Dreams lie in ruins as history’s vice closes in on Ireland yet again
THERE is no escape from history’s sorry grip.
Ireland’s World Cup agonies not only continued in Paris last night, but they found new depths, with a magnificent effort in a truly wonderful game coming up short.
Their tournament is done, and with it the career of Johnny Sexton, and probably more glittering names.
Devastation felled players like a plague on the final whistle.
The dream is over.
And the provenance of the decisive score befitted a night of breathless tension.
It had to be him. When New Zealand’s third try came, it was a Joe Schmidt special, an attacking move off a line-out the like of which left many of these Irish players with reels in their heads as they drilled them again and again in their years under his care.
This time, the ball came off the top and Richie Mo’unga split two Irish defenders, Dan Sheehan and Josh van der Flier, before passing to the deadliest finisher on the pitch, with Will Jordan streaking clear to score.
It left New Zealand with a cushion that Ireland could not breach.
And so an old ache stoops a fresh generation.
The teams entering a fixture this big as equals was one of the realities of the game that made those of an Irish persuasion lapse back into wonder, but if a contest of exquisite tension reinforced Ireland’s status the result was a reminder that greatness is not easily conferred.
New Zealand started with a mix of pragmatism and familiar daring, taking penalties on offer to build a 6-0 lead before a devastating counter-attack.
It was led by the sublime Beauden Barrett, who chipped ahead, gathered and allowed for a rapid recycle. The ball sped left, where Rieko Ioane combined with Leicester Fainga’anuku to put the latter over.
Andy Farrell revels in adversity and his players had no choice now but to do likewise, trailing 13-0 in a Stade de France that hadn’t been this quiet with an Irish crowd inside it at this World Cup.
Sexton took the pragmatic route himself, kicking a penalty to get Ireland off zero in the 21st minute, and there followed the first extended period of Irish pressure in the All Blacks’ half.
It finally yielded a fine try for Bundee Aki, as he jinked over following patient phase-play. His footwork was superb, his handling almost as good to field a James Lowe pass that was over his head.
Within six minutes, Ardie Savea was diving over wonderfully at the far end of the pitch for New Zealand’s second, after another blistering attack, this time launched off an attacking line-out.
Back came Ireland, the probing inspired by Jamison Gibson-Park, the fit and inspired Mack Hansen and the relentless momentum courtesy of Aki’s bulldozing charges putting New Zealand under great
stress. Aaron Smith belied his vast experience to stick out a hand for a deliberate knock-on, costing himself 10 minutes in the bin, and triggering a run of play that ended with Gibson-Park darting in off a ruck.
In the history of this tournament, there can’t have been many halves of rugby of such sustained high quality. It was only the start of it.
The early dominance of New Zealand was shown in a 5-1 penalty count against Ireland in the first quarter; by the break, it was 6-5 against the three-time champions.
The skill levels were stratospheric, matched by the aggression on show. Sam Cane creased Caelan Doris with an early, legitimate tackle that contained a year’s worth of pain, and it signalled a ruthless pursuit of the Ireland No8 that marginalised him.It was telling that Sexton kicked the ball out with the clock in red at the end of that opening period. Despite having a man extra, there would be no rushes of heroism. The cost of loose thinking was potentially ruinous.
On it went, with every aspect of the game fiercely contested. Brodie Retallick went after Ireland’s lineout to fruitful effect, while it was noticeable that the All Blacks picked and chose what rucks to contest.
That was another indirect acknowledgement of Ireland’s threat: they did not want to lose players in rucks, given the risk of a devastating Irish attack sweeping through depleted defensive numbers.
Given the bewildering pace, New Zealand must have felt that conceding just seven points while Smith was in the sin-bin was a light penalty.
Just before his return, Sheehan almost got his fingers to the bounce of an expert kick from Mack Hansen.
A brilliant Andrew Porter turnover set free a counter attack that put Lowe haring deep into the black, but as Ireland recycled Iain Henderson was penalised.
There was still almost half an hour to play, but it was instantly clear that Ireland would need to summon a performance better than any they had produced during this brilliant run.
And they would have to do it with fatigue and injury biting. Hansen’s calf gave way, Gibson-Park was replaced, and an outstanding game became jagged, and shot through with even more jeopardy as the clock ticked down.
There were occasions in the final quarter when the noise inside the ground actually dropped, as tension caught in the throats of many in attendance.
However, Irish supporters were able to open their chests when a driving maul was pulled down close to the New Zealand line by Codie Taylor, their hooker, and referee Wayne Barnes awarded a penalty try.
There was a point between them and the tension tightened like a tourniquet, but Ireland put New Zealand into a good position through the one part of their game that had creaked, the scrum.
The Irish unit conceded three penalties, but when Jordie Barrett missed a penalty on the right-hand side from one infringement, Conor Murray was penalised for a clumsy block.
Given another chance and a more clement angle, Barrett kicked it and New Zealand led by four, 28-24.
The closing stages were gripping as Ireland probed an unforgiving black line, going through 37 futile phases.
They found no gap, and another night of misery came true, in spite of all.
When the statistics are yellowed and brittle with age, they won’t record the courage and the daring of the Irish effort.
It deserves to be remembered, but deserve has nothing to do with it.
Pain is indiscriminate.
It burns through the generations.