strange assertion at the best of times, but especially so as Johnson had actually picked Haskell as flanker. It’s early days, but my prediction is Dallaglio will shine with further thigh-slapping belters and is sure to be the TV star of the next six weeks.
Indeed, while the Golden Boot is awarded to the top goal scorer at football’s equivalent event, surely now with oodles of rugby pundits vying for supremacy, it’s time to introduce the Golden Bullshit award. So many candidates say you, but only one award.
For the last couple of years all the planning, weights programmes, training, rehab and, of course, smoothies, have been monitored for this game. And while the PR from Down Under is telling us the opposite, surely Ireland go into this game exactly where they want to be, as utter underdogs with nothing to lose.
So as we face yet another pivotal, vital and seminal moment in our history, yeah right, let us remind ourselves the Irish definition of positive thinking is being damn sure we’re going to lose.
Which of course won’t stop me believing we might just sneak it. If we really click.
