By Red Saint
November 24 2006

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed into a monstrous “London” “Irish” fan. He lay on his Guinness sponsored replica shirt and saw, as he lifted his face up to the mirror, that his cheeks were painted with little orange, green and white tricolours...

 

WHY NOT A NOT NOT NOT NOT?

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed into a monstrous “London” “Irish” fan. He lay on his Guinness sponsored replica shirt and saw, as he lifted his face up to the mirror, that his cheeks were painted with little orange, green and white tricolours, representing a country the physical existence of which he could only imagine somewhat notionally.

“What’s happened to me?” he thought. It was no dream. His room, a proper room for a human being, only somewhat overly bedecked with fey Celtic ephemera, lay quietly between the four well-known walls. Above the table, on which an unpacked collection of fuzzy green wigs was spread out – Samsa had turned into a generic Celtic wannabe – the creation of this demographic stratum set to be one of Tony Blair’s lasting contributions to the United Kingdom…

 

LONDON IRISH vs NORTHAMPTON SAINTS

MATCH PREVIEW

SUNDAY 26th NOVEMBER 2006, 15:00

 

 

I had originally planned to do the whole of this preview as a parody of The Metamorphosis, but with the miasma of alienation, desperation and depression seemingly surrounding the club at the moment, not to mention the Kafkaesque selection policy, I thought it to be just a little too close to home. So…

 

As a fan, there are certain teams you really look forward to your team playing against, for me it’s the games against Gloucester – more or less my second team, and some you really don’t, for me “London” “Irish”. Hearing that “London” “Irish” had been relegated or farmed out to the Magners would, to me, be the most satisfying sound since the key change which leads into the middle eight of Falco’s Rock me Amadeus.

 

Everyone has a team they especially like theirs to beat, and for me it’s the Notnots. This dislike long predates that cup final, although I have near totally scrubbed April 20, 2002 from memory. The only thing I can remember about that day was Sky pioneering a new type of commentary box. Like a Formula 1 car, it was designed to have a service life of precisely the amount of time taken to complete the event in question. Certainly no-one would have wanted to use it again after Stuart Barnes’ obsequious bumlicking meant that as the “Irish” painted Twickenham green, he was busy painting the inside of his commentary box a somewhat lighter colour. I can’t imagine what he would have been like had James Simpson-Daniel been playing for the Notnots that day, but I can only assume that an airlift by the French Navy to a remote Pacific atoll would have been the only safe way to contain such an explosion…

 

In his sycophancy of the Notnots, Barnes followed in the footsteps of countless Welsh, New Zealanders and Australians, all of whom have supported “London” “Irish” at one time or another solely on the basis that the existence of the word “Irish” in the team’s name somehow gives them a chance to cheer against England. And it’s not just colonials and Celts (with the notable exception of the real Irish) who get priapismic over the Notnots, “London” “Irish” were kept afloat for years solely by purchases of their replica shirts by middle-class shtewdents, a group of society who would buy a primed landmine if it had the faintest bit of Guinness advertising on it. Of course though, the “London” “Irish” replica shirt does have hermetic powers, its wearer magically becoming Irish in much same way that a fat Bacardi Breezer guzzling girl who can somehow wedge her adipose backside into a pair of size 12 jeans magically becomes a size 12.

 

Nearly as subfusc as the 2002 final was last year’s meeting at the Madejski. I listened to that game on the radio and it was the most depressing and painful 80 minutes of rugby I have ever had the misfortune to experience, and I’m including the Bristol game (pre tries) and the game in which I tore my ligaments in that. Still, at least it wasn’t the Mark ‘makes Barry Everett look like Carlos Spencer’ Mapletoft show for once - the fly-half dropped more goals against Saints than Gloucester have dropped redevelopment plans…

 

During the game, the Saints contrived to knock the ball on for a distance, which, when totalled up, would pretty much equal the entire near 3,000 kilometres that now separate me from Northampton, and as I’m still in Moscow I won’t be attending on Sunday. However, I will be able to empathise will Saints fans making the journey as I’m going to Minsk tonight. The architecture of the Soviet utopia that is the Belarussian capital is not dissimilar to that of Reading - the blandest, most pointless and depressing s***hole on the M4 - and that’s with full note taken of the existence of Slough, Swindon and Port Talbot.

 

Once in Reading what can Saints fans expect? For those travelling by car, there’s the charge equivalent to the GDP of Tajikistan to use the stadium’s car park, for those coming from the town, there’s the infrequent, overcrowded and overpriced minibus to the industrial wasteland, a sort of Soviet looking Brackmills, where the stadium is located. Like Reading itself, the Madejski is indescribably bland and at the same time hideously ugly, with no atmosphere and an overriding stench of methane.

 

After negotiating the gift shops selling fluffy leprechauns and other marital aids, fans enter the stadium where they experience the legendary ‘craic’ - where bdelloid fifth generation Celts and fans of the self-professed ‘best supported club in England’ (this due to two freak matches a year and from a club with worse away support than Bath) sometimes manage to fill one side of the stadium, sing the Fields of Athenry, play B*Witched and Ronan Keating songs over the PA and bang away on those ******* bodhráin near incessantly.

 

This is an example of Munster Supporters’ Syndrome. By having the word “Irish” in their club’s name, “London” “Irish” believe we should recognise the factoid that they are the only fans in England who know what real rugby passion is, who can drink and enjoy rugby, who can understand banter and who can create an atmosphere at their ground, should they be bothered to attend in any number, and so on and on and on and on and on. (It is rumoured that the stands are empty because everyone is below deck queuing up to get Guinness at a price that would make a Russian oligarch baulk. Over a central Berlin station hangs the sign: “Irish Pub – Cold Beer, Warm Hearts!” in the Madejski, it’s the other way around.) It also works on the premise that anything with the slightest Celtic (and especially Irish) connotation is everyone's neutral team by default. As such, Glasgow Celtic and “London” “Irish” form part of a sporting empire Sir John Hall could only dream of.

 

I actually met a “London” “Irish” supporter (and a Harlequins supporter from Great Brington – tsk) by chance in a bar here last night and, after voicing his hope that Northampton get relegated, he went on to tell me how “London” “Irish” is “every fan’s favourite away trip because of the craic”. This belief shows that when it comes to talking about their club, some “London” “Irish” fans’ heads are so far up their own posteriors that even M.C. Escher would have had trouble depicting it, and that there is no greater self-congratulatory back slapping club outside of an RFU board room. However, this is quite expectable from the only GP team to have a fan site dedicated to a Father Ted joke.

 

Further to all this, thanks to the Heineken Cup draw this year, “London” “Irish” became the first team ever to make me cheer for Llanelli. Thanks for that…

 

Ok, so that’s the reasoning behind why I am not a Notnot, but last year there was one reason more for me to dislike them – a sort of jealousy. Not only did “London” “Irish” come third – Northampton’s rightful end of season position, they did so playing attractive rugby, finishing the competition’s top try scorers (though just the one ahead of Saints, and technically Carlos did score at least two of theirs…), with Delon Armitage scoring 16 tries to break the club try-scoring record for one season, previously held by current Saint Geoff Appleford with two.

 

It looks like the 2005/6 season may have seen “London” “Irish” enjoy their most authentic Celtic experience to date – a false dawn. Their current situation and Saints’ look very similar - a host of the catalysts for last year’s successes out injured, both below Harlequins in the table, both being very thankful for the form (or lack of it) being exhibited by Worcester ‘they think they’re a proper Southwest rugby club’ Warriors. Neither sets of fans are particularly happy and both clubs will want to buck recent losing trends before welcoming back key players from the Autumn Internationals. Despite both clubs’ stated desire to adhere to playing attacking, adventurous rugby, depleted back lines and a forecast of rain may make this one for the forwards.

 

Couple the fact that Grayson prefers not to announce his team until the warm-up has started to an injured centre list longer than Joyce’s annotated Ulysses we can only speculate as to who will line up for the Saints on Sunday, but whoever plays is going to face a stern test. By all accounts, the Notnot forwards held their own at Pooh Corner last week and “London” “Irish” boast arguably the best lock combination in the premiership - whoever plays.

 

Our back row will have to play well to contain the likes of Magne and up and coming flanker Steffon Armitage, who everyone will have seen score against Saints in the Saracens game last year, though we can be thankful my favourite premiership player (yes, a Notnot) Juan Manuel Leguizamon will be off on Argentina duty, a true all round number 8. Steffon’s brother, Delon, who also plays the character of Danny in Emmerdale, forms part of a back three not short of pace, teaming up with the elusive Ojo and the secure (read never passes, ever) Michael Horak.

 

“London” “Irish” could also field the second best NZ Maori fly-half in the Guinness Premiership Riki Flutey, who will hopefully play William Butler Yeats to Carlos’ James Joyce (Oh, how I’d love to have seen Yeats’ face after he first met with Joyce, when he was made pointedly aware of his own superfluousity after it became clear that he wasn’t even the best living Irish writer. Yeats – famous for being the Eric Clapton of Irish literature and no more) and the battle between Hodgson (non-choker) and Robinson should be fiery, but moderate in the use of language stakes thanks to the adoption of new rules governing the description of the opposition’s parentage. “Irish” have a dangerous, but contrasting centre partnership, with the mythical second five-eighth in Mike Catt at inside centre and Seilala Mapasua, who couldn’t be more one-dimensional without being Silesi Finau in a team coached by Andy Robinson, outside him.

 

As for a prediction, well I’ve got Saints down to score 12 – maybe a bit optimistic, as that will require at least one kick to go over. Given the often-tight nature of games between the two teams, who is to say that won’t be enough for the four points? However, my realistic head says “London” “Irish” will get 20 and the win.

 

“London” “Irish” away was unlikely to have been ticked off as a probable four points at the start of the season, though it was also unlikely to have been seen as being a game between two bottom four clubs, too. What I’d like to see is some metres made and the gain line broken, I want to hear that the crabbing from one side of the pitch to the other has been consigned to the dustbin of the Saints past, where it can nestle alongside our yellow (sic) change strip. It is all very well consistently getting to double figures of phases, but when watching Saints do it I’ve often felt like organising an impromptu sweepstake based on what phase we’d get to before knocking on or being pinged and whether we’d average a metre a phase or not. Major progress in this field will count as success for me, and if we can do that, who knows…?

 

Finally, as my use of a couple of pairs of inverted commas to surround the words “London” and “Irish” was once described as “bile”, can I just apologise for anyone I may have upset by referring to “London” “Irish” as the Notnots. I know the full name of the club is London Irish Scottish Richmond, and I therefore should have used the official name of Notnotnotnots.