An Irishman's Diary

Probably the most remarkable thing about the whole Munster rugby phenomenon has been the willingness of the province's Cork component to take a back seat.

Cork people have many fine qualities, I'm sure we all agree. But if you were making a list of these, capacity for self-effacement would not usually feature in the top five.

We're used to humouring claims that their city is the real capital of Ireland, that Barry's Tea is superior to any other, that before the 2002 World Cup the Irish soccer team walked out on Roy Keane, and so on. Even those who dispute these arguments would have to acknowledge that last Saturday in Cardiff, Cork supplied the team manager, the kicker, and the man of the match. Which makes it all the more surprising that Leesiders could look on happily when, for example, the cup went "home" to Limerick.

Like the Rome-Berlin axis or the Two Ronnies, Munster rugby is a lopsided partnership in which one half has all the best lines. Even on Saturday, the defining picture was not the little baldy Cork lad scampering in for a try, it was Limerick's Paul O'Connell standing on the sideline after he'd been substituted, his eyes - there's no other word for it - burning. There was an intensity in his expression that men ordinarily achieve only in the imagination of romantic female novelists. It was almost too much for the woman standing next to me in Searson's Pub. "I love Paul O'Connell," she blurted at the big screen: "I want to marry him."

But allowing that the passion of Shannonside rugby players is hard to compete with, could it be that it suits Cork to have Limerick as the public face of the Munster operation? I ask this because, alongside the achievement of a certain Amsterdam brewery - in persuading so many people to refer to the European Cup by the name of a beer - creating the image of the Munster Rugby Supporter has been one of the greatest marketing feats in modern sport.

We won't get into the argument here about those who caught the bug (Munster Rugby Supporter-itis, or MRSI for short) late. The condition is known to be extremely virulent and has wreaked havoc among vulnerable groups, such as those who can afford to buy match tickets and airline seats at inflated prices. For the moment, it's just the supporter's image we're concerned with. So what exactly is it? To sum up, the trademark Munster Rugby Supporter is one of the plain people of Ireland. Indeed, although he wouldn't go so far as to say it himself, you are free to conclude that he and his likes are the real people of Ireland. He's probably not a vegetarian, he knows his hurling, and his father/grandfather were out in 1920 (he's not saying on which side).

Unlike other rugby types, with their hairdos and celebrity girlfriends, he has never lost the run of himself. He knows money isn't everything, although it's handy to have it, because it costs a bloody fortune following Munster around. The important thing is that his feet have always stayed close to the ground, even when he was driving home from Dublin after the semi-final in his 06 SUV.

Apart from its deep-dyed rugby tradition, Limerick is crucial to the Munster fan's self-image because of its impoverished reputation: a reputation that, thanks to Frank McCourt, is international. Angela's Ashes is to the literature of Irish childhood misery what Munster's 1978 defeat of the All-Blacks is to Irish rugby. In a rugby version of Monty Python's Four Yorkshiremen sketch, participants would pull rank on each other according to how close to the back lanes of Limerick they were born.

That's why the pictures of the crowd at home on O'Connell Street were so powerful during Saturday's game. Those 15,000 people represented the soul of Munster rugby, because they obviously couldn't afford to attend the match.

But the mantle of Limerick's historic poverty is broad enough to fit around Cork shoulders as well, allowing the cities to combine in presenting themselves as the eternal underdog, always defying impossible odds on pitch and terrace alike. Never mind that Biarritz is a town of 30,000, while Munster has a bigger population than the entire Basque country. Never mind that Munster are now champions. By the start of next season, as they renew battle against plucky little English hamlets like Bath and Gloucester, they will somehow convince us all over again that they don't stand a chance.

The only threat to Munster's continued success is disunity, but this may soon be a real danger. With the province's fame at unprecedented heights, Cork people cannot possibly maintain their current levels of modesty for much longer. Perhaps it will take the now inevitable rise of Munster separatism, and moves to make Limerick the capital, to bring Leesiders to their senses. Either way, success can bring unforeseen consequences. And now that the province's 11-year search for the holy grail of European rugby has ended, surely the next item on the agenda is the split.