National Division 1.  Round 10.  3rd November  2007

 K.O. 2:00 pm

Report by Ballagher 

Maybe it's a paradox that 10,000 people in full voice speaks far less than the same number standing in absolute silence.

Of the 10,457 (well that's what we're asked to believe) in attendance at Franklins Gardens, at least 13 of them came over the water from that hotbed of rugby that is north Belgium.  (In addition to my brother in law and two nephews, apparently a contingent of scout leaders were over for the weekend.)  Fitting therefore that proceedings should begin in remembrance of those that died in two world wars, many of whom fell in the fields of Flanders.  The observance of the two minutes silence was, as ever, immaculate.

Brother-in-law Luc has been attending matches at the Saints for 20 years now - perhaps a couple of matches a season when they're over from Belgium - and, whilst his record isn't one of 100% success, he has only seen Saints lose once or twice in all that time.  OK - a lot of those games include the traditional Boxing Day fixture but it is nonetheless a record that few others (however fervent the support) could claim.  I assured him that if Saints lost this one, not only would he never be allowed to attend a Saints match ever again (our mutual father-in-law would see to that) but he might also be slung out of the country!

Asked for a prediction before the start of the game, I deflected the question (we should not abandon superstitions just because we're not in the top league) I stated that if we don't win by 50, the crowd will not be happy.  That is not so much arrogance and is certainly not meant to be dismissive of the opponents (who ran Exeter close the other week) - it's simply a statement of the level of expectation at the moment.  And so it turned out; although the mood of the crowd was lifted somewhat by a late flurry of activity and points.

The first twenty minutes of the match resembled early nineteenth century Belgium with Saints being like the Dutch rulers, exerting influence whenever they chose (Kydd scored in one corner, Myler in the other; both conversions missed).  The Bees started asking some questions about the received order (nothing too serious at first - declining penalty shots at goal with preference for scrums).  It was only when they realised how flimsy the response was that they started to believe that striking a real blow was within their reach and it was fitting that the clock read 18:31 when they achieved independence (err, I mean they scored their first try).  A tidy (allowed to be too tidy?) maul from the lineout.

The crowd became increasingly angry in the second quarter for a variety of reasons but I'm sure that it was in part because the scoreboard was not moving in the direction they wanted it to.  Nonetheless, the second quarter ended much like the first.  Two more Saints' tries (Carlos in the corner and Kydd again but this time nearer the sticks so Myler was able to convert).  Bees scored another from a catch and drive (this followed Chris Ashton's sin binning for Saints' persistent off-side).

Half-time score: 22-12.  During the interval I asked for the view from Belgium but, as I'm choosing not to comment on the officials in this match, there is little to add.  (Maybe the ref was excellent and it's just that they play some funny version of the laws in Belgium.)

The third quarter again saw a return of two tries to one in favour of the hosts although this time it was Saints who benefited from the line-out catch and drive (Tiny and Dylan respectively emerging from the pile of bodies).  The Bees' third try was an interception inside their own half and a footrace to the line.

So to the final 20 minutes.  It's perhaps too easy to conclude that a decent tussle for an hour left the visitors exhausted, thus opening up the floodgates (no, hang on, that's more Holland again).  My feeling was that the Blitzkrieg (OK that's pushing it too far but there were 4 tries in 20 mins) was just waiting for the Phoney War to end.

You didn't need to be Hercule Poirot to anticipate what would happen from the line-out 5 metres out that followed an excellent punt to the corner from Myler; Easter scoring the inevitable try.  You did need to be Tom Boonen on a bike to catch Sharkey as he broke from deep before working it through the hands for Digger to score the final try of the afternoon (Digger's second in as many minutes).  And, with try number 8, most people must have been comparing Chris Ashton's skilful artistic invention (sprinting out from his own half before kicking ahead) to that of Adolf Sax.  It was Myler, with his second of the afternoon, that finished off the move.

Myler's kicking was disappointing.  To be fair, he nailed all the easy ones (mainly in the second half) but missed all the more difficult ones.  However it was more to do with how he missed that was of a concern - albeit a concern for a day where such things might make a difference.  That said, my champagne (sorry - Trappiste) moment of the match was following the eighth try.  Having successfully touched down his kick ahead before both he and the ball clattered into the advertising hoardings (I think the prospect of a conversion in front of the posts was too much to resist) it didn't seem unreasonable for Spencer to line up the conversion while Myler was being checked over.  The way Myler, recovering just in time, threw away both Carlos's ball and kicking tee in favour of his own illustrated a healthy disrespect for the great man (that I'm sure Carlos would applaud).

At the end of the day, Saints won the game 10 tries to 3 and did so without really getting into top gear much at all.  They'd secured their try bonus by half time thus keeping up a 100% league points tally and they continued to deprive all opposition of any league points (though the Bees will take heart from the fact that they were only one try away from getting a bonus point).  At the moment it's difficult to know what Saints must do for us to be really happy.

But, in spite of the above, this match wasn't really it.  Could've been a whole lot worse but not something to make you the heartbeat race or your chest swell with pride.  In a word - Belgium.

Pictures Courtesy Claire Jones MRPS 

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