Irishmen have taught English lesson in humility

As Ulster capitulated in style in Europe, falling from grace with alacrity not witnessed since Lucifer messed up, an intangible air of relief flooded through the owning interests in the English club game.

"There you go, Ulster's win was more about our absence and a few typically half-baked French performances than anything to do with an Irish province being the best in Europe."

God knows we all supported Ulster in the final, rooting for the underdogs and all that. Great, well done lads. And the unsaid message was "enjoy it while you can, we are back next season". And back came the English and out they went. Bath and Leicester, the leading teams in the country missed the cut along with a Harlequins team humiliated by Treviso, twice.

Yes, twice. Wasps made it as runners-up but fell at the quarter-final stage and so, for all the talk of the English super clubs, it is left to Northampton to save the blushes of the new-age warriors.

Not many are betting the Saints will achieve it. The most common justification for calling an English win has been the "perverse logic theory". That their season was going so well, and has collapsed so badly, so quickly, that a win is the obvious outcome today.

Bizarre, isn't it. That is what we English would love to call "Irish logic", but the fact remains that Munster are deserved favourites to make it consecutive victories for Ireland, north and south.

The appearance of the England quintet will make victory all the sweeter should Munster prevail, as the lesson of humility is the last many expected the English to learn this season.

From an English and French perspective, the tournament was a great way to learn from the other. England would learn of the exquisite French running lines and France would get to grips with the grind of English tight forward excellence.

A bit of Welsh flair was another lesson worth taking, and the Irish would remind us what great "craic" rugby can be. As Edinburgh and Glasgow had little real identity it was hard to assess either side, while the Italians were the upstarts who were expected to be less than uppity.

Expectations were great and neutrals have been anything but disappointed. It has been a grand tournament, but not for the anticipated reasons. Treviso, beating Harlequins twice, was a hoot and Leicester were stunned by Leinster and Glasgow.

These upsets were not meant to be and, to cap it all, French rugby is perceived to be in crisis. It will be the first final without a French side and our Gallic friends cannot quite believe it. It has been a puckish old year in Europe.

Whatever happens this afternoon, it will be Munster that win Tony Blair's Excellent Teacher award this time around.

It is not the brilliance of their back play, or the primal ferocity of the Galwey gang up front, but a salutary reminder of rugby's most important qualities - heart and mind.

Sure, you need a basic level of fitness and skill, but you assume that any team in the Heineken Cup has a reasonably similar level. Where there has been a marked discrepancy has been in the grey cells department.

The cliche of mad Munster, howling storms at Thomond Park and a glint of Guinness passion have all been smoothly consigned to the rubbish bins. Declan Kidney's team has been the smartest.

We will come back to that when we consider the match itself, but let us touch on the other area of superiority, where England and Cardiff have failed to compete and maybe even see the plot.

Spirit, the great intangible, is travelling on the Munster team bus and for those who see sport as more than a cheque book, it will be a damned welcome travelling companion to watch stepping off the team bus at Twickenham.

Whereas English clubs are on the lookout for overseas players with foreign grannies, who will be eligible for Europe, Munster has a pack that need not worry.

It is all home grown with the exception of the outstanding John Langford. There is no chance of a Munster player having his mind elsewhere.

It is a major lesson for English clubs, in particular, to learn.

Leicester, the English club who did not see team spirit as anathema in the "professional age" have won the premiership and Bath, who lost the plot and rediscovered it via the return of Ben Clarke and a Saturday night piss-up finished second.

Northampton are led by a Samoan who talks ceaselessly of family virtues and has turned a team with a reputation for prima donnas into a collective of men who are prepared to dig deep for each other.

The writing is on the wall. A return to the old values is not misguided and antiquated, it is the root to success. Munster broadcast that message via the stands and television, and a few teams have tuned in. This is the best news of all.

Who has the biggest chequebook is no sort of sport. The crowds that flock to Twickenham will be full of passion. It will probably be the noisiest the ground has been since the Australians and South Africans scrapped it out in front of their boozed up, in your face, fans in the semi-final.

Down with decorum. London is preparing itself for an invasion of characters straight from a Flann O'Brien novel.

Fuelled with alcohol, their party may lack logic, but on the field it is Munster who hold the aces in the mind games. The forwards are an intelligent and committed unit, but in the latter stages of the tournament it has been Peter Stringer and Ronan O'Gara who have caught the eye.

The Cork couple makes the game look easy, moving quick ball and turning the opposition if the ball is slow. The speed of Stringer's service gives O'Gara the extra second to pick his spot. His tactical kicking has something of a knife in its application.

It was appropriate that he rounded off that superb try in Toulouse. It was a thing of beauty, inspired by the clearest of thinking and the best of running lines.

Northampton had no such treasure to take away from Reading, where their semi-final victory lacked the romance and polished moments of the Munster win in Bordeaux, but made up for it with the bravery of the effort.

This was a sporting Alamo, with a twist. Like the story, no help arrived, most of the support were injured, but John Wayne and the boys repelled the Mexican-Llanelli waves of attack with all the perverse logic that lead some commentators to predict a win for the Saints.

Llanelli were guilty of stupid rugby in the last ten minutes as they battered away at the Northampton line, turning ball after ball inside to a forward trying to walk through Tim Rodber to the try-line and the final.

The Welsh outhalf Stephen Jones joined the direct approach as their backs waited in vain. It will be a major disappointment if O'Gara reads the game as badly.

It will also be quite a shock if Stringer's pass is not double the quality of Rupert Moon's. If Munster get within striking distance they will not make Llanelli's fatal error.

There will be plenty of brawn for those with a predilection for raw rugby, but the brain-power of Munster should prove decisive. There is just one factor that makes me think twice before putting my annual Istabraq Cheltenham winnings on a consecutive Irish triumph; An Irish team, favourites at Twickenham? Better think twice about the perverse logic theory.

Stuart Barnes is a columnist at the Daily Telegraph.