First, I want
to say that it has been rewarding and so very hard to write about the World
Cup. Rewarding, because I get to relive my experience through my words, and
hard, because there are so many things I could say, so many events I could
describe, so many interactions I could detail, and it’s hard to pick out the
most important or the most blog-worthy moments.
I’ve started
on the last part of this blog series about a half dozen times now, and I can’t
ever find my footing. The hardest part of World Cup, was of course the
competition and everything surrounding or a part of that. It’s also very hard
to put that part of the experience into words. The anxiety, nerves, elation,
tension, excitement, joy, and all of the other emotions were amplified, and
would simultaneously flood over you at times. So, this is me trying to put that
experience into words.
Let’s start
with our first two matches. Against Italy and Spain, we played in the stadium
at University College, Dublin. Those matches were lead ups to the stadium’s
main event, which was always an Ireland match, so we always had a big crowd.
The stadium wasn’t the biggest, nor was the crowd, and the pitch was the same
as any other pitch, but with the World Cup logo painted on the grass and three
years of built up expectations humming in the crowd, everything was bigger,
louder, longer, faster.
Leading up to
the games, we always had a match pitch familiarization block in our schedule. During
this time, we get to walk around the match pitch, check out the locker rooms,
and get used to our competition venue. During the match pitch familiarization,
the field and stadium look and feel like any other would. On gameday,
everything is more.
When we lined
up, outside of our locker room, ready to take the pitch against Italy on August
9, energy radiated from each of my teammates. When the World Rugby folks put on
the pre-game music, we all felt our hearts beating in our throats, perhaps
because the pre-game music was a very loud and aggressive heartbeat. When we
formed our circle after singing our National Anthem, you could feel the
electricity in the moment.
And then
there was the whistle, and all of that melted away. When you’ve been playing at
the elite level, you learn present moment awareness. You learn to put away your
awe when it’s time to take care of business. Those moments leading up to a
World Cup match, transform you into a kid again. You’re smaller than everything
that surrounds you, looking up with wonder at a world that’s new, scary, and
exciting. When the whistle blows, you’re a scrappy, hard-working hooker again,
intent on running over your opponent.
We handled
Italy and Spain in dominant performances, though we would’ve liked to do more
things right in both cases. We left points on the field, in both matches, and
we think we should’ve shut out Italy. Our match against England, ended in a
loss, and though we scored four tried and picked up a bonus point, had our
defense against the maul been better, we would’ve had a shot to win that game
as well.
Despite the
loss against England, we would advance to the semi-finals. Wales did us a
favor, in their match against Canada, and held them to only one try, so though
the Canadians won, they didn’t earn a bonus point. Nor did they earn a bonus
point in their final pool match, a loss against New Zealand.
I was having
dinner with my mother and step-father, at Kiely’s of Donnybrook (I realize that
the name of the restaurant has no significance to this story, but it sounds oh
so Irish), after our match against Spain, while Wales was playing Canada. The
Spain match was the first international match my mother had ever seen.
Kiely’s was
full of Canadians, part of a viewing party, so we got to see the Canadians play
Wales. Fresh off our second bonus point win, we had put ourselves out front of
the pack. With only four teams advancing to the playoff rounds from pool play,
we were in the catbird seat. And there, at Kiely’s, with a beef stew and a
coffee warming me—a nice post-game recovery meal—I watched the happy Canadian
viewing party relish in their victory over Wales. I relished along with them,
because Wales had given Canada a run for their money, and now Canada would have
to either beat, tie, or eke out a bonus point in a loss against New Zealand
(and hope we lost to England without a bonus point) to advance. Bonus points
are life, when your World Cup can’t handle more than four teams in a playoff.
We were
confident, going into the days leading up to the England match. We thought we
could beat England, and though there was plenty of pressure to do so, we knew
we were in a good position, having earned two bonus points thus far. And then,
right before we played England, New Zealand routed Canada.
The Canadians
are a strong team—very strong. Their scrum is powerful and dynamic, they run
good lines, their backline has a few threats, and they play with a bit of
finesse here and there. They aren’t the most powerful, the fastest, or the most
creative, but they have all of those aspects of their game honed, and they
execute.
We all
thought they would give the Black Ferns a run for their money, but that wasn’t
the case. New Zealand made them look amateur (something they’d do to us a few
days later), and after the Black Ferns’ victory, we knew we’d perhaps be seeing
them in the semis (if France took care of Ireland).
The England
match was tough. Our defense was ill prepared for their maul, and they exploited
that to the fullest. However, in the last 15-20 minutes of that match, we
played perhaps the fastest rugby in the entire World Cup, or at least that’s
what our S&C coach told us.
When you play
New Zealand, you always face a unique challenge, and that is the Haka. How do
you approach centuries of tradition with respect, but also an “unfuckwithable”
attitude? We decided to do both. We stepped up to the Haka, but acknowledged
the tradition, in which their war cry is steeped. And we also stepped up to the
challenge of playing with New Zealand…for a half. Our second half wasn’t
exactly our best rugby, and we put ourselves out of Cup contention.
I’ve talked
about the nerves going into our opening matches, but I don’t recall my feeling,
before the semi-final and the 3rd place matches, being one of
nerves. It was more of an anxious humming. We’d also been dealing with injuries
and other issues, and so pulling tighter together probably helped the nerves.
We went into
the 3rd place match with a young rookie flyhalf, and different faces
all over the field. We were too concerned with supporting each other and being
as efficient as possible on our side of the ball to devote much time to our
nerves. While, we strayed a bit from our game plan a bit, we played well
against the French. And though we couldn’t claw our way to a win, we clawed.
It wasn’t
what we wanted, but it was probably a fitting way to end our World Cup—not
quite having enough against the top three teams in the world. Not all journeys
end in a sunset ride. Not all finales are nail-biting championships. Ours was
much more.
I’m not sure
I’ve ever been part of a team that had so little inter-squad drama/tension/bad
vibes. This squad was special. A lot of teams talk about playing for one
another; this team walked that walk. It is my firm belief that our biggest
asset at the World Cup, which played the biggest role in our success, was the
way we pulled together and played for each other. Like I said, it was special.
I made memories and friends I’ll never forget.