SIDELINE CUT:If the union do nothing, the game will be up soon for Michael Bradley and his heroic charges, writes KEITH DUGGAN

SOMETIME AFTER 10pm last Friday night, the Taoiseach walked into Crowe’s pub on Prospect Hill, Galway. Any Irish public house worth it salt has patrons who refuse to be impressed by the arrival of a famous face. Barack Obama could wander in accompanied by Lucky Lucan himself and start ordering Pina Coladas by the bucket load and the boys will act as if they have seen it all before and continue with their darts game or bashing through the Simplex or silently supping. So Mr Cowen, after another bruising and hectic week on the Lisbon trail was permitted to enjoy his half hour of relaxation – for after that, the FF machine were ushering their man elsewhere.

If his visit answered one issue definitively, it put to rest the rumour of a drinking problem: the poor man is not permitted to sit on the stool long enough to cultivate any such vice. But because a lotto draw for a local camogie club was about to be staged at the rear of the pub, someone decided it might be rude not to ask the leader of the nation to do the honours. So he gamely wandered down the back, said all the right things about camogie, acknowledged the inevitable heckle about numbers being up with a grin and called the lotto.

He exited soon afterwards. Ireland must be the only country in the world where the leader can wander unannounced into a pub and end up hosting the local lotto draw. And given Cowen’s job description has changed from running the country to saving it from bankruptcy, Michael Bradley was not the most put-upon man in Galway city that night.

A few hours earlier, Connacht had been soundly beaten by Ulster in the Magners League. It was a beautiful evening, still and crisp and from the beginning, the visiting party took ownership of the Sportsground and by the end, the only voices to be heard were those from Ravenhill. Although the match was notionally alive at half-time, it was quickly reduced to a rout and there was nothing for the expectant home support to do but stand back, admire the snappy passing of the Ulster three-quarters line and console themselves with the fact that at least it was not raining.

That loss, coupled with the thumping they had shipped in Edinburgh, placed a further spotlight on Connacht’s plight. Watching Bradley on the sideline, it was hard to imagine what he could say to his team after this latest demoralising blow. When results do not come, the blame is placed first and last on the manager. But it should be acknowledged Bradley holds what may be the toughest job in Irish rugby.

The man has been in the position for seven years. Chances are he may not have planned it quite that way and a few years ago, it seemed only a matter of when the IRFU kingmakers would facilitate the next step on a promising coaching career. But it has not happened that way. There have been episodes when Bradley has presided over Connacht wins that have been little short of miraculous. The obligation the IRFU have placed on Connacht is to punch above their weight, week in and week out.

Except when they are drawn against some of the developing Italian or Spanish sides in the European Challenge Cup, they are always outsiders going into a game. They are always facing the odds and the knowledge that the other club is richer, has a bigger squad and, more often than not, pays its players more money to take the hits. In short, they lose because they should lose.

In most games under Bradley, Connacht have played with a fierce pride. They have rarely looked demoralised and even though their record, in the last two seasons in particular, has been defined by loss, they consistently perform with big-hearted defiance.

Connacht are expected to get beaten by the bigger clubs in the Celtic League and when they are, it falls to Bradley to lift them, to come up with new ideas, to send them out ready to face another bigger and richer club a week later.

More often than not, it is small mistakes – a lapse in concentration, a spilled ball, an overcooked kick to touch – that costs them dearly. Games get away; they are rooted at the bottom of the table, chasing their season.

Every so often, as in the wonderful 12-6 win over eventual Magners League champions Munster last Christmas, they are rewarded for what amounts to moral as well as physical courage. But it is inevitable that every so often, things fall apart and when that happens, it amounts to another turn of the screw on Bradley and Connacht rugby in general.

At teatime on Friday, Neil Francis talked on the Matt Cooper show and bluntly declared his frustration with Connacht rugby. His main grievance was not that they lost but that they bored him to tears: they were ugly to look at.

His argument was simple: in comparison to other teams, Connacht do not have the talent and if they are going to go down, they might as well do so playing entertaining rugby. Given Francis was subject to vitriolic criticism in his own playing days, it was a surprise to hear him disparaging the Connacht effort. His view may have merits but the idea of Connacht as some kind of Harlem Globetrotters act of domestic rugby seems unrealistic.

A high-octane and abrasive approach to games has been the only way they have managed to keep games tight. Connacht rugby has its supporters – Gerry Thornley, the esteemed rugby correspondent with this newspaper, has always championed the idea of the fourth province competing at the elite level. But results like last Friday’s highlight the fact that the state of Connacht rugby is fundamentally unsatisfactory.

There was something desolate about the Sportsground as Ulster went through the motions. It was as though a realisation descended on the (small but loyal) Sportsground faithful that ultimately, Connacht rugby is in an impossible place. At a time when Irish rugby is the envy of Europe, is it right to have one of its four representative club teams languishing as the whipping boys?

Connacht, under Bradley, have repeatedly illustrated sufficient hearts and smarts in their eternal efforts to live with the big boys. But leaving the franchise to exist on the breadline of professionalism, with sufficient capital to engage with the superstars without ultimately troubling them is not just unfair, it is pointless.

Connacht rugby not only has to compete with hurling, football and soccer, it has to contend with about a million festivals which the city runs over the course of any year. It is impossible to build a fan base on the promise of losing honourably and bravely. Another tough outing beckons today: it would be no surprise if Connacht buck the odds and play out of their skins but an away loss will raise no eyebrows either. And so it goes on.

There is no point in leaving Connacht there for the sake of it, not quite dead but only half alive. If the IRFU genuinely see Connacht as a thorn in the side of the association, then they should do the honest thing and remove it.

They could go the other way and back it wholeheartedly with their chequebook. But if they do nothing, Connacht’s number is up.