Torn Between Two Lovers

Saints versus Falcons should be the biggest match of my year. Home town team versus adopted team, whatever happens on the pitch one set of friends goes home happy, and usually I end up buying the first post-match round regardless.

So why was it that I was dreading Friday’s match?

As those closest to me know, in a match between the two sides, there’s absolutely no question where my loyalty lies. I want a win - a draw is no good to anybody - but I don’t want a hammering. 46-45 is always good. I want both teams to play well, to play to the undoubted potential that they both have.

I want the right result, but not at any cost.

I don’t want, as I had at the start of the week, the thought running through my head of maybe using my media credentials and watching the game from the press box, simply because it would be easier that way.

I don’t want to be sitting at work on a Thursday afternoon wondering what to do, simply because I’m fed up to the back teeth with the attitudes of some supporters not opening their eyes and minds to the real problems that their club is suffering from as it wastes the wonderful players it has. (And before anyone from either side starts, that does apply to both clubs).

Basically, the one thing I do want is for both teams to be playing each other next season, preferably on 1st October, so that no-one who’ll be seeing me (and Lom) the following day will have to miss a match.

To do that, there could be only one result. And how to commit heresy as a Falcons site editor, even though I’ve never hidden the fact.

It had to be a Saints win, preferably with a bonus point. Preferably 46-45.

"...feeling like a fool..."

Thanks to my Paris-acquired chest infection, it meant a Falcons T-shirt (the longest T-shirt I own), my Saints training shirt, and a jumper, thrown together not for any supporting purposes, but for the sole intention of keeping warm.

A pre-match interview with fourth official David Rose (soon to appear on this site) was fascinating, with comments made on and off the record, and took away some of the waiting time. I’m not the only one filled with trepidation; friends in green are looking sick with worry, with only the Falcons support looking not overly concerned - anxious for a result or a performance yes, but not, like so many Saints, desperate to get the night over.

Tony, Leipy, Monkey1, Bubble & Squeak

Game on. God not playing (I later discovered that Burkey had picked up a stinger last week), so Dave Walder in the 15 shirt. Jonny on the bench. Opera singing before the game, with the music not working. Let’s hope it’s only going wrong off the pitch. After a quick shuffle of positions on the terrace, Leipy is looking over my shoulder. Fair enough, he’s taller. And this is my spot.

Three early penalties for Saints, two taken. When Drahm gets the first points, Sarah (Hippo) looks at me and tells me to smile. I explain that it’s a rueful look - the easier kick missed, the one from his own half taken.

Walder squares it up, kicking confidently. Leipy misses both penalties whilst at the bar. Falcons looking dangerous, Sparks looking assured. There should have been a try when May and Stevo appear to butcher an overlap. It’s Stevo’s last action - his legs are strapped together and he’s off in the ambulance. I wish for two things - that it’s not his last memory in a Falcons shirt, and that if he is supposed to be going, that whichever club he’s going to doesn’t do the dirty on him and pull out of the deal.

Jonny on, to warm applause. I never doubted anything else, but it’s his first appearance at Franklin’s Gardens for nearly three years. He’s on the board quickly, and it looks like Falcons may take a lead into the break. Wrong. Drahm’s cross kick find Hyndman on the bounce, right in front of me, and Tom’s desperate dive can’t prevent the try.

Worse to come for Falcons, better for Saints. A Falcons scrum five metres out is well and truly mullered, the ball spinning out the back to James Grindal. Not the time or place to knock on, just on your own line, and Corne Krige dives on the ball to score. 20-9 at the break, and a pleasing glow around the Gardens.

But the thought going around my head is please God not a hammering, I’ve got friends who’ve travelled all afternoon for this, just a win (granted, still with a bonus) will do.

Second half, and it’s one way traffic early on, all heading towards the South Stand. Another penalty, another left boot, 20-12. Then Noonie, looking good on the wing, comes onto a superb long pass from Jonny, cuts through the midfield, and throws a brilliant dummy before scoring a cracking try. In Saintly eyes, the waving through - you can’t call it tackling - was atrocious. 20-19. Too close now.

The Saintly feet are now looking like a Swiss cheese, they’ve had so many holes shot through them this season. Jonny makes it 22-20 to Falcons, and the relegation nightmare is looming large. Drahm makes it a one point game again with another penalty. We’re not going to get 46-45 now, but how high would the score go?

Saintly voices spring up, which I join. Leipy taps me on the shoulder and tells me that he’ll let me off just this once. It’s a strange atmosphere. Sarah tells me that it’s so bad, she thinks she’s going to have to walk away from the finish through nerves. The cries are getting stuck in throats now, certainly in D Block of the terrace, where all around me, the home support is struck dumb every time Falcons have the ball. The consequences of failure have now overtaken the benefits of success.

Last five minutes, Jonny looks for a drop, but is closed down. Seconds later, the chance falls to Dave Walder, right in front. It’s a world-stopping moment. All talk in Northampton over the last few weeks is whether the Worcester-bound Shane Drahm would play at Sixways on the last day. Well, Walnut’s name has been mentioned as a replacement, and when the ball screws off the side of his foot and well wide, the conspiracy theorists could have a field day.

Monday update - Dave Walder has signed a new two year contract with Falcons, and had done so weeks ago. That’s the post-match talk of Friday night finally denied.

Still more time. The scoreboard says five minutes of injury time on 42 minutes. Is that from now or from 40? I turn to Leipy and say “sorry mate, we need this”. He replies “yes we do”. Jonny gets a chance from wide right; for him, it’s kickable. Perhaps another week’s fitness, and he would have kicked it. As the ball falls well short into Bruce Reihana’s hands, the relief is audible. Still no whistle. It would take yet another long clearance, this time from Drahm with Tom chasing it virtually into Lom’s arms, before the final whistle went.

It wasn’t 46-45. It was 23-22. It was four points. And I’m not ecstatic, nor did I ever think I would be. I’m just grateful that it’s all over. In rugby terms, not necessarily a classic, but then the most memorable matches don’t have to be. The better team, certainly in terms of the second half, have lost. I’m relieved, but guilty.

We meet up with Monkey and the girls, and still I’m feeling guilty. Falcons can’t be faulted for effort, perhaps only lacking on taking their chances right at the end. Performance wise, it was way better than anything in recent weeks. Everyone in a black shirt has a long trip home, whilst I’ve just got to go across town. It’s up to me to get the beers, and I’m more than happy too. I’m feeling guilty again though, as I have to disappear early to the Saints First XV briefing, and leave Lom with everyone in Heroes. When the talk still hasn’t started at 10.30, I’m even more guilty.

When I finally get home, even then it’s questioned on one of the sites who I’ve been supporting. Thanks. I feel better now. Not.

As I finish writing this on Monday evening, I still feel guilty, because I should have enjoyed Friday. I’ve got very good friends on both sides, who enjoyed the game, whether they were on the winning or losing side. I seem to be the only one who didn’t. I mentioned at last year’s cup final that a Saints-Falcons cup final would be win-win as someone I know would go home happy. As there’s now a possibility that the cup final could be just weeks away, I may well have a different view.

But surely no Saints-Falcons match will ever have more on it than this one. I’ve survived it now, time to move on and go back to enjoying rugby.

Whichever shirt I’m wearing.

"...loving you both is breaking all the rules"