When the Munster story really began at the turn of the century one of its magnetic qualities was that here was a group of players whose ambition exceeded their plain limitations. That tension was endearing and compelling, but it also had a finite charm: they couldn’t be perpetual underdogs and serial winners at the same time.
The capacity to make failure viable, or noble, had been part of the Irish sporting psyche for generations, and Munster were given some shelter in that outlook, whether they wanted it or not.
Their most heart-wrenching defeats, and some of their biggest victories, had an epic quality, and because of that, their sometimes harrowing pursuit of the Heineken Cup was glamorised as a quest. It was as if losing had been divided into good cholesterol and bad cholesterol. In any case, their hearts were fine.
All of that changed, not suddenly but relentlessly.
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After they won their second Heineken Cup in 2008 the greatest challenge Munster faced was living in the world they had created for themselves. A storied generation of players had reached the summit of the club game by a process of rigorous self-improvement and brutal accountability.
Only a certain kind of character could have prospered in that dressing room, and only players of that nature were acceptable. That became the standard, and ultimately, that became part of the problem.
Among the legacies left by that generation was that Munster had a clear, relatable identity. Not just “brand identity” – the buzzword beloved of marketeers and pile-em-high jersey hawkers – but something that had roots and a wholesome, break-out appeal.
As a team, their earthiness and emotional energy were simple to understand and vividly attractive, whether you were literate in the game’s many complexities or not.
For a young professional club, in a nascent professional environment, identity was Munster’s greatest resource. It bound everything together. From the full-houses in Thomond Park for European games, to the exuberant, sometimes massive, travelling support, to the raging aggression on the field, to the noise, the short song-list, the longing: all of it was of a piece.
How many Munster supporters were bandwagon-jumpers? Many, many thousands. That was part of the deal too: for new followers of rugby, they were a gateway team.
The professional game in Ireland couldn’t have survived on the patronage of its pre-existing, age-old, self-contained, inward-looking constituencies. It felt like Munster were breaking new ground. And leading.
So, what is Munster’s identity now? What is distinctive about them? How much from the boom-time has survived the long recession? Which parts matter still?
For one thing, they are underdogs again, only this time the clothes don’t fit so well; it doesn’t feel so empowering; it is not driven by the same sense of bloody-minded defiance, or at least not always.
The golden generation of Munster players often spoke about the “bitterness” they felt from especially painful defeats, and how those feelings were stored for fuel. Because of the way they were wired, that became a renewable energy.
Now? No.
The game has changed profoundly. Even the great Munster teams understood that they needed to be more sophisticated in their approach as time went on, and because rugby has such an active metabolism, that imperative never diminishes. The technical and tactical aspects of the modern game are a niche science.
But the game itself is not a cold science; it can’t be. Emotion, and sincerely held feelings, and a binding sense of attachment, were Munster’s point of difference in the decade, or decade and a half, when they were one of the big beasts in the European game. It might sound abstract, and at the time it was ceaselessly romanticised, but for Munster it was true, and it was fundamental to their identity.
In Munster’s decline there have been many moving parts: the performance of the academy over a long period of time, especially compared to Leinster; hit-and-miss recruitment on the coaching front, in sharp contrast to some of Leinster’s inspired appointments over the last 15 years; their performance in the transfer market, when others had deeper pockets, and the allure of Munster just wasn’t what it used to be.
After they won their second Heineken Cup in 2008 Munster declared a goal, internally, that 75 per cent of their match day squads should be home-grown players. Of the Irish provinces only Leinster could hope to meet such a target now, but for Munster, back then, you could see how that thinking rhymed with their self-image.
They wanted players who were educated in the Munster ethos, and the full range of obligations and feelings. They wanted to develop players who had no doubt about their identity.
There are still break-out days. Thomond Park wasn’t full for the visit of Exeter in the Champions Cup in April, but it was heaving nonetheless, and it felt like a throwback to better times. More than 40,000 came to the Aviva for the quarter-final against Toulouse, exceeding most people’s expectations, and there was a soaring atmosphere for a brilliant match.
Following a dismal winter, it seemed like those two magnificent performances had re-connected the team, not just with the supporters, but with values that had once been taken for granted. But then they fell down against Leinster’s second string in the semi-final of the URC a couple of weeks later, and all of the familiar, damning questions re-surfaced.
After a destructive start to the season, Munster played well on Saturday night. Their hard core crowd was engaged and encouraged and appreciative. They could see the fight and the honesty in the performance. Improved discipline and better accuracy took care of the result.
So, what does that mean for the first meeting of the season with Leinster in the Aviva on Saturday night? All guns blazing? With Munster there are fewer certainties. That is part of who they are now.
