By Mark H
June 4 2004

2003/2004. Saints. I think the film’s going to be called “From Favourites to Flattened”. For the second season running it all ended rather too abruptly at the hands of the eventual champions at the Causeway, but for many reasons, this season was the end of an era. The last chance saloon. We just found some gunslingers in our way that were that much bigger and quicker than us.

Four points though separated the side from second place, and a chance to take on that damned Wasps at the Gardens. As Frankie Goes To Hollywood nearly said, “When two tries go to floor, a losing bonus point is all Saints will score”. Two tries in particular, both making the difference between winning and losing, may well have cost that second place.

The season started off well, probably too well. A sevens unit went down to Henley, glittered in the first match, scraped past Loughborough University in the quarters, and eventually lost out to the Army in the final, just minutes after their fatter versions lost out in the spoon final of the Fat Boy Sevens to Leeds. A week later, the fat boys decided to watch from the stands as the lessons of the previous Sunday were learnt as Rotherham, Saracens and Bath were knocked out on the way to the Middlesex Sevens final. The expected opponents, the aforementioned Army, didn’t make it, losing out to Newcastle in the semi-final. So we were all set for another Twickenham final, the fifth in a little over three years. Suddenly an enjoyable day didn’t matter any more, the result was all that counted. At 12-5, it looked hopeful, but then Michael Stephenson broke away up the wing to almost certainly run in unchallenged. Enter Oriol Ripol, charging back and making a brilliant tackle to prevent the try. On such things matches turn. Within minutes, two more tries had been scored (including one from a somersault from Shane Drahm), and it was just sweet that Jon Sleightholme finished it off by going over in the corner. A trophy to sit alongside the Heineken Cup, and Bealer’s beaming smile said it all. Winners at last. This was going to be a good season (it also won me £90).

We should have known better though. Three friendlies followed, a Friday night punch up against Bedford, where Dom Malone in particular seemed intent on working his way through the entire Saints team, and a loss to Gloucester where they took the game more seriously that Saints, sandwiched a trip to Cardiff. Those who went raved about the quality of play, but news came back of a bad injury to Budge Pountney. The following day’s Chron had a photo of Budge being carried off; we hoped he would be back soon.

Unfortunately, it was the last time we saw him in a Saints shirt.

The Sky Sports brains trust in Barnes and Morris both tipped Saints to finish top, and for the first 39 minutes of the opening game of the season, they probably had something. I’ve enjoyed many a Friday night in Stockport, and this one was to be no different as Saints and Sale kicked off the ZP with a classic. Twenty points to eight up with those 39 minutes gone, and playing a style of rugby that made your mouth water in anticipation of what potentially was to come during the season. Saints went to sleep though, conceded a soft try right on half time, and the second half resurrection of a home side severely lacking a kicker meant that Saints were 37-27 down late on. Bruce’s first try of the season, AB being knocked senseless and out of action for four weeks by Kevin Yates, and a quite brilliant Shane Drahm penalty from the touchline later, and a 37 all draw was ours, the first three point draw in Premiership history. Sale were to repeat that in February, but that was the other kind of three all draw against Leicester.

We went away feeling happy that we’d got something against who we thought would be one of the challengers. How were the happy throng to know that this particular Sale had gone past its sell by date and would struggle all season, eventually missing out on a Heineken Cup spot? I also mentioned that I thought it would be the highest scoring game all season…

Fast forward two days, and a gloriously sunny day in Newcastle that Steve Lander did his best to ruin. After an afternoon eating ice cream and being asked countless times “are you lost?”, news came through that Bath had got a bonus point win, and beaten that highest score. Just a blip, we thought. Leeds were weakened, we thought. Wait until next Saturday at the Rec…

So I did. And I wish that I hadn’t, as I watched most of the game from the Virgin Mobile stand (the rest of it I couldn’t see, such was the poor layout of the lower tier), and as we found that you can’t run the ball back from your own line every time you get it. Saints were very poor. Bath was still a blip, when they played a decent team they’d get found out. Yeah, right…

My original thoughts for the first six games were five wins, with the hardest being that first outing at Edgeley. Well, by the time we got back to the Gardens, it was a case of must win - and I can think of teams I’d rather play in a must win than Wasps. Especially when they go ten points up hideously early on. There was one great help though. Trevor Leota was having one of his banjo days and was hauled off before half time, as Saints used the Wasps line out ball to get back into the game. With the game still too tight nearing the end, debutant John Clarke intercepted a pass on the Wasps’ 22 and ran in the first try of his Saints career. 27-17 was the win, and the bandwagon was rolling.

October brought a depressing trip to Millmoor; depressing not for the scoreline (42-13), or the points (five tries), but more for Saints meeting possibly the worst side ever to grace the ZP. Roth looked at that point as if they would be lucky to pick up any points all season; they eventually got three. Saints got the bonus point tied up just before the storm started; a bit of a relief as I couldn’t see many teams failing to pick up a bonus. Good things from the day - a nice pie and peas in a pub that two contributors to this site kicked out for querying where their meal was, and being told that Sale had won at Welford Road. Old rivalries take a long time to die…

11th October, and an early start to the day. 7.30 at Wolverton station to be precise, as the second Saints With Heart walk took us from Buckinghamshire along the Grand Union Canal to FG, via a marvellous breakfast at the White Hart in Grafton Regis, and a final limp into the Gardens on a gloriously sunny day. Trouble was, when the match started, it seemed like it was the team that had walked the fifteen miles as a second minute lead was turned around by ten minutes of complete madness which leaked three tries. First Sackey outpaced Bealer down the wing, followed by the much vaunted “inside-out” defence deciding to turn outside in as the ball was turned over at a lineout and fed along the line for Justin Bishop to score in the opposite corner. And then came one of those two tries that I mentioned at the start of this.

Irish were awarded a penalty directly in front of the posts, and the entire Saints team retreated to the tryline whilst there was an injury break. With that complete, and Saints still not concentrating, Mark Mapletoft tapped and went unchallenged into the corner. Utter madness, and to really rub it in, he then kicked the conversion from the touchline. Difference in score at the end of the game? Six points. Penalty for going to sleep? Seven points. To add to the surrealness of the day, half of the Saints team had to be called out of the changing room after the half time whistle, when on the advice of a touch judge, referee Dave Pearson awarded Saints a penalty. It was that sort of afternoon.

As an afterword on the game, Renaud Peillard was replaced during the game, and never played again after suffering a serious neck injury. Renaud was to be the main inspiration in Agen, telling the team what the French press thought of them. I hope at some point that we can all go to Perpignan, and that Renaud’s career can be celebrated properly

The midweek ProZone demonstration was an eye-opener, with the coaching staff “reluctant” to discuss the stats from the game (downright refused, actually), so we guessed that some backsides had been kicked. By half time on the following Saturday, with Saints trailing 10-8 to two tries from Newcastle’s Jamie Noon and Warren Britz, it was hard to see exactly where the kicking had been going on. Forty minutes later, after the most incredible turnaround of the season, Saints had a bonus point for four tries and you wondered who exactly had turned out in the first half. The afternoon was capped by Bealer’s sixty metre try, and we thought that it would probably be the highlight of his season. Wrong, very wrong.

Welford Road, and the chance of back to back wins over the border for the first time in thirty years. There was a noticeable breeze during the first half, and with Saints playing into it the feeling on the Crumbly (sic) Terrace was that if Saints could be near level then it was promising for the second half. To turn around in front, helped considerably by a great try from Bruce, was more than we ordered. The strength of the wind became apparent early in that second half when Shine kicked a penalty from inside his own half. Little did we expect the explosion that would soon follow.

With Tigers reduced to desperately trying to stay in the game, a Healey clearance from a quick lineout didn’t find touch, and Bruce passed the ball inside to Bealer. Now we all know that Bealer has a boot on him. We didn’t expect him to go for the drop goal from nearly sixty metres though. Let’s just say that I’ve had more joyous moments watching Saints when the ball dropped over, but usually there’s been a trophy involved. The spirit was killed, and Bruce’s last minute try not only emphasised the difference in the sides, but also won my mate Dot another seventy quid, having took Saints on the spread betting. He must get me a beer sometime…

Sky finally deigned to bring their cameras to cover a Saints game to start November off, and the fireworks came early. It was the start of a worrying trend that the away supporters in D Block showed a lack of respect for the game, getting on Shine’s back every time he went to try and take a kick. It was even livelier on the pitch, Saints storming into an early lead as Gloucester ran themselves into corners whilst Saints ran them ragged. We also had a referee who genuinely lost control of the game, and the fifteen minutes immediately prior to half time were chaos. First, Drahm was taken out in the air long after the ball had gone by Andy Hazell. On the recommendation of a touch judge further away from the action, Robin Goodliffe gave Hazell a yellow card. Television replays suggest that he got the card colour wrong.

With a lot of niggle going on, Saints took advantage and built up a 27-0 lead. Within seconds of Hazell returning, it all kicked off. Punches were being thrown from all angles, the worst perpetrators being in cherry and white shirts, with Hazell in particular dragging Sharky Robinson away and holding his head whilst punching it. The referee’s decision, assisted greatly by one particular touch judge apparently dreaming what had gone on (a personal friend of Mr Flatt, Stuart Terheege), led to Sharky being sent off and no action being taken against any Gloucester player. You could have made a case for one going off from each team - it would have been harsh, but realistic - but to punish one side and not the other was incredible.

The second half was, unsurprisingly, like the Alamo. Glaws decided not to go for points early on, and took twenty minutes to score a try - from Hazell, who shouldn’t have been on the pitch and had been let off again after another punching incident just two minutes before. Saints went down to thirteen, with Mark Tucker being binned, and Nigel Melville finally unleashed James Forrester against a tiring Saints outfit. As the players tired though, the vocal encouragement grew, and it seemed that every tackle was being greeted with a roar, every turnover with a celebration as if the league had been won. Forrester went in in the D Block corner for a couple of tries, but Henry Paul missed both conversions. It was still enough though for it to mean that Glaws were within a penalty of a bonus point, and a try within another. The roars got louder, never more deafening than when AB was binned for hanging onto the ball when he had never had his hands on it. The standing ovation he got as he left the field summed up the regard for the man. Finally (and it took nearly 44 minutes), Saints got a decision in their favour in one of the all too rare forays into the Glaws half. Shine kicked the penalty to wrap up a 30-17 win, massively deserved, and the outpouring of adulation and relief at the end summed up the growing feeling that this might just be our year after all.

That lasted less than seven days. Forty minutes at the Stoop playing into the wind again didn’t produce a lead this time; it was a 28 point deficit. A try just before half time gave hope, but then the virtuoso performance being given by Paul Burke extended that lead to 43-7 at one point, before more late tries gave the scoreline a shred of respectability at 43-21. No bones about it though, we were hammered. I had a long time to think about it; an overnight coach journey to see Newcastle’s 56-10 win over Rotherham (poorer than five weeks before, if that was possible) saw to that.

Midweek wasn’t the best ever either. On the Tuesday, the disciplinary hearings into the fight saw Sharky and Hazell get three week bans, Shine get a two week suspension, and Duncan Macrae, who many saw as the instigator of the trouble, getting off scot free. A swift bit of research in conjunction with the club saw figures produced for the Thursday appeal of no Saints ZP red cards in five seasons, whilst Glaws had seven. It worked in part, Shine being exonerated, but Sharky’s ban was cut to two weeks. There would be a big gap for the Powergen Cup trip to Bath.

First versus third, and still no TV cameras. In hindsight, thank god for that. The train journey started late, and seemed to take forever. There was limited time for a pre-match drink; the Bath team gave Saints even less time. At 16-13 four minutes into the second half, and Bruce having just crossed the line, Saints were in it. Seconds later, with everyone failing to tackle Robbie Kydd as he ran straight through the defence to score, it was all over. 26 unanswered points, and too early a cup exit. The journey home would seem a long one; we didn’t bank on the train breaking down twice and getting into Castle Station nearly an hour and a half late. It’s sad to say that the only delight from the day was seeing the look on Kiwi Nikki’s face when she realised that her home nation had blown yet another World Cup.

Ah yes, the World Cup. That’s why I was at the Super Sausage at half seven on Saturday 22nd November, having the all in special. That’s why I was standing outside the Gardens at 8 in the morning in the rain. That’s why I was rushing to get four seats at half eight whilst others got the beers in. There was a more important match in the afternoon, but the morning focus was on a TV screen in the Rodber Suite. We know the story now; the scream when Robinson scored, the angst at some of Watson’s decisions (one in particular), the certainty that Flatley was going to kick it. That awkward five minutes whilst more beers were got in; joy at 17-14, agony as Flatley did it again. And then something quite remarkable - the feeling that something special was about to happen. Wally’s pinpoint throw; the split second when we thought that Daws was going to score the winning try, the rising to our feet (almost en masse) as we hoped for the ball to be clean; the joy of Jonny. And even in the moment of triumph, and having watched too many Saints matches, that nagging thought at the back of my mind that it wasn’t safe yet, when I just wanted to scream something about getting the…ball out.

And then the song. I never thought that I’d hear Jonny Wilkinson’s name sung in the Rodber Suite, but sung it was. Texts were sent to friends in Newcastle, as I imagined that they’d be going crazy as well (but more of that in a minute). And then the moment. Five medals - Daws, Wally, Ben, Grays, and Pasky - and one trophy (even if it was raised by a Tigger, albeit a great one).

We all got chucked out into the rain (I only know that because I got asked when I got into Heroes 15 minutes later if it was still heavy), and the ITV news was on. If I wondered how they celebrated in Newcastle, I soon found out - because there they were live on the news and very drunk by the look of it. Indeed, every time I switched the TV on that weekend, I couldn’t escape them…

The afternoon’s entertainment. Leeds at home, and a strange atmosphere over the ground, with the tension of the morning affecting the noise levels. Not to worry, Saints were on fire - four tries by half time, six in all in dreadful conditions, and a 48-24 win. It was that sort of day, the very impressive performance being lost in the bigger events of the day.

Ten league games, six wins, a draw, and three defeats. The World Cup was out of the way, and phase two of the season was about to start. We could have started with an easier trip than going to Kingsholm, where as usual the locals were up for it. With the bad feeling from the first match, and Sharky making his return from suspension, we expected fireworks. The ball didn’t go dead for fully five minutes from the kick off - unfortunately when it did, it was Marcel Garvey touching the ball down over the tryline. Little did we know that public enemy number one in Gloucester (Sharky) would then touch down for two tries before half time to give Saints a lead. And then there came the World Cup effect. Vickery and Woodman came on, and within minutes, Woodman was beating five near-tackles to score and bring the house down. Saints pegged the score back to 25-20 just before time, but then proceeded to throw a point away by conceding a penalty for Henry Paul to kick. Another joyless trip home.

The Heineken Cup draw had once again put us in a tricky group, starting with a trip to Stradey Park on a Friday night. Possibly the worst game of the season quality wise was settled by an early Scott Quinnell try (offside? You tell me), and a bonus point was secured thanks to the coolness of Grays and the off-form Stephen Jones missing late kicks. A week later, Agen came to town and brought one of the best players of the French World Cup team in Jean-Jacques Crenca. He lasted six minutes, before butting Wally at the second scrum right in front of referee Nigel Williams and earning himself a red card. That made it a somewhat easier task - or it should have done. This is Saints we’re talking about, after all…

A piece of brilliance from Pepito Elhorga gave Agen a 13-7 half time lead, and it looked very worrying; if not for this match, but for progress in the group if a full strength Saints pack could not better seven men. Thankfully, it eventually turned out alright, Ben Cohen scoring a hat-trick of tries (knickers, Clare), his first since Biarritz in the same competition nearly three years earlier. There was no bonus point forthcoming though, and the big question was how would this affect that much needed progression. The group already looked like a three horse race, every point would be vital.

Tigers at home is the biggest game of the season. Except I wasn’t there, having chosen to go for a once in a lifetime chance to see England bring the World Cup home to Twickenham. I’ll be watching Saints-Tigers matches for the next fifty years hopefully, I could afford to miss one for something I’d probably never see again, and it was the first home game that I’d missed in four years.

So how was I to know that it’d be the most memorable derby in living memory?

Watching from the bar at Twickers, I must have been a really useful person to be with. Eyes locked on TV, watching as Saints literally walked on water. Three penalties from Shine, and with about fifteen minutes to go, the result was no longer relevant to me, I just wanted Leicester NIL. Time ticked on; there was always the thought of “please don’t let them score a penalty”. Two minutes of normal time to go, and Johnno was on his knees throwing the ball down in disgust. There were broken. All it needed was something special, and AB going over the line to score provided it. 14-0. Nil. Zero. Nothing. Diddly squat. AND I MISSED IT!!!!! Please god let the video have worked…

The Christmas weekend brought the longest league trip of the season, to Newcastle, although it was sunny, it was also cold. Cold enough in fact to put the match in doubt right up to half an hour before kick off, when Saints decided that they did want to play on a pitch that was, shall we say, firm underfoot. It was the return of the prodigal son to a home shirt, and he was out warming up when I arrived two hours before kick off. It’s sad to say that he probably did more warming up that day than actually playing, lasting 54 minutes before his shoulder gave way when tackled by John Clarke. Until that point, it was a fairly even game, with Falcons not firing (mainly due to the rest of the Falcons backs playing with someone they hadn’t seen for six months), and Saints being much the more fluent side. Unfortunately, when Dave Walder came on, things started to turn - and the second of those aforementioned tries were scored.

Hooker Matt Thompson broke down the wing, and kicked the ball through which looked to be Bruce’s comfortably. Now depending on which version of events you believe, Bruce either touched the ball down, or sat on the ball and never had it in full control, to allow Michael Stephenson to just put downward pressure on before the ball went dead. Unfortunately, the second version of events was from the man that mattered, referee Ashley Rowden (boooo, get off, you’re useless), and the try was awarded. That might not have been so bad, only for the following sequence of events to go kick off, Saints recover, Saints offside at ruck (missed), Saints blocking (missed), forward pass to a stretching Bealer (missed), and with a 4 on 2 overlap, a Walder interception to go 95 metres for the try under the posts. Jonny wouldn’t have made it that far…

John Leslie touched down for a try against his old club, and Grays kicked a penalty deep into injury time at 23-16 rather than go for the corner, and the gamble didn’t quite pay off - for the second time in two seasons, Saints had thrown away a winning opportunity at Kingston Park. Two things made it worse, the first being that I had a lot of beer to buy (but it was a good night out), and the second being that Newcastle’s next league win was on the last day against Rotherham. Another three points squandered.

So the last thing you then need is to have to play London Irish away from home. Ironically enough, it was one of the better days - a ridiculously easy rundown to Reading, better than usual pasties, and the first appearance in a Saints shirt of Tevita Taumoepeau. Saints were still 15-10 behind at the half though, with players dropping like flies (Rob Hunter in particular having to be taken away in an ambulance during the interval), and visions of the previous Sunday came flooding back. Within minutes of the restart, that had all been thrown out of the window, primarily by a try that was beautiful in its execution. A chip over the top of the defence from Grays inside his own 22 for Mark Tucker to run onto and take the ball into the Irish half. He recycled well, Sharky feeding the ball back to Grays to then kick cross field for Bruce to come in off his wing, take the ball on the bounce, and run in to score. Absolute brilliance. 26 unanswered second half points and the express was back on the rails.

The ZP then packed up for four weeks to allow the Heineken Cup qualification to be sorted out. The double header against Borders was frustrating in the extreme. It was absolutely imperative to get ten points from the two games, but the failure to do so at FG, only three tries coming in an unsatisfactory 20-3 win, meant that results either had to go our way elsewhere or wins were needed over both Agen and Llanelli. To add to the frustration, the return in Galashiels the following Friday was the complete opposite. A car load from the board (amongst others) made the trip up trying to spot haggis on the way (it’s a long story), and enjoyed the delights of the local hostelries and chip shop before heading down to the ground, and the Saintly support instantly took over the main stand and hollered the team to four first half tries, a punch up in the first minute between Bruce Douglas and Tom Smith that could easily have seen red rather than yellow cards, and an eventual 39-3 victory that was as easy as it sounded.

And so to Agen. As usual, the supporters travelled to France in numbers; as usual we went more in hope than expectation; and as usual, every bar before the game was full of the green, black and gold. What no-one could have expected was the evening to follow. With Agen only having suffered one home defeat in 53 games, it was going to be a difficult evening, especially from what we had seen of their pack at FG combined with the somewhat inclement weather (rain from start to finish). Saints edged in front through a couple of penalties from Grays, but the game was as tight as it could have been on a pitch that was a quagmire the week before, and getting worse now. It was one of those games that if either team scored a try, it would probably be decisive. Incredibly, marvellously, it went to a soggy Saints shirt. Grays put a grubber kick through, but looked to have overcooked it as Elhorga slid back to touch it down…and promptly slid right over it. Bruce didn’t, and touched it down as close to the dead ball line as humanly possible. More Grayson penalties, superhuman defence, and a very sore throat followed, as we screamed (literally in my case) the team to victory - a first Heineken Cup win in France, and richly deserved.

As usually happens in France, the locals were generous to a fault, and freely gave us credit for the victory. Phone calls to Paris relaying the result to friends; texts to England that got more illegible as the night went on; chats to all of the players and coaches outside the ground. It couldn’t get any better, but did. A hastily relayed message to a couple of the players that most of the supporters were heading for the Bar De La Poste somehow got through, and about a quarter past midnight, the team coach pulled up, and the first man off was a beaming Wayne Smith to a very loud rendition of Oh When The Saints in the pouring rain, followed by most of the team. The cafes were doing a lot of business with coffee the next morning. And has anyone not seen the photo of someone asleep in the Poste?

So it all boiled down to the last game of the group stage, a winner takes all game at FG against Llanelli. The Webb Ellis Trophy that was due to be at the game was withdrawn so that it didn’t fire the Welsh up. All I can say is that if that was a Llanelli team not fired up, then I wouldn’t want to play against them, or their supporters, when they were. An 18-9 defeat meant no home quarter final against Biarritz. It was now all up to the ZP.

The hangover lasted at least two weeks. First came a thoroughly unconvincing 18-8 victory over a better Rotherham team than before, and the last game which Matt Dawson played a full 80 minutes in a Saints shirt. The main talking point was the somewhat “interesting” refereeing of Steve Leyshon, as he denied Roth what seemed like a perfectly good try just ten minutes before the end. Mr Leyshon was also to the fore the following weekend, at the lunchtime kick off against Saracens, where he ended up leaving the pitch to a chorus of boos having blown for time with Sarries a metre short of the line and possibly denying them a penalty try. Everyone connected with Sarries was so chuffed with the decision that in the following week’s programme, the incident and/or the referee were only mentioned on virtually every page in the front half.

That afternoon at Vicarage Road was also noticeable for what was eventually voted as Saints try of the season, with Robbie Morris getting the ball on the wing on the halfway line, and proceeding to skin Darragh O’Mahony before sprinting towards the line. Even more impressively, he managed to offload the ball inside at the optimum moment for that Bruce bloke to score. Most pleasant - apart from the pizza adverts.

Sale at home surely couldn’t be as good as Sale away. Eight tries to two suggests it was. Add to that a Sale breakaway when with a two on none situation nearing the line, they managed to produce a forward pass (I think the cry of “forward” from the Gardens was heard in Stockport), a Steve Williams return followed by a try within minutes, and a half century of points, and it was the perfect way to bring yet another phase of the season to an end.

There then followed five weeks (give or take) off. Yes, there was the Leicester friendly, but I’m sure that if either team were involved in the Powergen Cup, then that match wouldn’t have taken place. So during my holidays I took in the Newcastle-Irish Powergen quarter final at a snowbound Kingston Park (and celebrated two birthdays that evening), then saw England lose at home to Ireland on an afternoon when Saints in the shape of Daws and Grays scored all England’s points (including Grays bringing up his 400th and last point in internationals), and followed it with another Powergen match, this time Falcons’ semi final against the Pertemps Bees - and was promptly left in charge of ordering 14 tickets for the final. Another Powergen final - they were letting me go despite my never having seen a win…

Back to Saints, and the return game against a heavily weakened, but full of spirit, Sarries. Every trick in the book was used to slow the game down, and it worked, with Saints only managing three tries in a 24-3 win. With Gloucester still breathing down our necks, despite getting hammered at Sale on the Friday evening, every point would be vital.

Into April, and a totally unconvincing Gloucester scraped past the same Sarries side that had been so poor the week before, and the pressure was on Saints in their trip to the Causeway. It was men against boys, Wasps ripping in and getting a 31-5 victory that could have been more. The outstanding image of the game, later printed on the front page of Rugby Times, was of Fraser Waters leaving John Leslie clutching at air as he dived to stop him breaking the defensive line. It was an indicator of exactly how far Saints were away from them, and at that point, we all hoped that they could overhaul Bath at the top. It was somewhat comforting to see Glaws demolished in the Heineken quarter-final the following weekend - it wasn’t just us…

And so to the most memorable weekend of the season - excuse me whilst I indulge in some good memories. Saturday 17th April, the Powergen Cup Final, Newcastle versus Sale, and it could not have gone any better. Glorious sunshine, into Twickers for dead on 11, decent beer (for a change), marketing from Falcons that was absolutely top notch, and then the biggest shock of the lot - the seats that I had hung on the phone to order, were right on the halfway line in East Lower. To then get the best match I’ve seen all season, and one that’s well up there in the best games I’ve ever seen, topped off by a Falcons victory to see all of my mates with grins like Cheshire cats, was very sweet. There then followed the rush to get a drink before the coaches left again at 5.30 (volume of rather than quality being the priority), and then two moments that were priceless. The first was trying to find a green coach, at which point I stated the obvious - “is it that one that’s pulling out?”, “YES” - and the second being watching the Ashley Rowden Fan Club mob its idol, despite him insisting that his name wasn’t in the programme. If that’s what a Powergen Cup Final win feels like, I want one as soon as possible.

Next day, and amidst the hangover, contrasting weather. After Mr R checked that I could actually see (I was slightly the worse for wear the previous evening), it was down to FG for the crunch game against Bath. With Gloucester playing immediately afterwards, the pressure was on for a win, against a team who had more than done the business against us twice already this season. There was a bit of feeling going into the match, with both the Bath Chronicle and various Bath supporters making mischief. As expected, the game wasn’t a classic in torrential conditions, but Saints edged in front twice and were pegged back twice, before one second half moment that should live with John Clarke for a long time. AB managed to turn the ball over, and with Bath having committed a number of players to the ruck, the ball was spread wide to Ben, playing in the centre, who then fed Clarkey. A jink, a hitch kick a la Campese, and he was away to the line to score what was to prove a decisive try. Just to top it off, Grays kicked a late penalty to even deny them a bonus point. Job, as they say, done. And, unfortunately, Matt Dawson’s last appearance in a Saints shirt.

Two more weeks, and going to Leeds on the world’s first mobile sauna meant travelling in the hope of regaining third place from Glaws after their Saturday win over Wasps. The first half was, to be frank, almost abject. In front of a vast travelling support, Saints trailed 10-8 having conceded another interception try, scored themselves through Darren Fox, and lost both Bruce and Grays to injury. Thankfully the wake up call came at half time, and tries from Bealer and Ben (a juicy pair) gave Saints the bonus point victory and just meant that we all sang louder and longer. The gap was now three points, and only a home defeat could rob Saints of third place.

Trouble was, the game was against a Quins side who had handed out a battering earlier in the season. The pre-match picnic was well attended, and Saints looked comfortable in building up an 11-0 half time lead, as news kept creaking through that Gloucester were being mullered at the Rec. A Quins try just after the break was cancelled out by a later penalty try for Saints (about the only decision given by Roy Maybank all afternoon that was agreed on by both sets of supporters), but two late tries made the final scoreline rather too close for comfort at 18-17. It was the last Gardens hoorah for Bealer, JP, JL, and Mark Connors among others, and we all hoped that they’d have one last shot at Twickenham.

It meant getting past Wasps at the Causeway, never an easy task, and on another bright day the lights finally went out on the season. For thirty minutes, Saints were in front after two penalties from Bruce, but as soon as Tom Voyce scored to make it 8-6, the writing hit the wall. Dallaglio and Erinle also scored tries before half time, and the second half saw the floodgates open. Tries from AB, and a turn back time farewell effort from Bealer were never going to be enough, and the double winners triumphed 57-20.

Thoughts on the season? Well, I’ll stick with what I’ve been thinking for the past year and a bit. Saints under Wayne Smith couldn’t, for some reason, win the really big matches, those games which define how good a team actually is. Yes, the London Irish semi-final was won last season, as was the game in Agen, but the really defining matches to me were the Wasps games (no disgrace, they’re the best in the country, although as Bath proved in the ZP final, not head and shoulders above everyone), the Bath cup tie, the Llanelli home game, and the league trips to Quins (not able to keep anywhere near the level of the previous week) and Gloucester (big atmosphere, big opposition, too many Saints shrank). The rugby was exciting to watch, yes, but I always had the feeling that certain games needed different tactics, and some teams were paid more respect than championship winning teams normally show them.

I’ve no doubt that the players and coaching staff performed to the best of their abilities, but there comes a time when you just have to say to certain individuals thank you, but we need someone better in your position. The old guard, great as some of them are and legends as some of then will be, are gone, and hopefully the new broom in Alan Solomons can sweep clean, but I for one am not expecting miracles in the first season, and wouldn’t be at all surprised if Saints finished as low as sixth next term as Solly takes into account what he has at the club and what he needs to win trophies.

Stars of the season for me were the frequently superb Bruce and Sharky, and the ever-present and ever-willing Darren Fox. Shane Drahm surprised me, being a better player than I remembered him at Bristol (although only seeing him twice a season may have clouded that judgement), whilst in John Clarke Smudger may have identified a young version of Bealer. And AB - how we will miss him when he goes home.

There’s promise there, but I just hope that the call doesn’t come for instant success. Bath’s success was a surprise, but then when you have a turnover of 33 players in pre-season, plus a change of coach, you can almost build from scratch. I don’t see that happening for any club next season, but if I had to have a guess at the order of the league now come next May, I’d go for Wasps, Leicester, Gloucester, Bath, Saints, Sale, Falcons, Sarries, Quins, Irish, Leeds and Worcester.

That’s twelve months away. The important number is the three months until the start of another season…and I’ll be there ready and waiting.