IT’S SUNDAY morning, you open your bleary eyes, and there it is, that dark memory of the day before where it all went terribly wrong.
You have that stab of hurt in your stomach and that pervasive underlying sick feeling of not wanting to face people or even talk about it.
You sigh, reach out your hand, and instead of locating your glasses, you happen on the remote control for the old stereo, and absent mindedly press play.
There, amidst the darkness, a ray of light shines through your beleaguered thoughts as Ian McCulloch’s dulcet tones wrap their silken threads around your ears.
Suddenly, all you can think about is a piece of toast and a nice brew, and those dark thoughts are banished from whence they came, such is life ladies and gentlemen, such is life.
Fourteen men went to mow the meadow, fourteen men got whipped on said meadow, fourteen men came back, had a pint and went home with promises to play next week, and well they should.
It’s a simple case of getting together a tad earlier before the match, warm up properly and apply the basics.
Ignore events beyond our control and play with that smile that never disappeared on Saturday even though the game was a tad difficult.
Nobody played that badly, they just never got any control and they failed to capitalise on the one very potent weapon at their disposal, namely the scrum.
As ever Danny Smith at nine gave it all he had and scored the try that effort and endeavour deserved.