Small boys in back gardens grow into best of big men
JONATHAN SEXTON was talking away to himself outside our back door. He was only five or six, but even then he was kicking last- minute drop goals for Ireland. Sure, we all did it when we were small, but only the very few get to live the dream. Small boys who play huge games in back gardens grow into the best of big men. This kid has been practicing for that kick all of his life.
If the game went any further into overtime, the gendarme would have raided for after hours.
Sexton took the ball slightly behind him and he was only just inside the opposition half on a rainy night in Paris. The tiniest slip would have put him off. He gambled. But there was another gamble in the build-up with a cross field kick to Keith Earls – every time Ireland passed the slippery ball there was a gamble but they held on to it for 41 phases.
Jonathan nailed the kick, barely. The ball dropped over the bar oh so slowly with barely centimetres to spare.
The small boy inside rejoices. A nation jumps for joy. Ireland have beaten a country ten times bigger.
We had a chat a few days ago. Jonathan’s knee was on ice but there was no danger of missing the game. There can be no doubt that that man loves beating France, perhaps more than any other country.
CHALLENGES
Jonathan spent two years in France and even though he made many friends in Paris, there were several challenges he was subjected to there that bordered on the reckless which weren’t picked up by any of the many cameras covering the games. He was injured for most of his second season.
But we will go back to the game. There’s no hero like a hero who comes back from a mistake.
Jonathan missed a penalty in the wet conditions and we were just praying he would get another chance. France missed a kick too on a drizzly evening when the boat men on The Seine couldn’t see the Left Bank from the Right Bank.
This was a famous win. We hardly ever win in Paris. Let no one then underestimate the value of this victory when an Irish team won in injury time. The fat lady down at the opera was gargling. But she didn’t get to sing.
The French, we were told, hadn’t much of a clue what to do. The talk was of a lack of savoir faire.
There was this man one time and he said “beware of anyone whose Christian name and first names are interchangeable.”
Teddy Thomas is one of those. TT burst through a tiring Irish team. The problem of taking on France is while everyone says they are not fit they then wear you out with hard tackles, and you are just as tired as they are. The game isn’t all about running. Grappling, mauling, tearing and rooting are exhausting.
Those in the know made out the French coaches barely knew the rules. The plan was no plan. But what about déjà vu?
We have been beaten in Paris more often than the sandy rug at the door of a Bedouin’s tent in the lands patrolled by The Foreign Legion.
France picked a huge front five. Don’t they always? Matthieu Jalibert, their No.10 was only 19. Matthieu has only played 15 matches for Bordeaux yet he was up against Sexton. Matthieu went off injured early on after a fair tackle from Bundee Aki who is a human kango. Too much too soon for such a young man.
The French were noisy with brass bands and drummers louder than Lambegs. The Marseillaise was sung by thousands of French patriots at full belt. Their national anthem would warm the frozen hearts of the Paris cryotherapy long stays.
There’s no place like home. This Stade de France is Lourdes. In this place the opposition need the miracles.
Not all of the youngsters on view fated badly. James Ryan had a fine game. He had more carries than a construction worker tending to bricklayers in Dublin and his lineout jumping was top class.
Nigel Owens was fair but he should have yellow carded the French second row who gave away several penalties.
The game wasn’t that great until the dénouement which is a French word for the end.
The dramatic ending masks over a lot of Irish mistakes especially when were near to scoring in the French 22. The French made life very difficult for us on the ground. They are rough, tough big men with a massive regard for their national jersey, especially so in Paris. Then there’s the professional pride in their personal performances and a sense of almost reverence for the machismo.
These men wear you out and they did wear us out. Teams are never right after France. The Irish players were battered and bruised. Remember the World Cup match in Cardiff. Jonathan and Paul O’ Connell were injured and missed the Argentina game.
And so we must not get too overconfident about the Italian match which is only a few days away.
Conor O’ Shea is a very good tactician and he knows us better than anyone and how we play. But we should win.
Yes we were lucky in Paris. Ireland were far from perfect.
As for Jonathan, he will not admit to his greatness. He is a very modest man. Very, very occasionally he might say “well did you enjoy that?” Did we what? The realist in him will say well we have won nothing yet ?
He is a great Dad and husband. I have never seen him grumpy with his kids.
But inside he does have the confidence to carry out the audacious and execute the impossible
Our team played until the very end. They were heroes, one and all, on a day when small boys grew up and a small country beat one of the biggest nations in the game, in their own back garden.