When Rory McIlroy became the sixth player in history to complete a career Grand Slam, and when Shane Lowry rolled in that putt to retain the Ryder Cup, I was reminded again of the sheer mental resilience required to excel at the elite level of sport.
The margins are microscopic. Everyone at that level can execute the skill – the difference between glory and heartbreak is what happens between the ears.
Most players can do it when it doesn’t count. I remember being on a Lions tour when a post-training kicking session broke out – Johnny Wilkinson, Stephen Jones, Gavin Henson were all there. On that Tuesday on the South Island, surrounded by some of the best kickers from the northern hemisphere, I ended up with the most accurate boot.
What we learned from Munster’s emphatic win over Leinster
There was no celebration, though. I knew that come match day, the odds were that the ball would more likely slice off the outside of my foot than find its target.
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As sports psychologist Bob Rotella once said: “The difference between the best and the rest is rarely talent – it’s mindset.”
I had that mindset in most areas of my game, but under the spotlight I could be found wanting. Watching the URC unfold over the weekend, it struck me how mindset can still decide matches.
Leinster v Munster in Croke Park lived up to its billing as the game of the round. An early Leinster try had most of us thinking here we go again, but it turned into a cracker.
For Leinster, it was the manner of the defeat that will sting most. Leo Cullen said it afterwards – Munster wanted it more.
That’s a hard pill to swallow and brought back memories of days when I found myself on the wrong end of that same intensity.
The semi-final in the old Lansdowne Road in 2006 springs to mind, when Munster brushed us aside on their way to claiming the trophy.
There were losses in Welford Road and tough nights in France too, and while they were hard to take at the time, they became part of our DNA. They were the cornerstone on which Michael Cheika rebuilt Leinster: no team would ever outwork or out-want us again. It started with attitude and mindset – everything else followed.
The game back then was less tactical than it is today, but the fundamental principle remains unchanged. Munster were primed for confrontation. They shut down space, harried, harassed, niggled and played the game within the game far better.
Players in matches like these can feel the pressure physically. The opposition are everywhere, and collectively the mindset shifts.
You start trying not to make a mistake. You stand a step deeper in attack, hesitate on a pass, and opportunities drift away. Conversely, when momentum is with you, everything feels effortless. Offloads stick, kicks land perfectly.
Trying to swing that momentum pendulum is difficult, and often, the harder you try, the worse it gets.
Downfall
Attitude was a big part of Leinster’s downfall on Saturday, but there were tactical cracks too. Munster were clever and disciplined – Edwin Edogbo, Jack O’Donoghue, Gavin Coombes, Tom Farrell and Brian Gleeson brought physicality, slowing Leinster’s attack.
Defence is always the foundation of any new coaching era – it’s the easiest area for improvement – and Clayton McMillan capitalised on that.
Munster also had something they haven’t had in a while – a positive injury profile, a few smart additions, and the ability to spring Jean Kleyn and Alex Nankivell from the bench, all orchestrated by Jack Crowley in one of his most measured performances in a red jersey.
Leinster, meanwhile, looked predictable. They had quality lineout ball and scrum dominance but despite 14 line breaks, rarely crossed the gainline.
They offered little variety, structured phase after phase hitting a well-organised red wall. Any time Leinster generated momentum, Munster flooded the ruck, slowed it down, and reset.
Munster’s defensive set-up suffocated Leinster. They offered no space on the edges, often keeping one man in the backfield with their scrumhalf defending in the line and both wingers pressing high. Ultimately it yielded an intercept try for Ethan Coughlan.
In the latter stages, Leinster were guilty of chasing the result without recognising what wasn’t working or where the space was. The responsibility for game direction doesn’t rest solely with the outhalf – there’s enough experience in that Leinster team to sense when something needs to shift on the pitch. How many went looking for the ball rather than trusting the system?
For young Sam Prendergast, this match will be part of his learning curve. It’s an invaluable experience. These are the games that develop decision-makers. You get squeezed for space and time, and every choice is magnified. The key is reviewing those decisions, owning them, and coming back better.
He didn’t play badly – far from it – but he’ll know himself there were moments he’d manage differently. Every defence coach in the league has been studying how to limit his time and space.
The temptation when that happens is to drift deeper, but sometimes the answer is the opposite – step up, become a target for defenders, and create holes for others. He did that on occasion.
The season after your breakthrough is often the toughest. It tests your resolve and forces growth. Crowley went through it last year after his stellar breakthrough season, and now he looks composed and assured.
Teams will focus on Prendergast in the same way, and he’ll need time to adjust and respond to that attention.
For Munster, this was the first time in a while they won nearly every individual battle. That depth, that hunger is a statement. For Leinster, it’s a reminder that talent alone doesn’t win matches. How you pitch up mentally matters.
As former Leinster captain Liam Toland used to say – “never waste a good crisis”. The best lessons come from a bit of hurt. Maybe this will prove a watershed moment.
