Faith Restored

Gloucester 17 - Bath 16

I confess I lost it at the end. It has been too long since I had experienced that singularly Kingsholm-based emotion that encompasses relief, joy, tribalism, loyalty and a myriad of other sensations. Snatching unexpected victory from the jaws of defeat helps. Stir in Ingredient X - a long-term immense snarling dislike of the opposition - and you glimpse a catalyst. But when Brad Davies took the ball between the 22 and 10 metre line, a fair bit to the left of the posts, stroked it elegantly so it soared straight through the uprights, my celebration was fulsome and bordering on the primeval. It was truly marvellous. 17-16 to Gloucester against the arriviste hordes from shamateurville. Heck, it felt good.

Leading up to the drop runs a series of events that gives it edge and extra meaning, extra poignancy. Gloucester, two points down, survive onslaught after onslaught, a key man down against a heavy mob of a front five intent on cascading over the home try line. A scrum in our favour eases the tension but, then, a penalty on the 22, a hoof up field from the alert and quick-witted Gomarsall and suddenly, with 40 minutes played, a chance, a line-out in enemy territory. Game on. A glance around the terrace told me the crowd were up for it too and sensed a glimmer of a hope, a chink in the Bath armour. Line-out won, the ball spreads left and forwards. All concentrating hard now. The terrace voices passionate but focussed. No mistakes Glos, just retain the bloody thing. Keep it tight. Play the percentages. Repay our loyalty lads. You owe us all. Amid the murky exchanges, the ref spots something and raises an arm. Penalty to Gloucester. No huge cheer; too much concentration. My fear now is that nobody will fancy it and it’ll go wide. D screams, ’Kick it into touch!’ His fear and mine is that an extended advantage will peter into nothing. However movement left. Davies wants the thing and screams for swift ball. It arrives at pace and the leg swings. I can see the arc of the ball now. I was right behind it as it curved over the bar. Never in doubt. Never in doubt. It was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve seen this year. Well played lads. You proved you wanted this and my faith is restored. This is what sport and following your club, your team is about.

I guess, ‘at the end of the day’, it was just four points accumulated to glide us away from the bottom of the pile and a consolidation of Gloucester’s position in the constipated mid-table swell. It meant a good deal more than that yesterday. My hopes for next season are stronger and keener now and I know that if the club recruits ‘Gloucester players’ (as opposed to any man jack) we shall reap plenty of success and fine times. Wood for Bezuidenhout was more than a tactical switch. Young talented kid who wants it badly in for exalted superstar who maybe doesn’t: as a metaphor for how I want the club to think and express itself this is hard to beat. A man with a broken arm wants to play on and leaves the field only after he has dashed around and exhorted his colleagues onto further efforts: this is what I expect and it reassures.

I enjoyed my after match beer with S and C very much. Not one of us had supped at The Greyhound for about 15 years - even though it is fairly close to my home. They serve fine ale though and S and I are tempted by next weekend’s music quiz.

Much as the Mastermind theme in my youth meant Sunday night - and, my word, it used to depress the life out of me - my Sabbath evening now means Stuart Maconie’s Freak Zone show on BBC6 Music. Maconie’s selection is ever eclectic and is rarely an easy listen but enough gems emerge to render it worthwhile. I still get a kick from hearing new sounds, stuff one would never dream of hearing on more mainstream stations. I’m also looking forward to a Punk and New Wave special from ten o’clock tonight hosted by old Fall starlet Marc Riley.