Ireland cross the threshold at last

In the post-match dressingroom at Wembley, Paddy Johns said that the Irish public would get as much of a buzz out of this win as the squad did. Hence they had milked this overdue, deserved win for all its worth in a great communal outpouring of emotion. And they do like to take us on an emotional rollercoaster, don't they?

For the best part of 50 minutes, we journeyed on an increasingly heady and ecstatic ride to a 20- point lead. Happy days and high fives all round. Then came an extraordinary dip, making us almost white and trembling with fear. Finally they regrouped and saw it out with maturity, but the ride left you so drained that the mood inside the dressing-room and beyond was again communal. Not so much elation, more relief.

It would have to be this way, of course, and if we died a death watching it all unfold one can't begin to imagine what Warren Gatland, the rest of the management and the replacements in this Irish `family' went through. The wild hugging and embracing was entirely understandable. The harder it comes, the better it feels.

The squad have always believed in themselves and Gatland has always believed in them, even to the point where he thought the team would one day cut loose and give somebody a good tonking. That match ought to have been this one, and for a while threatened to be, but in a curious way maybe it's as well that it wasn't.

For Ireland to regroup as they did and regain control of the game bespoke volumes for their collective character, especially given the intense pressure they were under to obtain a win that seemed to be slipping away.

The manner of that late recovery also dispelled a few myths, or fickle cliches, which have been attached to this team. In that last 10 minutes they proved they are winners and that they have leaders.

After Jeremy Davidson went on a personal odyssey in pursuit of the leather, taking Robert Howley's miscued box kick, tackling Garin Jenkins into touch on the narrow side of the line-out, he and Johns provided the platform as Ireland methodically went upfield via penalties to touch. Ireland had the leather and wouldn't give it back until Humphreys steered over his second, matchwinning drop goal.

It wasn't just his execution of the drop goal - he's always been a sweet exponent of that particular art - which showed how much Humphreys was in control. His ensuing call for the quick ball off Davidson in the middle of the line, Kevin Maggs' drive up the middle and pre-planned drop goal re-affirmed it. And the team went with him the whole way, retaining their grip until the end. Crisis? What crisis?

Humphreys and this team truly arrived at Wembley on Saturday. At first, the gifted one may have been a tad guilty of trying to unveil his and Ireland's entire repertoire in the first 15 minutes but he settled down and ran the show with authority.

His line-kicking, his setting up of Maggs' try, the drop goals; he was well nigh perfect. And, er, he's not a place-kicker? The management, his team-mates and most importantly, the player himself, never doubted Humphreys, but he shoved it up some doubters alright. End of out-half debate.

End of discipline problem too? It must have brought a wry smile to Gatland and Donal Lenihan when they heard Graham Henry bemoaning that Welsh discipline (or lack of it) cost them the match. Yet it had almost seemed premeditated.

How else can one interpret two bust-ups at the first four scrums, with the Welsh wading through each time and Craig Quinnell seemingly getting his sports confused? After the self-destructive concession of needless and decisive penalties against France, Gatland contented himself with the notion that maybe, just maybe, it would prove a blessing in disguise.

To hammer home the message, he and Lenihan asked each and every one of the Irish players would they be prepared to take a punch and not retaliate. So they didn't respond to Craig Quinnell's third flurry in the opening three minutes. Lesson learned; penalty reversed and 3-0 to Ireland.

True to their promise, they literally turned the other cheek again when David Young, Barry Williams and Craig Quinnell waded in some more at the second bust-up, Woods turning away and Clohessy contenting himself with a protective hand over his frontrow partner.

The pity was that Humphreys' one blemish from five kicks didn't exact full retribution again, or that Dion O'Cuinneagain or Justin Bishop couldn't give Niall Woods a free gallop - something that he could have done with after three years away from international rugby.

The pressure defence, coupled with Humphreys' speed of hand and thought, yielded one try and might have yielded more. The pack's set-piece dominance was as complete as you could probably get at this level. At the interval, the message was the same as at any level when halfway to victory: withstand the anticipated onslaught, stay on top for 15 minutes or so and score next.

That they did, Keith Wood's sidestep past Scott Gibbs constituting sweet revenge for the Welsh centre's earlier high stiff-arm tackle, and could have done more. Had the otherwise excellent Justin Bishop kept up with O'Shea, or the full-back touched down a bit quicker, it could have been that aforementioned tonking.

As it was, Ireland scaled the dizzying heights of a 20-point lead and experienced collective vertigo. It was as if they didn't know what to do next. More lessons to be learned, but after Wales could afford to swing from the hip and did so thrillingly, at least Ireland regrouped.

So many players had outstanding games: Humphreys, Wood, Davidson, Maggs, and so many had very good ones: O'Shea, Bishop, Bell, the props, and O'Cuinneagain and Miller, and so clearly were they the better side for about three-quarters of the game, that anything less than victory would have been criminal. Not even this resilient lot might have been able to put a spin on another defeat.

Instead, a huge monkey has been removed from their collective backs. This could go down as a huge turning point for Gatland's Ireland. They've crossed a threshold now.