Many of our people are already in place at the Ricoh stadium, and I’m receiving communications from Coventry by the minute. There are 5,000 Saracens. There are 20,000 of us.
Here in Limerick, a group of highly-trained special forces drinkers have taken control of strategic pubs with large screens and the logistics effort has swung into operation in earnest. A band of public-spirited and entirely selfless taxi drivers have made the ultimate sacrifice and now, right across the city, are ferrying the red-clad home supporters to their stations.
Our boys in Coventry won’t be found wanting.
We won’t be found wanting.
Come what may, this is it. Lose and we’re out. Win and we’re back to Cardiff to meet the old enemy, Toulouse.
Munster won. Holy fuck, what a game. I thought I was going to have a coronary, except my doctor already told me my heart was perfect. I thought I was going to have a stroke. I thought I was going to have a conniption.
What does this mean? Well, this means that the Bullet and myself are going to Cardiff again at the end of next month. This means we’re up for another road movie. This means the Munster toon army is on the move yet again.
Look forward to photos. Many photos.
Bock’s camera will be busy.