With the English and French coming our way Risteárd Cooperis rubbing his hands in anticipation for more reasons than the clashes.
LET THERE be no talk of Irish Grand Slams, World Cup semi-finals or any of that positive-thinking nonsense reserved for Americans. As we all know to our cost the combination of public pronouncements, displays of naked confidence and Irishness only lead one way. Negativity is one comfort zone we don’t want to get out of.
Surely the big question for Father Kidney going into this year’s Six Nations is – is it better to have a terrible campaign, receive an almighty kick in the pants and subsequently approach the World Cup with backs-to-the-wall indignation, or win every match playing sublime rugby and be full of beans for the voyage down under? It’s a dilemma, but being Irish you’d have to plumb for the latter, even though you’d be hard pressed to remember the last time we fared well when expectations were high. Johnny Logan’s second Eurovision win?
One thing’s for certain, a Six Nations in the same year as a World Cup adds a very potent spice to the mix and will have the coaches displaying their full box of tricks, which usually includes a lot of talk without actually saying anything, verbal gymnastics like, “My job is to do the best job I can and if that’s good enough – job done”, and cards played so close to the chest you’re not sure if they actually have any.
Despite the financial chaos we’re in, fortunately we have one shiny, sparkly jewel to show off, a glistening diamond in the rubble, if you will, the lovely new stadium. But while embracing the changes that come with progress might be a necessary evil, do we really have to change the name “Lansdowne Road” and all it evokes, to the all singing, all dancing Aviva Stadium and all its yellowness?
Admittedly we love negativity in Ireland, which surely is a positive, but having watched Ireland play South Africa from my €100 seat high in the clouds of the Upper East Stand in November, the only positive to be gleaned was that when I had to endure the Samoa game as part of the IRFU ticket “deal”, at least I knew where my seats were. The occasion was at least marked by a unique feeling. The uniqueness of sitting in a €410 million, 50,000-seat stadium with the atmosphere of a dentist’s waiting-room.
It has to be said though, a dentist would put you out of your misery a lot quicker than Ireland did that day.
Thankfully, the November series has precisely nothing in common with the Six Nations. Home fixtures against France and England always get the hands rubbing in anticipation, and nothing gets the blood stirring quite like a battle against the tanks in white, and I’m not just talking about the players.
A big international weekend against the Sasanach reminds us just how small our capital is, as almost every English Nigel in existence seems to appear in the most unexpected places, dens of darkness which would normally be preserved for a certain crowd are filled with Nigels blissfully unaware they’re not blending in with the pensive, messy-haired, black-wearing regulars discussing the purity of poetry and the evil of advertising.
Nigels are a curious breed, a rare mix of restrained visiting house guest and brash, bolshie imposter seemingly obsessed with logistics and itineraries. There are some conversations that really test your yawn-suppression skills. One such exchange observed in the heightened anticipation of the pre-match march up O’Connell Street two years ago was delivered by a corduroy-slacked, polo-necked Nigel with a voice you’d hear over a hedge strimmer. “Of course you could go BA return, but I found that if you were to take the outbound British Midland from London Heathrow and come back on City Jet the following day, it would be £15 cheaper than travelling with any other airline or combination thereof.”
The same Nigel could be seen several hours later outside the Pembroke Inn with kebab in the hand and pint on the head, bellowing out an impassioned version on Swing Low while several other Nigels joined in the chorus. I’m not sure if there is a collective term for them, a pride of Nigels maybe?
The last time the French were here they provided the first step along the way to you know what, but they’ve also provided us with hours of unwatchable misery, ruthlessly dismantling Ireland’s game plan, almost mocking our hopes it could ever be any other way. Four years ago we were preparing for Ireland’s historical first outing in Croke Park, and I don’t know about you, but I’m still wincing from the pain inflicted by Vincent Clerc’s last-gasp match winner that day.
The beret-clad, moustachio’d Francois with a cockerel under his arm and a trumpet in his mouth is a cliché the French seem happy to perpetuate, but when things go against them on the pitch they’re not so inclined to blow it. The trumpet that is.
Many questions will be answered over the next couple of months. Will Declan Kidney go the tried and trusted route or will he go with provincial form and inject some fresh energy? When he announces the team, will it be before or after a player tweets it? (See page 44.) And will RTÉ’s Tracey Piggott get through a gushing interview with the Irish coach without embarrassing him by telling him how proud of him she is? First up is Italy in Rome, over to you Tracy (see panel).
IMAGINED VOICES
Tracey Piggott:Declan you must be very excited about going to Italy for the first match this year. Just to say we're all so proud of you, you're so brave.
DK(looking concerned): Well we haven't achieved anything yet, we're all starting with a clean slate, Italy are very physical, so we'll have to match them up front.
Tracey:Yes they're huge men, aren't they? Really big. What do you think it'll be like wrestling with those strapping Italians in a sweaty maul in a pulsating cauldron?
DK(looking more concerned): Well we just have to focus on . . .
Tracey:Focus, yes. Yes, sorry Declan go ahead. So proud of you.
DK:We'll just focus on doing our job and take it from there you know, it's all about momentum really, you want fellas to get a good start and build from there really.
Tracey:Very wise as always Declan. The kind of understated sage-like wisdom that makes you so successful and just, you know, so . . . brilliant. How are preparations going by the way? Any injury concerns for the boys?
DK:Couple of bumps and bruises but nothing to worry about.
Tracey:Yes I'm sure the odd scratch means nothing to the lads. They're so fit and brave, aren't they? It must be just great to be in the dressingroom with them, is it? Just all of you being there knowing that we're all so proud of you.
Pause
DK:I better go now Tracey. (I've to say Mass in 10 minutes?)
