Earls epitomises the very best of Munster
Damian Stack looks at some of the stories making backpage news over the past seven days
COTTON buds up his nostrils to staunch the flow of blood, his left eye swelling black, he was unbowed. In that moment he was Munster personified. Defiant, unbending, vibrant, proud.
Keith Earls is Limerick through and through. Raised practically in the shadow of the old Thomond Park, his connection with the crowd and the crowd’s connection with him is uncomplicated, genuine, pure.
Everybody loves the story of the local boy made good and Earls is better than good. He’s an exceptional talent, every bit as outrageously gifted as his buddy in the back three, Simon Zebo.
What Earls isn’t is the natural showman that Zebo is. Nothing wrong with that, just as there’s nothing wrong with being a showman. Different strokes for different folks that’s all. One is Cork brash, the other is Limerick modest.
Earls, for all his wondrous talent, is the more obviously earthy of that talented duo. Probably that’s why the image of him bloodied and bruised, bustling his way over the line in the corner resonated with so many of us.
That was Earls at his most honest, his most pure. Without ostentation, full of desire, expressing himself, representing his club and his city and doing so with class and dignity. Having taken the pass from Zebo he dove torpedo-like for the line to put Munster in pole position for a place in the quarter-finals.
Before then there were reason to be nervy. There’s always reason to be nervy before the job is done, but on this occasion, with so much riding on the result and the unusual way the day unfolded, it was perhaps that little bit more understandable.
A three hour break is enough to put anybody on edge, none more so than a home team hoping for a routine victory at the end of a routine performance against a team with little to play for.
A downpour over night, which wouldn’t have been out of place in a Frank McCourt memoir, scotched those best laid plans. The kick-off was pushed back from 1pm to 4pm giving the men with the high-vis vests and the squeegees the chance to clear the pitch of excess water.
When the game finally did get underway Munster were a little hesitant at first. Castres, playing for little more than pride, dominated the early exchanges. Possession and territory all heavily favoured the French side in the opening ten minutes. Even so Castres needed a Munster breach of discipline to get on the scoreboard for the one and only time in the game. Jean Kleyn goaded an opponent after winning a penalty and thereby goaded referee Ben Whitehouse into reversing the decision.
It was pretty much the only backwards step a Munster player would take all day. From then on in Munster controlled the game. It was a display of real maturity from Johann van Graan’s side. There were a couple of occasions early doors where they could have kicked to the corner. Instead they took the points and built their lead, waiting until they were six-three in front before really going for the line in a meaningful way. Then the red-men really went for the jugular, got Thomas Combezou a yellow card and went over the line through Earls. Thirty three minutes gone and the job was practically done. Castres’ back broken, it was only a matter of time before the bonus point followed.
It was a quirk of the day – and the delay – that by the time the half-time break rolled around, Munster knew they no longer needed a bonus point to ensure a home quarter-final. It even offered them the chance to select their opposition for the next round. A straight win for La Rochelle, a bonus point win for Toulon.
Wisely Munster didn’t think too much on that. They simply played the game before them on its merits and let fate deliver what it delivers. Besides such was their dominance – and Castres abject second half surrender – that they had little choice but to win the game as comfortably as they did. So Toulon in Thomond it is then in a couple of months time. A final chance for the Munster faithful to see Earls in concert with the other great talent of his generation, Zebo, in a Champions Cup tie on home soil. It seems such a great shame that this year of all years will be their final year together. Never before have both played as well or as consistently well as they have this year. Under Felix Jones’ direction they’re flourishing. We best enjoy it while we still can. Earls, of course, is going nowhere. Munster to the core, it really wouldn’t be the same without the Maestro of Moyross. Long may it continue.