TV View: England’s war horses beaten by a Furlong

They didn’t really need the floodlights on in Twickenham after the game, the smile on Johnny Sexton’s face alone was lighting the place up. It seems so long ago now, almost 1948, that his right boot divinely intervened with that drop goal in Paris, the mood before it sailed over, when a defeat of a gut-wrenching kind loomed, somewhat contrasting with the jubilation at full-time in London. It was some journey. And as days go, St Patrick’s wasn’t too scummy.

You’d guess they were beaming just as broadly back at TV3. There used to be a theory that the channel jinxed our rugby team, a couple of World Cups ending calamitously when they were on broadcasting duty. Now? They’ll probably rename themselves Grand Slam 3. They certainly got their money’s worth, the drama unceasing, and the whole adventure ending with a big shiny trophy, a sizeable dollop of history and a national hoolie.

A mighty fine job they did too under the stewardship of the Tadhg Furlong of telly presenting, Joe Molloy, although Peter Stringer beat him to the TV3 Player of the Match award for remaining on the pitch long after the game to speak live to Joe, despite evidently suffering from hypothermia.

"It was like Christmas Eve last night," said Joe when he kicked off the day, all of his panel, each with a field of shamrock tucked in their top pockets, fairly hopeful that a Grand Slam would drop down the chimney. But cautious too, as was Joe Schmidt when he interrupted Italy v Scotland to tell us that it was important his players didn't let emotion overrun them.

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It was important that we didn't either, of course, but TV3 hardly helped, first having Stephen James Smith reading a highly stirring poem over images of our greatest sporting moments and then showing us a montage of memories from the 2009 Grand Slam with Snow Patrol crooning in the background. By now supplies of Kleenex were going much the same way as sliced pans during that beastly blizzard.

Deep breaths. The lads took to the pitch. "This is an Irish team standing on the edge of greatness," said Dave 'it's spinning, IT'S SPINNING' McIntyre before asking Alan Quinlan for some final words before kick-off. But he could only offer a muffled reply, either because of the cold or, as he told us, because "my heart is in my mouth".

You had half a notion, then, that this was going to be a special day, and not even Ireland’s Call could ruin it.

Off we went. A very gorgeous start, due partly to England’s discipline being a little like TV3 for Virgin Media customers ahead of the game: nowhere to be seen. While Virgin eventually resolved the problem, England didn’t really fix theirs, the first half leaving the nation pinching itself to the point of being black and blue.

“You. May. Award. The. Try.”

“You. May. Award. The. Try.”

And just before half-time, when Jacob Stockdale did what Jacob Stockdale tends to do: "You. May. Award. The. Try."

As a disbelieving Quinlan kept repeating, “unbelieeeeeevable”.  But, 21-5 at half-time. Unbelieeeeeevable was the only word.

Matt Williams was purring. Shane Horgan was swooning. And when Joe asked Shane Jennings to pick out the Irish players who'd excelled in the first half, by the time he stopped he'd named the entire fifteen.

There was a home and hosed feel to it all. But then England opened the second half with a try and a tune about Chariots filled the Twickenham air. Feelings sinking. But if you ever find yourself stuck in the trenches, you’d want that Irish defence tucked in beside you. Awesome.

The Chariots fell quiet, the Fields took over, it was like Cheltenham all over again. Two legs or four, England no match. Beaten by a Furlong. And a Kearney, an Earls, a Ringrose, an Aki, a Stockdale, a Sexton, etc . . .

“This is just magic,” said Joe.

That it was.