Grand Slam Slips Away On An Epic Day

Amid the portentious fanfare and endless talk of history that greeted the first ever rugby international at Croke Park, it became clear by Saturday evening that the Ireland v France had another lesser, but unquestionable significance: that of a decider for this year's Six Nations championship, and possibly, the Grand Slam.

It was fitting then, with so much at stake, that it was, as Eddie O'Sullivan put it, "the bounce of a ball" that decided the game in the end.

The particular bounce O'Sullivan had in mind was the one which took the French restart (after Ronan O'Gara's seemingly victory-fastening penalty) back into Gallic hands and eventually over the line in Vincent Clerc's piercing dart.

Saturday's fixtures had shown the deficiencies of the other combatants to a degree that ratcheted up the Croke Park intense-ometer several unnecessary notches. Italy matched England up front and only lost due to greater indiscipline. Both sides were uninspired in possession, and the boot of Jonny Wilkinson will not contribute enough points to compensate for their lack of backline firepower.

Scotland and Wales played a harem-scarem 80 minutes which, if engaging, was not in the same the same caste of quality as yesterday's match. Scotland played like Scotland should, rucking ferociously and recycling more enthusiastically than a Tory politician looking for green kudos. Much like England, however, they lack the line-breaking devilment in the backs to capitalise on good work up front.

So, yesterday the bounce of a ball decided the Six Nations.

Did it? Or did Ireland just run out of luck? The team that robbed poor old Italy at Lansdowne last year through Tommy Bowe's try that never touched the ground; that squeezed past poor old England at Twickenham a few weeks later through an improbable late try; that got to burnish its reputation in the Autumn against depleted Australian and South African outfits; that did a Jedi mind trick on the referee in Cardiff last week ("I am going to foul incessantly in the ruck and get away with it". "Yes, you are".) - was the ball due to bounce the other way for once?

Ireland have, of course, made their own luck. They've been good enough to take advantage of fate's loose morals and it has often got them out of jail. Not yesterday, however. Going into the plush Croke Park dressing rooms at half time only two points down certainly seemed like an escape from death row. France had dominated and around the time Rafael Ibanez touched down for the first try in the Greatest Stadium on Earth And No Mistake, our paté-wolfing friends were playing with that bristling momentum that has destroyed us so often in the past.

But Ireland were almost good enough again to turn fortune their way. Good enough to heave the seemingly unstoppable flow of the match the other way. Good enough to concoct a move that showcased both their ability to bludgeon back the initative and also the capacity for improvisation at the crucial moment. O'Gara's dummy, Hickie's vision, Horgan's line, Wallace's hands and O'Gara's foresight to have seen it all before it happened - all manifestations of the brilliant rugby minds this Irish team possesses.

Having survived near-capitulation in the first half, the second period provided the game that the occasion deserved. It was ceaseless, enthralling and, by the time Ireland's spectacular maul won them that late penalty to go four points clear, it must have been deathly exhausting. France's restart bounced beyond Ireland's tired grasp, as did Clerc through John Hayes fingers.

It was a day for the epic, cacophonous and historic. It drew the Herculean from the game, the players' endeavours rising to the level of the decibels that the crowd generated. Ireland gave everything, but couldn't turn fortune their way again.

On such days, God is often in the details. Like the bounce of a ball.

Six Nations Preview: Who Dares Stand In Our Way?

Prior to the formality of picking up the Six Nations trophy and the mythical garlands of the grand slam on Paddy's Day in Rome, the organisers of the tournament have laid on five preliminary matches for Ireland to fulfil before the party begins.

Here we look at the wretches who are lined up to be crushed under the heel of mighty Erin....

WALES (Sunday Feb 4th, Millenium Stadium Cardiff)

Bow down you coal-mining, sweet voiced dwarves!
The selection of Simon Easterby in the pack ahead of Neil Best was explained through reasons twofold: a) he plays in Wales and therefore doesn't mind the smell so much, and b) he's a fine tall fella who's good in lineouts (even though Best is only an inch more diminutive).

We can be pretty damn sure then that Eddie O'Sullivan plans to silence the Millenium Stadium mid-Land-of-my-Fathers through the boot of Ronan O'Gara into the corner, followed by the grinding of maul on the back of lineout supremacy. The avoidance of broken play - Wales' preferred modus operandi - until domination is won up front will be the theme of the day.

A capital plan it is too. By hopefully notching scores through the aforementioned forward rumbling and perhaps a few penalties borne of Welsh frustration, we will hope for the Welsh to get all panicky and start throwing the ball around off inadequate set-pieces; by the time our backs get the ball in their hands, they will be merely gilding the lily.

Aaargh, the male voice choir is weakening our powers with their rousing chorus!
Best laid plans and all that. With the wobbliness of Munster's scrum against Leicester a few weeks back, it's a little rich to assume forward dominance over anyone in this tournament.

Wales will attempt to attack this perceived weakness - they'd be mad not to - and, if Gethin Jenkins gets a heave on, watch Ryan Jones postively gulp down the Irish halves. And if Rory Best and his jumpers get it wrong in the line-out, we could be exposed to an open gunfight. With a balance of the guile and cleverness of Stephen Jones, James Hook and Dwayne Peel and the power of Gareth Thomas in the Welsh backs, we might be eating daffodils in jig time.

FRANCE (Sunday Feb 11th, Croke Park)

Back to your quasi-socialist economic basket-case state, Froggy!
As the team who initially punctured Ireland's 2005 Grand Slam ambitions, it understandable to greet France's arrival with furrowed brow and a modicum of caution.

However, the single factor which makes this an unlosable game for Ireland is not on the pitch, but rather around it: Croke Park. This match is such a hugely anticipated and culturally seismic occasion for the Irish that I fully expect France, like a Vichy border guard spying a swastika, to stand graciously aside.

I am basing this supposition on two things: Biarritz did likewise when confronted with the reality of the emotional weight behind Munster's Heineken Cup bid last year, writ large on the Cardiff big screen at a crucial juncture of the final. When those pictures of O'Connell St. in Limerick were broadcast, the Biarritz players could clearly be seen mouthing to each other: "ah, un grand passion" before shrugging in admiration and chucking the game.

Secondly, the French have made it clear that their attentions are focused totally on this autumn's World Cup, and no amount of Six Nations victories will compensate for the opprobrium they will face at home if they host the tournament in as ramshackle manner as they did their autumn internationals. Hence rotation, experimentation and another win for Ireland.

Merde!
But then again, a year ago the Irish scrum was obliterated to the point of farce in the first half in Paris, leaving Ronan O'Gara trying to use the ball while practically on his backside.

What's to say that won't be the case again? Sure, Ireland responded on that occasion with Almost the Greatest Comeback Ever, but the French had moved onto the petit fours by that stage.

France have named Milloud, Ibanez and De Villiers in their front row for this weekend, the same three that played in Stade de France last year. Ireland name Horan and Best instead of Corrigan and Flannery from that game, which is just a slightly more than negligible improvement.

True, unsettled in the half-backs - the French give Pierre Mignoni and David Skrela the 9 and 10 shirts on Saturday in place of the more familiar twosome of Freddie Michalak (injured) and Dmitri Yachvili (benched) - there's no guarantee that the French will be able to punish us. Then again, behind those two are the experienced and dangerous likes of Yannick Jauzion, Cristophe Dominici and Clement Poitrenaud, who, like Kerry's footballers, will enjoy the open spaces of Croke Park.

Tomorrow: the hapless Jocks, perfidious Albion and the pizza-munchers. Or Scotland the Brave, England's Glory and Forza Italia. You choose.