It’s always a good sign when the day begins with a surreal moment. Luckily I had a ticket for Bullet as well as myself, and we decided to stroll out in the pleasant spring sunshine. As we passed a church, the bells began to peal. The Bells of the Angelus. Lovely. A tune we all learned in kindergarten.
Bullet, I said, do you know that tune?
Course I do he replied. It’s The Wheels on the Bus.
I didn’t get a chance to do a report on the game yesterday because I was out carousing with my children and various friends afterwards. Sorry. It won’t happen again.
You probably know the result by now. It was a massacre. A slaughter. A comprehensive bulldozing.
A disallowed try early in the first half turned the crowd a little ugly, but by half time Munster were completely in charge and in the end it was all just too easy as they ran in one try after another, and Paul Warwick slotted two magnificent drop-goals as well as scoring a try. The first drop-goal was a cheeky opportunity grabbed on the fly, but the second was a gigantic kick from half way that left the crowd laughing and Paul O Connell shaking his head in amazement. There were no passengers. Everyone played their part and gave whatever ot took. Mafi had a stormer, smashing through the Ospreys time after time and tackling like a lunatic. Leamy was immense, working constantly, both on and off the ball. Young Keith Earls is becoming one of the most exciting players ever to step onto a rugby pitch and his brilliance produced two fine tries. O Connell is one of those rare natural leaders and I was delighted to see him going over the line for his own try. I thought I had a video of this but it turned out all I had was a video of the back of some guy’s head, so sorry about that. Not to worry though. I have a few pictures of the lads warming up before the game, and for a change I think I’ll post them later, instead of any action shots, mainly because my action shots are rubbishy blurred shit.
My head is exploding. I have the hangover of two men. I can’t write any more now, because my hands are shaking and my vision is blurred. There’s a faint tang of poisonous dolly-mixtures at the back of my throat and I fear I might see the end of this day. If I should somehow survive, I’ll put up the pictures of the lads. Promise.