Whether it is just me, and my turn to write the report, or whether there is some greater force at work, I dare not think, but this was a worse performance than at the Stoop, three weeks ago.

I read Red Saint’s preview, and for a moment, I was filled with hope, until I realised that I would be forced to follow that with my own offering, and for that to be a success, I was reliant on my team pulling out the stops and putting together, if not a win, at least a decent performance.

I am sorry to disappoint you, dear reader, but this was not a performance to be proud of, and somehow, in the next page or so, I have to do it justice. I made copious notes during the match, and I even took some photos, but I don’t feel I need to refer to either to complete this report. If you want the facts, I suggest you refer to other, more mainstream reports in the media. London Irish (and I can’t even be bothered to call them the NotNots or even “London” “Irish”) scored 5 tries to our 1, and were good value for their win.

This was a scrappy game. My notes seem to read “Saints knock-on”, followed by “Saints knock-on”, and then, “Saints knock-on” – do you get my drift? This was a team lacking in so much confidence that not only do they not believe in themselves, they don’t believe in their team mates. Very few of them can leave Reading with any sense of pride, but the performance showed not so much a team devastated by injury, as a team who get the basics wrong and cannot foresee a future, whether five minutes or five games away, where they can get those basics right.

Mr Maybank, playing the role of Bertie Bassett this week, had one of his usual games. Those around me suggested he should have gone to Specsavers, preferably sooner rather than later, but I felt we were penalised because we offended. I don’t know why Dylan Hartley was yellow carded towards the end of the first half, neither am I sure why we had a penalty reversed during the second half, but they say you make your own luck. On that performance, we didn’t deserve any luck.

I watched two games of rugby yesterday, and saw a team in white, lacking in confidence, play poor rugby against a team in green who wanted to win more that the opposition. I then watched a team in black annihilate a team in red, who had been accused of being village idiots. I’m not sure where the parallels to today start and finish, but the team in white never believed they could win, and the team in green certainly wanted it more, but I refuse to call my Saints ‘Village Idiots.’

The game started badly from Northampton’s perspective. Carlos kicked off, with a low grubber-style kick, from which Irish ran a quick counter back, before a neat cross kick allowed Delon Armitage to run in almost unopposed, and the score was 5-0 with less than 90 seconds on the clock. A team in form would undoubtedly have fought back at this point, spurred into action by such an early mistake. All I could see was heads dropping, and penalties awarded for the wrong sort of a fight back – with blows reigning down rather than rugby skills being brought to the fore.

The game, reading my notes was clearly strewn with errors from both sides, but my memory only has logged those from the men in white. Irish were pinged for a line out being not straight, and from the resulting clearance kick off the back of the scrum, Dylan Hartley drove the Irish winger into touch – a good sharp piece of play. However, he missed his jumper at the line out, and Saints were pinged at the breakdown.  With the defence not so much napping as comatose, Paul Hodgson, the Irish scrum half, dotted down under the posts. The stadium announcer seemed to take particular pleasure in reminding us that the score was 12 – NIL.

From the kick off, Saints were awarded a penalty as the Irish players came offside, but then we turned over the ball by delaying the throw in to the line out. For a period of time, every move we tried came to naught, and no matter how close we got to the Irish line, we failed to convert any effort into points. A quick line out from Digger (our winger, not their slightly hairier mascot) to Going was punted miles down the field, but missed touch, and when Irish were finally stopped, they were well inside our 22.

Another Saints attack triggered by the same two players was ended with an Irish penalty for not staying on your feet at the tackle, and guess what? We found ourselves back inside our own 22.

Perhaps Saints’ best move of the half came from a free kick after a scrum (remind me to talk about the scrums later!) Carlos took it quickly, and found Robbie Kydd outside, who quickly found Digger on the wing. The move was at to opposite end of the ground to me, so I cannot be sure how far from scoring he was, but it wasn’t far. He was tackled and the ball was recycled promptly from left to right, but another Saints knock on gifted the ball to the home side.

As we pressed on to try and dirty the scoreboard before half time, Kydd nearly crossed, only for the ball to come loose, when it was hacked down field. Despite the best efforts of Saints’ debutant, Mathieu Bourret, it was Irish’s right wing, Justin Bishop who got the touch down. The conversion left the score at 19-0 after 29 minutes.

It was shortly after this, that Dylan saw yellow. A conference amongst the depressed hordes in Green Black and Gold failed to work out why, for it can only have been for an off-the-ball incident as the team retreated and Irish pressed forwards to a line out inside the Saints’ 22. This attack saw the home team cross the line, but fail to ground the ball. No matter, an advantage was being played, and the successful kick left the half-time score at 22-0.

I tried to make some useful notes in the interval, but my half-time thoughts were melancholy in the extreme. I considered my family forebears to work out if I could claim Irish descendancy – but only so I could support a decent international side, for once a Saint, always a Saint, no matter how hard it is, and how difficult the team make it for me.

It is worth noting that when we were going forward, we looked a useful side, but only when we kept the ball. I didn’t keep count, and I don’t have my own personal pro-zone system, but I doubt we managed to keep the ball for more than a couple of phases nor were we able to string more than three or four passes together without knocking on. We weren’t so much suffering with white-line fever, than white line phobia. And the scrums – did I mention the scrums? I can’t recall one finishing without a freekick or penalty awarded to one side or the other? I was never much of a player, and only featured in the front row once, but I don’t recall it being so difficult to complete the set piece without infringing

Ah well, there was always the second half to look forward to, for no doubt some harsh words were had in the dressing room. And whaddya know, the Saintly ones did indeed start brightly, with Robbie Kydd launching a decent attack down the left wing, only for the ball to be turned over in contact.

And then it was the same old story. Irish were marshalled superbly by man-of-the match, Mike Catt, who in the space of 3 minutes knocked over a simple drop goal before scoring another ‘hackaway’ try, leaving the score eight minutes into the half at 32-0.

There was one moment of brightness, as Sharky Robinson still showed some fight. Saints were awarded a penalty 40 metres out, and Carlos, looking a bit forlorn, simply made the touch safe, rather than blasting for the corner. As we drove for the line, once again the ball was spilled forwards. As the Irish Scrum half picked up from the back of the scrum, so Sharky drove him hard into touch. From the line out, he was driven over, but ruled held-up. From the back of the scrum, it was he who picked up and shot over in the corner. Bourret had his first attempt at goal in Saintly colours, but the kicked was tough from the touch line, and faded left.

On 60 minutes, the usual flood of replacements began. I’d like to say they spoiled the continuity, but that would imply there had been some, and that would be wrong.

I’d also like to say that Sharky’s try inspired the team to great heights of endeavour, but that too would be wrong.

It was Irish who continued the scoring, but despite being 27 points to the good, still opted to kick a penalty from in front of the posts.

There was one curious incident worth mentioning. As Saints were attacking, an advantage was awarded as Irish infringed. The ball came back to Carlos, who sensing nothing was on, deliberately spilled it to halt the game. As the team made their way to the mark, Sharky tapped the ball and began to charge towards the line. Mr Maybank was not happy, and called play back to the correct mark, maybe three or four yards from where the penalty had been taken. But perhaps for lip – I’m not sure – the penalty was reversed, and Irish cleared the line.

As they broke forward for the umpteenth time, it was the replacement winger, Topsy O’Jo who crossed in the corner with his first touch. This left the score at 40-5.

What more do you want to know? There were probably more knock-ons, more turn-overs, but this reporter had lost the will to report. The clock ticked to zero, Mr Maybank sent the teams to the dressing room, and then we were told that Worcester had won.

Eleventh is a good place to be. It’s better than twelfth, but my fear is that we won’t be able to hang onto that spot. Where do we go from here? Some have said next week is a dead rubber, a nothing game. Nothing could be further from the truth. It could be the most important game of the season. We need to field a full strength team, and hope we can play a good game when there is no pressure. Then, perhaps, we can go to Parma with some confidence. If we do, back-to-back wins are a possibility, and confidence will return. If we don’t, a humiliating return to the lower league beckons

I know these players can pass, and catch, and kick, and recycle the ball. They can play rugby. I’ve seen them do it. The one thing lacking is confidence – and that is hard to find when the pressure is on. So where will it come from? I only wish your author could tell you.

Richard Slater

26 November 2006