Irish fans show up organisers of French farce

FRENCH NOTES:The Six Nations organisers had only one 'What if' to plan for. What if the game was called off? Unbelievably, they did not have an actionable plan in place

IT WAS three minutes past kick-off time and I was sitting, under the stellar lighting of the Stade de France, yet all 70,000 of us were in the dark. In the biting chill, an Irish supporter sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder and handed over his mobile phone.

“Read the text,” he said.

It was from his brother in Cork.

It simply said, “Game off”.

We were waiting to be told to our faces what was being said behind our backs.

The Irish fan added, “If this happened in Dublin, we would be an international laughing stock.”

The bewildering trail of mismanagement culminating in the postponement of the fixture was truly breathtaking in its level of administrative incompetence.

The problem did not lie with referee Dave Pearson, who, being the sole judge of fact and law, acted courageously. On a night of world-class administrative bungling, Pearson kept the players’ safety paramount. In my opinion he is beyond criticism.

The IRB hierarchical structure is feudal in its class-system style. The Six Nations group usually flies beneath the radar, because running only five rounds of competition every year it is almost impossible to derail their system. Now they are exposed as the Robber Barons of their feudal system.

Sitting on the other side of the fence with a glass of chardonnay in hand and two inches of carpet under their feet, they watched unprepared as the serfs froze in the distance.

In elite sport we undertake what we call “What if?” scenarios. What if the bus is late? What if we get a scrumhalf sin-binned? What happens if we are down two points with two minutes on the clock?’ In elite rugby the scenarios are endless.

The Six Nations organisers had only one “What if” to plan for. What if the game was called off? Unbelievably, they did not have an actionable plan in place. The freezing of the pitch that was predicted all week surprised them. How is this possible?

Put simply, they did not do their job and thousands of paying supporters were left sitting in the stadium feeling extremely cold and very ripped off.

The crowd went to leave the stadium only to find the train station overflowing. So we had few trains, thousands of people out in the open air, all very unhappy, and it was minus eight degrees.

If that was an international soccer crowd, there would have been a riot.

The rugby people, well, we all went for a pint.

In the aftermath of the worst managed sporting event I have every witnessed, there came a dazzling beacon of hope. The rugby people, both French and Irish, were simply sensational. They were patient, well-mannered and filled with an infectious good-natured spirit.

I made for the bar with the main objective of getting warm. It seemed every Irish supporter in the stadium had the same idea and all of them came up to me for a chat.

There was one mum and dad who had brought their 10-year-old son to Paris to see Ireland play for the first time. I did some quick mental arithmetic and they would have had little change from €1,500. The little bloke was heartbroken but still smiled away without a word of complaint.

Three generations – the grandfather, his son and grandson – came up and talked rugby. The pride pouring out of the grandfather in his boys was palpable. A young scrumhalf and his dad asked about the correct technique for box-kicking. We walked through the technique with a plastic cup for a ball.

Rugby people from Co Tyrone, Blackrock College and Clifden all had a word to me about aspects of the game. If the banter and the craic were brilliant, then the spirit of the people in the face of what had just occurred was inspirational.

I walked into the bar angry at the officials for their unprofessional procedures and I walked out delighted I had been with some wonderful rugby people. The Robber Barons can have their carpet and chardonnay, but where I stood the floors were wooden, it was noisy and like the song says we were “shoulder to shoulder” and I would not have been in any other place.

From the time I first arrived at Leinster I realised the Irish supporters were more than fans. There was a deeper connection with their team. Irish fans have the ability to inspire.

In 2000, when Leinster travelled to away games it was with the players’ parents, girlfriends and few alicadoos. That tiny group were a source of deep motivation to the team. Because of this group, Team Leinster became close like a family. Because of this “family” the team performed. Then they began to capture the staggering following which Leinster command today.

One night in Ulster, after a disappointing performance, hundreds of supporters gathered at the players’ entrance. They waited patiently in the wet and cold. As every member of the team emerged, including me, they yelled out their encouragement. It was humbling. If that was Australia they would throw rocks at you.

The Red Army of Munster is legendary. When I was coaching Ulster we beat Munster well in Limerick. Near full-time I came to the sideline of a very quiet Thomond Park. A lone Limerick voice called out from the crowd.

“Come on everyone, well done Ulster,” and he started clapping. The Munster supporters clapped a winning team from the North for a good minute.

On an emotional night it was a magnificent gesture I will never forget. When the crowd finally hushed to morgue quiet, the same voice called out, “Well done Matt . . . but ye will never coach Ireland”. All I could do was join in the laughter.

To the wonderful Irish people who came up and spoke to me last week, thank you for your kind words, your humour, your unending good manners, your generosity of spirit and the inspiration you provided.

To the Robber Barons, put down your chardonnay, step down the two inches from your carpet and come with me. I will have you meet the true owners of our game. It is in good hands.