Post by leeside on Mar 27, 2007 23:08:14 GMT
An interesting article by Diarmuid O’Flynn from the Irish Examiner:
OVER the course of last season, when Munster won the Heineken Cup, which province had the best home support? You’re absolutely right – it was Ulster.
It’s strange how, in our eagerness to proclaim our greatness down here, we seem to forget about the men from the northern province. Their Heineken Cup win in 1999 is dismissed – no English clubs took part that year, ergo, competition diminished; likewise their winning of the Celtic League last season – lesser competition, isn’t it?
It’s the same with Ravenhill; we’re all talk about Thomond Park, about Munster’s fantastic Heineken Cup home record, about Munster’s magnificent support. What about Ravenhill? What about the Ulster support? Ask any player from any of the other Irish provinces, ask any player from any team to have visited Ravenhill, they’ll tell you – it’s as intimidating a ground as there is in rugby, anywhere.
It was with this in mind, therefore, that I made the trip to Belfast last Friday to see Ulster play Munster in what was a vital Magners League game for the hosts. Win, and they kept the pressure on Leinster at the top of the table, took over top spot for a day at least, as Leinster faced Connacht in Dublin. Lose, and – well, to lose was unthinkable, given that Munster had nothing to play for in terms of table position, and were shorn of practically all of their first-choice 15.
An hour before kick-off, there was a fair-sized crowd around, most of those gathered in the huge concourse at one end of the pitch. Huge bar doing a roaring trade, fast-food stands, music, real party atmosphere. Real family atmosphere also, lots of kids of both genders, stilt-walkers, balloons, as much carnival as rugby match – not unlike Thomond Park, it must be said. Into the ground itself and that impression is reinforced. Covered stand along one side, terracing in front of that where the hardies gather – the Promenade. Uncovered stand across the other side, again like Thomond or Musgrave, though the lack of terracing at either end of the pitch in Ravenhill is a distinct difference. Still, it’s tight, cosy for the home team, intimidating for the visitor.
The Promenade seemed to be the place to be, the blue-collar spot, so that’s where I headed, took up a spot roughly around the half-way line, behind one of the dugouts. Decided to remain anonymous, but my presence, however, wasn’t unnoticed, and I got a lot of “Who he?” kind of looks. Not unfriendly, not suspicious, just curious as to who this interloper was, taking a prime place in their territory. Everyone seemed to know each other, all first-name terms as each newcomer to the section was greeted, usually with some kind of smart and derogatory remark. Usually also the lads came bearing gifts, plastic pints in clever cardboard containers, a hip-flask or three also in evidence. These boys were out for the craic as much as for the rugby, no doubt about that.
You hear talk, a lot of talk, about how Ravenhill is a bit more than intimidating at times, and there have been accusations in recent years of racist comments flung at the opposition by the fans, of sectarian abuse.
Well, along with sampling the atmosphere, I was also going to keep an ear open for any evidence of that. First opportunity was when the Munster team took the pitch, greeted by the announcer as European champions, the Ravenhill crowd requested to welcome them as such. And they responded, a polite round of applause from all sections of the packed ground, not a word of abuse hurled. Some of those around me in the Promenade even went to the trouble of putting their pints on the ground, to enable them join in the applause.
To the rugby, and it didn’t start well for Munster. Three converted tries conceded in the opening quarter, the humour was good in Ravenhill, talk of calculators needed, of humiliation. Oh there was abuse for Munster alright, chants of “Boring, boring, boring,” when Munster captain Alan Quinlan opted for a goal-kick when Munster were already 14-0 down, instead of going for the corner. Here again, however, silence for the kicker, then more polite applause as out-half Eoghan Hickey (introduced as ‘Owe-gan’ by the announcer) slotted the kick. Those three points would prove critical, but more on that anon.
Half-time it was still 21-3.
Given that most of the real noise seemed to be coming from the other side of the pitch, however, I decided to head for the uncovered stand for the second half, sample the atmosphere there. Down on the pitch, it all began to change. The Munster pack was without the international contingent; in their places, raw recruits, but they began to shunt the all-international Ulster pack around the place, squeezing them in the tight, running them ragged in the loose. Hungry for ball these boys were, ravenous for contact, and bit by bit, Ulster gave ground. Try, try, another try for Munster, all converted, and now the boot was on the other foot – 24-21 Munster led, time running out.
Through all of this I was on that uncovered stand, had bumped into three other Munster supporters. There was Tom Shortt from Tipperary, who had flown if from Birmingham for the game, William Murphy from Knocknagoshel in Kerry, who had driven up, and Patrick Hennessey from Kilkenny, who works locally, in Belfast. Where I had been able to preserve anonymity in the first-half, that wasn’t the case here, not with these three roaring on Munster. Did we get any abuse? Did Munster? Not a bit of it.
“Fair play to ye,” that was all, but other than that, relative silence. “Stand up, for the Ulsterman, Stand up, for the Ulster-man, Stand up, for the Ulsterman” blared the tannoy, the Ulster rugby rallying cry, and the crowd did their best.
There is, after all, a much stronger sense of identity in Ulster, as Ulster people, than there is in Munster, rugby success or not.
Overall impression? Ravenhill is wonderful. Without a doubt there is some truth to the talk of sectarianism – with a capacity of over 12,000, and full on most evenings whether Magners League or Heineken Cup, there’s bound to be a few who go over the top.
Last Friday, I heard none of it, not a peep. Neither did Alan Quinlan, who visited every blade of grass in a thunderous individual display, never mind every corner of the ground.
“The crowd were very good, if you ask me. We knew they were going to be vocal, they’re very passionate about their rugby, about their team, very knowledgeable. They gave us a good welcome, no hassle whatsoever. I’ve played there a good few times, never heard anything really abusive. We’ve always got a feisty welcome but that’s no different to Thomond Park.”
No different. Would I go back? In the morning.
OVER the course of last season, when Munster won the Heineken Cup, which province had the best home support? You’re absolutely right – it was Ulster.
It’s strange how, in our eagerness to proclaim our greatness down here, we seem to forget about the men from the northern province. Their Heineken Cup win in 1999 is dismissed – no English clubs took part that year, ergo, competition diminished; likewise their winning of the Celtic League last season – lesser competition, isn’t it?
It’s the same with Ravenhill; we’re all talk about Thomond Park, about Munster’s fantastic Heineken Cup home record, about Munster’s magnificent support. What about Ravenhill? What about the Ulster support? Ask any player from any of the other Irish provinces, ask any player from any team to have visited Ravenhill, they’ll tell you – it’s as intimidating a ground as there is in rugby, anywhere.
It was with this in mind, therefore, that I made the trip to Belfast last Friday to see Ulster play Munster in what was a vital Magners League game for the hosts. Win, and they kept the pressure on Leinster at the top of the table, took over top spot for a day at least, as Leinster faced Connacht in Dublin. Lose, and – well, to lose was unthinkable, given that Munster had nothing to play for in terms of table position, and were shorn of practically all of their first-choice 15.
An hour before kick-off, there was a fair-sized crowd around, most of those gathered in the huge concourse at one end of the pitch. Huge bar doing a roaring trade, fast-food stands, music, real party atmosphere. Real family atmosphere also, lots of kids of both genders, stilt-walkers, balloons, as much carnival as rugby match – not unlike Thomond Park, it must be said. Into the ground itself and that impression is reinforced. Covered stand along one side, terracing in front of that where the hardies gather – the Promenade. Uncovered stand across the other side, again like Thomond or Musgrave, though the lack of terracing at either end of the pitch in Ravenhill is a distinct difference. Still, it’s tight, cosy for the home team, intimidating for the visitor.
The Promenade seemed to be the place to be, the blue-collar spot, so that’s where I headed, took up a spot roughly around the half-way line, behind one of the dugouts. Decided to remain anonymous, but my presence, however, wasn’t unnoticed, and I got a lot of “Who he?” kind of looks. Not unfriendly, not suspicious, just curious as to who this interloper was, taking a prime place in their territory. Everyone seemed to know each other, all first-name terms as each newcomer to the section was greeted, usually with some kind of smart and derogatory remark. Usually also the lads came bearing gifts, plastic pints in clever cardboard containers, a hip-flask or three also in evidence. These boys were out for the craic as much as for the rugby, no doubt about that.
You hear talk, a lot of talk, about how Ravenhill is a bit more than intimidating at times, and there have been accusations in recent years of racist comments flung at the opposition by the fans, of sectarian abuse.
Well, along with sampling the atmosphere, I was also going to keep an ear open for any evidence of that. First opportunity was when the Munster team took the pitch, greeted by the announcer as European champions, the Ravenhill crowd requested to welcome them as such. And they responded, a polite round of applause from all sections of the packed ground, not a word of abuse hurled. Some of those around me in the Promenade even went to the trouble of putting their pints on the ground, to enable them join in the applause.
To the rugby, and it didn’t start well for Munster. Three converted tries conceded in the opening quarter, the humour was good in Ravenhill, talk of calculators needed, of humiliation. Oh there was abuse for Munster alright, chants of “Boring, boring, boring,” when Munster captain Alan Quinlan opted for a goal-kick when Munster were already 14-0 down, instead of going for the corner. Here again, however, silence for the kicker, then more polite applause as out-half Eoghan Hickey (introduced as ‘Owe-gan’ by the announcer) slotted the kick. Those three points would prove critical, but more on that anon.
Half-time it was still 21-3.
Given that most of the real noise seemed to be coming from the other side of the pitch, however, I decided to head for the uncovered stand for the second half, sample the atmosphere there. Down on the pitch, it all began to change. The Munster pack was without the international contingent; in their places, raw recruits, but they began to shunt the all-international Ulster pack around the place, squeezing them in the tight, running them ragged in the loose. Hungry for ball these boys were, ravenous for contact, and bit by bit, Ulster gave ground. Try, try, another try for Munster, all converted, and now the boot was on the other foot – 24-21 Munster led, time running out.
Through all of this I was on that uncovered stand, had bumped into three other Munster supporters. There was Tom Shortt from Tipperary, who had flown if from Birmingham for the game, William Murphy from Knocknagoshel in Kerry, who had driven up, and Patrick Hennessey from Kilkenny, who works locally, in Belfast. Where I had been able to preserve anonymity in the first-half, that wasn’t the case here, not with these three roaring on Munster. Did we get any abuse? Did Munster? Not a bit of it.
“Fair play to ye,” that was all, but other than that, relative silence. “Stand up, for the Ulsterman, Stand up, for the Ulster-man, Stand up, for the Ulsterman” blared the tannoy, the Ulster rugby rallying cry, and the crowd did their best.
There is, after all, a much stronger sense of identity in Ulster, as Ulster people, than there is in Munster, rugby success or not.
Overall impression? Ravenhill is wonderful. Without a doubt there is some truth to the talk of sectarianism – with a capacity of over 12,000, and full on most evenings whether Magners League or Heineken Cup, there’s bound to be a few who go over the top.
Last Friday, I heard none of it, not a peep. Neither did Alan Quinlan, who visited every blade of grass in a thunderous individual display, never mind every corner of the ground.
“The crowd were very good, if you ask me. We knew they were going to be vocal, they’re very passionate about their rugby, about their team, very knowledgeable. They gave us a good welcome, no hassle whatsoever. I’ve played there a good few times, never heard anything really abusive. We’ve always got a feisty welcome but that’s no different to Thomond Park.”
No different. Would I go back? In the morning.
