Outsiders finally getting a look in

In Connacht, great rugby days have not always been measured by the end result. The presence of Ian Kirkpatrick's All Blacks at the Sportsground in 1974 is still considered a distinguished occasion although the visitors won 27-3.of much adversity and official neglect

A visit by Australia in November of 1996, the last days of the Campese era, ended in a 37-20 defeat, but the match was rendered immortal by Connacht's gloriously mad and almost successful attempt to score a try through a 15-man lineout and maul.

And it is not the scoreline that people recall from a Galwegians game in September of 1956 against Group Captain Walker's XV, but the sheer oomph behind the tackle with which Dickie Roche engaged the man who would become Sir Anthony O'Reilly.

Because the evocative enactment of the Haka on the windblown and unlovely plains of the Sportsground or the visits of a luminary like O'Reilly meant the same thing to Connacht rugby people. It meant that for the space of 80 minutes, they did not feel like they were on the outside looking in.

Although the Connacht branch of the IRFU was founded in Dublin in 1885, it has been metaphorically, as well as literally, far outside the Pale ever since. Of all the provinces, the oval ball game had the least chance to take root in the mountainous west.

The traditional touchstones of west of Ireland rugby are too few: Corinthians and Galwegians in Galway city, Garbally school in Ballinasloe and then isolated town clubs who manage to persevere when it would be easier to quit.

The official IRFU blazers with the Connacht emblem have always looked just as plush as those worn among the power brokers from other provincial offices but beyond the sartorial, the similarities end. The story of Connacht rugby is a century of adversity made tolerable by odd, wonderful days of jubilation.

"Everything was against rugby in Connacht," reckons Ralph O'Gorman, a broadcaster and historian on the local game.

"Connacht lacked the population and, in particular, a strongly professional population among whom the game thrived - there was no strong Anglo or military influence, or no boarding schools that developed a tradition for rugby. It was always an uphill battle. I remember around 1968, we had just one school, the Sligo Grammar, regularly fielding rugby teams."

However, O'Gorman's adolescent years coincided with one of the rare unqualified success stories of Connacht rugby, the Galwegians club side circa 1955-1960. Although it predated an All-Ireland League system, Galwegians' record during that time was the envy of the country.

That power-base meant a strong provincial team and a succession of international caps for Galway players like Tony O'Sullivan, the powerful number eight who was dubbed "the Green Ghost" by the French after a virtuoso performance in Ireland's 1959 Five-Nations victory.

"I went to school in the Bish (St Joseph's College) in town and I suppose Jack Deasy was the man who originally taught me the game," O'Sullivan says, trying to recall his formative years in Galway from his residence in Zimbabwe.

"There was just a group of young guys in the town around that time who clicked. I lived on Seapoint Road and Johnny Dooley grew up right beside me. We both got Irish caps the same year. Connacht was very strong then. For instance, I remember we beat Ulster four successive times in Belfast and that simply did not happen then, it was unprecedented.

"There were great friendships out of it and lads just wanted to play for Connacht - I remember the O'Driscoll brothers used to pay their way back from Manchester to play provincial games with us."

O'Gorman recalls big crowds heading up Prospect Hill in that period, "like a Eucharistic procession" and he developed a life-long affection for Connacht rugby. And because of that affinity he simultaneously nurtured a thorny attitude towards the IRFU, a common feeling of wariness that exploded into outright antipathy last year when the union openly cast doubt on the worth and future of Connacht rugby.

"The general reaction was one of grave insult," he says. "I think people felt it cheap of the IRFU to be so high-handed in their treatment of Connacht. The perception here has always been that the province has contributed richly to Irish rugby and battled against its own circumstances."

And the pantheon of Irish rugby contains a Connacht streak that is unquestionably vivid. Ciaran Fitzgerald, Triple Crown-winning captain and 1982 and 1985 and the man who voiced the most famous question in Irish rugby history, "Where's yer fuckin' pride?" was of Connacht. Ray McLoughlin, whose Irish career spanned the period between 1962 and 1975, learned his game in Garbally.

Noel Mannion, scorer of the great breakaway try against Wales in the Cardiff Arms Park in 1989, was also schooled at Garbally. It was in the Sportsground that Irish fans first saw Simon Geoghegan, who spent boyhood summers in Galway, tinkering with the early possibility of his unique, electric brilliance.

The provincial coaching appointments have hardly been ignominious either: Warren Gatland served a memorable apprenticeship in Galway, George Hook growled through a couple of seasons, Eddie O'Sullivan patrolled the sidelines and now Michael Bradley is demonstrating the full range of his impressive tactical and managerial acumen.

Then there is Eric Elwood. The present- day outhalf hates being singled out, but he is the unreserved archangel of Connacht rugby, partly because of his stunning consistency, but mainly because he chose to stay.

That Elwood (below) remains a central figure in the Connacht playing structure heightened the sense of outrage during last year's IRFU controversy. "I am on record as saying that even this year, the Connacht team are operating under ridiculous circumstances," says Mannion.

"Bradley basically has an axe over his head. A belief has set in that last year's threat is over with, but I am not sure that is the case and that is why I feel this weekend's game against Harlequins is of huge importance.

"I know it seems like a negative perspective in what could be a great day for Connacht rugby. But I think Connacht have been treated shockingly. It is as if the province is a hobby for the IRFU. It is fine to say that Connacht is a development province for Irish rugby, but if that is the case, let it be. Very few of our current guys are offered anything more than one-year contracts.

"I saw Franno (Neil Francis) criticising the lack of local players in the Connacht team. And he has a point, but he didn't say how we are meant to provide them if the players we do bring up through the system are persistently going to be lured to other clubs that can offer them greater security."

Mannion had been one of the most cogent and persuasive voices to emerge in support of Connacht rugby. He has known mixed days in the jersey.

"The worst? God. There were a few 'worsts'. I have a horrible memory of a day down in Thomond Park against Munster in 1992 when we scored three tries, but still lost something like 60-12. The game seemed to go on forever. That was a tough day."

Against that, though, he can refer to the visit of the All Blacks in 1989 or a famous win against Fiji during a rainstorm in 1992.

"Eddie O'Sullivan called the game-plan that day and it was like he had it worked out in advance. We just stuffed the ball up the jerseys and didn't let the Fijians near it for the whole game. It was perfect."

It was after he got called up to the Irish squad in 1988 that Mannion became conscious of a sense of separation between Connacht and the rest of Ireland.

"I would have been very much aware of my background, especially as Tom Clancy was the only other lad on it from Connacht when I first joined. Now, I got on fine with the other players and was treated well, but there was a sense of belonging to another environment."

Tony O'Sullivan was dropped six times for Ireland and is unequivocal about the reason why: "There were no Connacht selectors. Whenever the team played badly, I would be one of the first to get the chop. I didn't mind, I didn't take any crap from anybody. And even though I got dropped so many times, I always made it back up."

Resilience is the key to Connacht. The province never claimed to do things perfectly and it is just as well. The links between outposts like Ballina or Connemara or Sligo, where the game is kept alive in a climate that is not so much hostile as indifferent, are tenuous at best.

And there is a belief that the Connacht branch could be more rigorous in their attempts to sew the seeds of the game in schools where Gaelic games have always been the predominant sports.

The advent of professionalism has critically blunted the local clubs like Corinthians and Galwegians, a problem common to all the Irish provinces. Mannion believes, however, that if Connacht were allowed to exist under the spirit ostensibly approved of by the IRFU, they could actually become a model for the professional age.

"In Munster and Ulster, the emphasis is on instant success, winning competitions instantly. The coaches there simply cannot afford to plan for five years down the road or to consider the interests of the international team. If Connacht is a place where guys like John O'Sullivan are to develop, then surely the way to progress is to create an atmosphere where they feel secure about their future."

The element of uncertainty that still hangs over Connacht rugby has been identified as a powerful motivational tool for Bradley. The defiance and self-belief the team has shown in places like Pau and Narbonne and even during Harlequins' more salubrious phases of play two weeks ago has earned the province a new-found respect. In the immediate term, it has created a happy and slightly rebellious carnival mood as Bradley's team push for a place in the European Challenge Cup final.

A victory in this competition would earn Connacht their first tangible success and more exquisitely, it would represent an irreproachable two-fingered gesture to the IRFU from all who walked on the protest march late last year. But that remains a long way off; trailing by nine points to Harlequins is not an easy situation to turn around.

The presence of Gavin Duffy in the multicoloured Harlequins full-back shirt tomorrow will serve as a reminder to Connacht fans of how easily precious things are lost. Duffy, like Johnny O'Connor and Colm Rigney, was wrested away from Galway when the stand-off with the IRFU was at its most volatile.And earlier this month, Damien Browne, another local favourite, declared he would be playing with Northampton next season.

Nobody blames the players for furthering their careers, but the constant prospect of the departure of the brightest and the best can be morally, as well as materially, depressing. It has often raised the question of why Connacht agreed to become the development system in the first place.

"Well, no more than Michael Collins, it was a case of signing for what you thought was the best you could get," says O'Gorman. "If they had refused, the consequences would not have been too pretty either."

Although Connacht's day in the spotlight was compromised by the staging of the Munster versus Wasps semi-final on the same afternoon, there is no doubt tomorrow will represent as good a day as Connacht rugby has known. Not since the distant visits of New Zealand has the Sportsground been fitted with temporary seating. When this year's Challenge Cup began, you could hear Bernard Jackman's lineout calls all around the Sportsground.

Tomorrow, the ground will be full. Connacht's home will be a new experience for Harlequins regulars like Will Greenwood accustomed to Twickenham. The rugby ground on Prospect Hill may command a kind of grudging love from former Connacht players, but nobody has ever admitted to liking it. Even on perfect summer days, the place kicks up a wind and on many afternoons, it can seem pure spiteful.

"Ask Franno for his views on the Sportsground," suggests Mannion. "Then run for cover. The best that can be said is that it may disadvantage the visiting team more than it does us." In a sense, though, the soul of the place - often derided, but tough and most importantly still there - is perfect for Connacht rugby. Tomorrow, they say, belongs to the realm of unbidden "great days", the restorative that west of Ireland rugby people keep hoping against hope for.

Except this time, the final whistle is all. In uncertain times, the result is at the heart of the matter.