What can I say about this match that hasn't already been said?
The very fact that the score remained 0-0 for so long highlighted the tension that was there for all to see.
I can't explain it - maybe it was the fact that it was my birthday, maybe it was a sense of destiny, but even at halftime when we were 6-0 down I somehow knew we were going to win.
I even said it to everyone around me in Dicey Riley's. "We're still going to win", is what I said. Not everyone around me had a similar confidence, including my 8+months pregnant wife.
But guess what…no sooner does the second half kickoff, than we scored.
But wasn't that the most anti-climactic try you've ever seen? From the angle on the telly, it didn't look like anyone had crossed at first. Even the Ireland players didn't seem to celebrate.
Yet once you saw the first replay, you knew the almighty BOD had done it again.
Then practically from the kickoff we're at them again, and what a take & run from Tommy Bowe! WHO PLAYS HIS RUGBY FOR THE OSPREYS!!!
Wonder what his next club training session is going to be like?
Bish-bash-bosh, it was 14-6, and we started to feel it now. And what’s more, I stretched my destiny theory even further when I made the bold statement : "There is absolutely NO WAY they're crossing our line".
Everyone around me remained silent. They were probably cursing me in their heads and getting ready to rip my jinxing ass apart should the result have gone against us.
Though as it turned out, had Stephen Jones' last-gasp effort gone over, they would have beaten us WITHOUT scoring a try.
But if you ask me, it was a gust of wind driven by the ghosts of the 1949 team that made that kick fall short.
And let’s not forget that the miss is not what Jones should be brooding over.
It was him kicking to touch on the full having had the ball passed to him from outside his 22 that gave us the attacking line-out which led to Ronan’s historic drop-goal.
I don’t know about you, but that is one ELV I hope never gets changed!!!
So in the end, not even Wayne Barnes' ludicrous awarding of 15 penalties against us as opposed to 5 against the home side could stop us.
And when the final whistle did blow, the fun could begin.
Everyone in the pub was shouting and jumping and hugging. Even the gob-daws who kept opening the door and blocking our view of the tellies were forgiven.
A mate of mine banged his head on the corner of the ceiling above him after jumping and excitement, but he didn't care.
The Slam is ours, and sure isn't it grand.
I'll do a review of the Six Nations tournament as a whole later in the week, but for now, let's just enjoy this wonderful feeling and remember how proud we are to be Irish.
