Fame at last

Posted on Monday, April 24, 2006

Munster 19 Perpignan 10

Here’s a thing you won’t see every day: Bock speechless. That’s right - without speech. Or to be more precise, without voice. I woke up this morning with no voice at all after yesterday’s screaming, and I’ve been communicating all day by gestures, comical facial expressions and waving a piece of dried seaweed I found. It’s as well I’ve been in pretty good form since we won, and haven’t had to improvise by, for instance, nodding loud abuse at people.

There’s a remarkable photograph in the Examiner today of Paul O’Connell soaring above the line-out to win yet another throw, and behind him, on the South terrace, thousands of red-clad supporters. In itself, it would be a wonderful image and I’ll see if I can get a copy of it to frame. However, being a well-composed picture is not the only interesting about it. No indeed. What’s truly wonderful about the picture is that I’m in it. And Wrinkly Paddy. And Jimbo. And the Duck of Death, instantly recognisable amid the Sea of Red by his green Richmond shirt. That’s it Duck. Yourself and Jem the Impaler, who turned up in a Shannon jersey. Well done. Indomitable, free-thinking individualists that they are, unlike the rest of us sheep. Bah! Anyhow, there you have it. A picture of us, like a kind of real-life “Where’s Wally?” A collector’s item to be treasured by all serious Bock-watchers.Isn’t it great that Lansdowne Road is already in Dublin 4, so that the very act of leaving the ground is a form of gloating? We walked into town, got a Dort back out and walked in again, telling everybody we met how unlucky they were: “Great game. Well done. We just got the breaks on the day, y’know?”, and lots of other insincere patronising shit. They’d give you back your teeth in your hand if you tried it in Limerick. Never mind. Best of luck next year to Girv and Darce and Shaggy.

Going forward, as all the best gobshites say these days, what do the French think? I was surprised to hear that their Press were saying things like “un gros defi physique” or even more heartening, in describing Munster, “un conquete en beton et un alignement exceptionel”. Now, how much higher could the praise be? Well, perhaps it’s all simply a plot. I’m told there’s no French term for “underdog”, which is not unexpected, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they were attempting to make Biarritz les chiens au dessus. I wonder what the Basque for underdog is?

Yeah. Right.

And I wonder what the Irish is for Harinordoquy and Betsen.

Stumble it!