Limerick Rugby

Limerick in the Sun, With Rugby and Partying

Yesterday is another planet.

It’s hard to believe now, as I look out on the pelting rain, what a nice day yesterday was, and yet, far off in the west, I think I can see a clearance.  Maybe not all is yet lost.

It was late when I dragged myself out, due to carousing and excessive partification, but Saturday morning would not be complete for me — as you know– without a trip to the market. It has to be done.

There was a nice little buzz to the town already, with the red-jerseyed hordes wandering around, ready for the early kick-off.

I was feeling a little peckish when I bumped into this fellow eating what appeared to be a nice bowl of lamb Madras.

Excuse me, I said to him.  That appears to be a nice bowl of lamb Madras.

It certainly is, he replied.   You can get it over there.

So I did, and it set me up for the day.

I wandered down town, where I came across these ladies promoting use of the internet by elderly people.  There’s some sort of prize and I promised them I’d give them a link, so here it is.

Who’s it for?  I asked them.  Older people, they said.  Silver surfers.

Older? I replied. Look!  There’s a baby in a buggy.  He’s older than the other teenshy weenshy little baby in that pram.  Does he count?

No.  He’s too young.

But he’s an older person.

Yes, but he’s not an older person the way we mean.  You know, older?  Wink?  Wink?

You mean old?

Aaaarrgghhh!!  they screamed in unison.  You can’t say that.  La la la la  lalalalala can’t hear you!

How about me? I went on. I’m incredibly old, and I run a website all on my ownio, and I don’t even have a younger person showing me where all the buttons are.

No, they said.  You’re too older.

You mean far too old?

Aaaarrgghhh!! they screamed in unison.  You can’t say that.  La la la la  lalalalala can’t hear you!

I grow older, I grow older, I told them.  I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolleder.

This day was taking a turn for the weirder.  Time for a pre-match pint to steady the older nerves.

The town was getting ready.  Calm before the storm.  It was time to head for Thomond Park and see what these French chappies were made of.

The place was looking good. and the crowd were looking ugly, as usual, but as someone said to me later, what’s this Stand Up and Fight business?  Do we really think the opposition will be intimidated by one small woman singing Stand up and fight?

A haka is intimidating, but really now. Come on.  Remember the Maka?  Now that was a challenge.

The game opened with a Toulon try in the very first minute which brought howls of venom from the crowd, who weren’t blind and knew a forward pass when they saw one.  But in fairness to them, they stayed quiet for the conversion, apart from one or two day-tripping idiots who were soon put in their place.

It wasn’t so much a setback for Munster as a poke in the ribs, and before long they were battering away at the Toulon defence, with telly addict Wayne Barnes sending two clear tries upstairs for adjudication.  On this occasion, for some reason, there was a blind man in charge of the video.  It must be some sort of equality thing.

Not deterred by stupid refereeing, Leamy went over in the 10th minute after a lovely little reverse pass from Stringer, and ROG kicked the conversion.

The brakes were off the train.

After that, it was pretty much one-way traffic, although Toulon put up a solid fight, and as somebody pointed out to me later, the final scoreline of 45-18 didn’t reflect the quality or intensity of the game they played.

Jonny Wilkinson’s appearance for Toulon in the second half changed the shape of the game a little, but Munster didn’t blink and before long, he too was wrapped up and in the post.

Funniest moment of the match came when Dr Phil was sin-binned to chants of Cheerio from the laughing Munster crowd, but there were a few more worrying sights.  Paul Warwick didn’t look good as he limped off, assisted by two helpers.  I thought his left ankle might be injured.  The loss of our Australian and New Zealand players will tell against us when the Irish players are committed for the international campaign, so this is not good news.

And Jerry Flannery limped off after pointing at his calf, an injury he has already suffered this year.

On the positive side, Tony Buckley has imposed himself on the game in a way we haven’t sdeen up to now, and both the Munster and international management will be happy to see a credible replacement emerge for John Hayes, who can’t have much professional playing time left in him.

Stringer, as ever, had a solid, workmanlike game, covering huge amounts of ground, delivering lightning-fast ball and biting ankles, or at least tapping them.

Leamy and Wallace imposed themselves on everything that came their way while Micko as usual was a magnificent soldier for Munster.

Final score, Munster 45, Toulon 18.  All well with the world.

Time to head for town and grab a couple of scoops.  It’s over there, it’s over there.

After that, it’s all a blur.  The town is in party mode, despite woes of the economy, so let’s enjoy our own little Weimar Republic party while we can, before the Biffoites start taxing fun.

Somewhere in this huddle, I believe, are members of my family and assorted contributors to this site, but I’ll not be delving into such a crowd this night.   And so to bed …