TIGERS VS OSPREYS LV BRIDGEND 12/11/10
By Irishaxeman
November 13 2010
“ WELL THE BEER WAS NICE AFTERWARDS…..” It’s always a bad sign when you know as many players on the opposition side as on yours, and this was emphasised when our hotel turned out to be the venue for the Ospreys’ ‘6.20 team briefing’ compete with sarnies and water. At least we got to say ‘Hi’ to Mefin and challenge the players to a game of cards since I hadn’t brought my boots! The team looked useful with Mef, Gough, Duncan J, Fussell, Holah, Nutbrown, Sonny Parker and the man who finished Corry’s career, Hibbard. I gave him a mean stare. He looked puzzled.
A pleasant stroll in the light rain down to the Brewery Field, and what looked like a good crowd developing (about 6,600 in the end). We visited the shop and oo-ah-ed at the nice jazzy shirts and wandered off to occupy our usual position by the 22 flag. We then played a nice game of ‘spot who the hell that is’ with our valiant boys. You could tell the difference between old hands like Hawkins and the newer lads, but by ten minutes into the warm-up it was only the bald head that identified him – things were getting a little wet. The heavens opened in the way only the Celtic heavens can, with constant, driven, fine rain that at times made the opposite stand indistinct.
Tigers came out in that crazy, hip, ‘platinum’ away shirt looking for all the world like Falcons 3rds. Ospreys came out looking bigger and a bit more grown-up. The Magners league reffing team were introduced and we had a minute’s silence.
Off we kicked and for a good 6 minutes we looked OK apart from spilling high balls and slipping over. Ford slotted a kick and all was well with the world. Then they scored, a simple matter of missed first up tackles and a slice through. Then they scored again. And again. And again. And again.
Matthew Morgan (usually the Swansea Whites 10) was running riot and the Ospreys backs were enjoying a good training run. Our lineout was fine but the scrum suffered from the mismatch between packs, as did our central defence. This was not helped by the absence of any ‘interpretation’ by the ref Leighton Hodges. Diving in, over the top, in at the side – what a jolly time the Os were having.
By this time we had lost Lewington, although Macaulay was a good substitute. Phillips grabbed a try, then Morgan, then Fussell again. Webb and Morgan were slicing through the middle, and switching the ball to our left side exposed poor tackling and a lack of defensive nous. Hurrell was either still injured or a hologram for the use he was, even failing to run back 10 metres to help Macaulay field a garryowen. We were a shambles.
Round about that time we had a classic Welsh rugby moment. Surrounded as we were by Ospreys fans who constantly punctuate any two word sentence with their favourite adjective/expletive, I uttered a single expletive in relation to Hurrell. A fellow nearby castigated me for swearing in front of his kids – a.k.a. the brats who kept kicking my wife’s legs. And he was sick of the rubbish I had been talking throughout. I apologised for my single f-word and told him since I was simply commenting on my own side’s play, I took it he liked our play. I also suggested he was ignoring the constant expletives raining down around us since they were in Welsh accents. Silence ensued. I lived in Wales for over a decade and never tired of their cheery anti-English insults, so managed to maintain a dignified if weary demeanour despite wanting to knock his block off. My wife kicked one of his brats back.
Tigers finally registered a try before half-time with some good forward play. The announcer thought it might be Pienaar, although officially it was Armes. You know, him what plays for the Green and Whites. Ford converted (or should that be Convertible? Get me coat?).
So half-time came and the rains abated. Tigers had had the rain in their face throughout, the Os in their faces, and a ref who had no knowledge of Mr O’Brien’s new interpretations of the breakdown. My MOTM money was already with Lee Robinson who had worked his tiny butt off covering for other players, even at one point running across to tackle in the left wing channel, which seemed deserted. Ford was an elegant if largely ineffective figure, looking good but threatening nothing. Hawkins was a diamond as usual. Pienaar huffed and tackled to good effect, and the boys in the pack occasionally held their own. Well I think they did, for by now every player was the same shade of mud.
Second half commenced and we looked good at last. Ford slotted a penalty and we seemed to be on the front foot. So then they scored again. Phillips got his second, same way as before with a Morgan grubber through a sleeping defence. As the rain returned, the Os began to stutter, so on came their big guns. Gough and Holah were up to their usual breakdown flops, but even Holah driving in from somewhere near Swansea failed to ruffle Mr Hodges’ studied indifference. 34 – 13 and we were competing! Unfortunately Morgan went off with a possible knee injury, a disquieting end to a very lively night from him.
And then they scored again. As the rain eased, that well-known young prospect Sonny Parker ran on to yet another grubber, and the hosts finished off the night with an inevitable penalty try having been TMO’d out of a try.
My MOTM overall was the excellent Morgan, who is about a foot shorter, slightly older, and 300% more potent than Ford as an attacker. My Tigers MOTM remained the excellent Mr Robinson who has been unfairly maligned on this forum. He is worth having in the squad and certainly put his hand up last night. He was run close by Hawkins and Harrison. Flops of the night (apart from the Os breakdown technique)? Hurrell and Duffey IMO should be shown the door.
Most of the fans seemed to think it was a great game. Bridgend Athletic RC made some money to keep the game alive there. The motley few Tigers fans held varying opinions, mostly a little uncomplimentary about the Tigers ‘brand’ but the little band we met sought shelter in the Wyndham Arms where real ale was £1.65 a pint, and the women were more than a bit mad. Typical Wales, why did I leave when it was so much fun? Apart from the rain. And playing Ystradgynlais (who make the term ‘tractor boy’ seem like a MENSA membership, just think Texas Chain Saw Massacre). And those crazy, welcoming Welsh fans. Especially when England are playing……….
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Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 2010:11:20:20:32:02 by Stephen Bath.
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'Lions led by donkeys' .. Lest we forget