It’s well over a week late, the Rugby Paper have already done a write up to which I can only aspire, and I’ve had a shed load of school reports to write but I’ve finally managed to rise from my slumber and pen my thoughts on one of the more extraordinary live sporting events that I have witnessed in my relatively average life. Put simply, it was a game that will live long in my memory as a piece of sporting theatre on a par with Saints winning the FA Cup in ’76 and Jonny Wilkinson kicking for glory in 2003.
A clandestine network of knock-ons, forward passes and penalty infringements forced the TMO to investigate Bristol’s trying scoring attempts on so many occasions that it made AC12’s pursuit of bent coppers look nothing more than routine stop and search. To say that he upheld virtually every passage of play to the letter of the law, the letter of the law, was no understatement and poor Craig Maxwell-Keys was presented with so many forensic reports that he must have felt that Ashton Gate was one massive rugby crime scene. The annoying thing was, however, that on every occasion, bar perhaps the early Sinckler try, the decisions were probably correct, but just like VAR’s gradual descent into madness over in the round game, the obsessive intervention of the TMO in the oval one has signaled a watershed moment in the long-standing and often unequal relationship between the laws of rugby and players’ loose interpretation of them.
No, a part of rugby union’s longstanding ethos of ‘getting away with it’ died last week and it does make you wonder where it will all end. Games refereed by robots, assisted by algorithms and reviewed in super slow mo? The All Blacks for one won’t be happy about that.
Moreover, when Charles Piutau and Andy Uren both knocked on in such an obvious manner that even the astronauts on the International Space Station texted in to say they had seen it clearly with their own eyes, it still didn’t stop the TMO from having another look, presumably to check whether there was a spelling mistake on the back of their shirts or that an errant shoelace had come loose on one their boots. Ironically whilst it now seems like a whole series of phases appear to be scrutinised before a try can be awarded, the fact that most players are continually offside at the ruck and no scrum half has managed put the ball in straight since about 1984 still appears to be beyond the wit of the officials to spot.
Anyway, enough of all that. What was really important about the occasion was that after 435 days, two false dawns and numerous hours listening to fake crowd noise real fans, with real voices, chanting real stuff finally returned to Ashton Gate.
It was a game to suit the occasion. Crazy, over the top, haphazard and firmly reconfirming the old adage that professional sport is nothing without the fans. They may be one-eyed, they may be bias, and they may rely more on emotion than reason when it comes to game analysis, but fans are the life blood that pumps through a contest. The players, coaches and officials may be the actors, but the fans are the stage upon which their endeavors are set, and their efforts judged.
Perhaps it might be only for one game, but the experience seemed transcendental, contextualising an aching social reawakening that has been too long in coming. There was something visceral in the way that the atmosphere and the experience was soaked up and spewed back out in a cacophony of noise and fury. Perhaps when we get used to live combat again the experience of it will eventually regress back to the mean of normality but for those of us who were lucky to be there that night it felt like a spiritual re-emergence from a forced and unwanted hibernation.
Of course, there was also a game going on and both teams played their part. From the moment that Sinckler crashed over for the first non-try to the finale when the godlike Radrada gave the fans what they have craved for so long by scoring in front of their eyes rather than through the screen, the match was exciting and frustrating in equal measure.
The Bears did what the Bears do and regardless of their red card Gloucester were always going struggle to stem the flow of Bristol’s ambitious attacking rugby. After an electric start from the hosts it seemed like it would only be a matter of time before the dyke would be breached and despite the TMO’s multiple fingers plugging multiple holes, the second half eventually delivered a festival of free-flowing rugby with all Bristol’s stars playing their part. Malins, Earl, Hughes, Morahan and Piutau were outstanding but the highlight for most was the sight of Chris Vui galloping down the wing to execute a double dummy to unleash the King, that was so outrageous and so filthy that it briefly rendered the population of the Gate speechless bar the gentle mewing of delight as the whitewash was breached.
In the end it was nothing less than a romp and whilst the phrase, ‘Bristol gain a bonus point win’ has become something of a mantra this season, ‘a Friday night away game at the AJ Bell’ is thankfully only heard once a year. The word on the street is that Pat will be sending a strong side up to Manchester to seek revenge for the defeat earlier in the year but it will be a tough assignment, especially if Sale manage to keep all their players on the pitch. Either way we know that the team will be better prepared than they were before last year’s chastening trip and whatever Bears are unleashed it will be a tight contest.
As the business end of the season approaches and the peak of the mountain comes tantalisingly into view every performance and every result will be loaded with significance. Come on the Bears!
Filthy Rig 