BRK
- ORK FINAL 2004
14-11
[25-09-2004]
by Tom "Popeye" Mountjoy
BRK Team:
1. Samir
Sayed-Ahmed
2. Karl Louis Frisch
3. Svein Jarle Slinde
4. Eivind Elsebutangen Lunde
5. Stian Røstberg
6. Derek James Johnson
7. David Andrew McKay Hume
8. Ian Bell Irving (c)
9. Hanro
van Wyk
10. Hamish Donald Reid Esplin
11. Stian Thorvaldsen
12. David George Bourne
13. Tim Peter Edström
14. Åsmund Vassel
15. Francis Ramon James Hunt (1 try, 0/1 conv, 3/5 pen)
16. Vidar
Sletthaug (in for nr.7 after 70 minutes)
17. David Robert Benjamin (blood sub 1st half, in for nr.6 after 30 minutes)
18. Tommy Vassnes (blood sub in overtime)
19. Thomas Mountjoy (in for nr.11 after 50 minutes)
20. Christian Bråstein Dahl (blood sub x 2)
21. Hervé Socquet-Juglard
(Do Fran & Tim look REALLY friendly and cosy in this
picture, or is it just me?)
Leaving
the rain behind for the season's last hurrah against the old rivals the
BRK lads (and Hanro) converged in planes, trains
and automobiles in orderly fashion upon Oslo's fine paved boulevard for pre-match
bacon sarnies and chips. No throwing of food
or waitress chatting-up this time of the day, in fact very orderly and
subdued musings highlighting the fact that we are indeed civilized gents,
or perhaps that Derek's folks were present and Willie was not. After fighting
our way past the throng of squealing autograph hunters and blazing press
lights we worked out seating arrangements (thanks David) for the trip
to the ground. It was a relaxed atmosphere amongst the lads, but signs
of seriousness were evident as kick-off was approaching fast. Svein
Jarle even declined the opportunity to visit the pet shop,
even though they had a 3-for-1 deal on budgies.
The
first car arrived just before the press did and we managed to find a decent
dry patch of grass, with ideal sized rocks and bushes nearby that were
to be our changing rooms. We were indeed well catered for. The other cars
pulled up in good time and the 'switch on' message reverberated throughout
as we got changed and prepared some preliminary warm-up drills. It was
rather gratifying at this stage of the season not to have to shake hands
of introduction and decide who was to throw line-outs and wonder if we
had any substitutes or a referee. Things have indeed progressed throughout
the season and the collective focus of the drills and stretches was one
of togetherness and a resolute desire and optimism that this indeed was
going to be a match that was ours for the taking. I don’t think anyone
caught a glimpse of the opposition before kick-off and even if they had
managed to coerce Jonah Lomu into a comeback,
we still would have maintained the positive determination (well, especially
those of us on the bench). After a final few minutes of personal preparation,
increased intensity and words of wisdom from Ian, the 'lets get out there,
play like we know we can and hit them f***ing
hard!' message led the black and reds out onto the pitch before a 200+
strong audience.
Bergen immediately took the initial clashes to Oslo in a confident manner pinning the
opposition on their line after strong lineout work and diligent support
play around the rucks, all under the watchful
eye of referee Winnie. This was to be a game
where offsides, knock-on's and slowing
tactics were to be called up and backchat/dirty play punished with penalties
or cards neither side could afford. The stakes were high today and having
an official out there with authority and knowledge of the game was something
unaccustomed to most of us during the season's matches. It was a mark
of respect to Winnie that Oslo (and those on
the sidelines) made few words of disrespect throughout the match, although
his reputation was somewhat tainted later on
that night with a bizarre ritualistic display of pouring a pint over himself,
whilst happily settling down after with a prized bottle of Watermelon
Breezer. This type of behaviour would result
in banishment from the club in some southern latitude countries Winnie,
but you may just label this shift in drinking pattern 'old age'?
Unable
to crack the resolute Oslo line BRK had to make do with two close range penalties which Francis eased
over after adjusting his headband to see straight. More intensity in the
scrummaging and competitiveness in the lineouts
allowed Oslo more of the ball after the initial twenty minute onslaught
and Drillo's longball tactic became
more evident as a harmless midfield rake from Oslo's fullback Gio miraculously evaded BRK's threequarters and, like a W. Wilson at an ungdomsskole, the pill was plucked before any authority was
on hand to restrain it and Oslo had the game's first try. Well against
the run of play, the home side was back in the match and after losing
Derek through injury and Eivind briefly to the
bloodbin the possession evened out and enabled
Oslo's flyhalf
to regain the lead 8-6 after a careless offside. Halftime came and gave
the boys time to reflect on the tightness of the game and the need to
eradicate small errors and continue to play as a cohesive unit in order
to carry the trophy home in forty minutes. Words of wisdom from captain
Ian and somewhere, someplace Drillo shouting
'more shit kicks over the top please!' ended the drinks break and the
second and deciding half kicked off.
An
early penalty to BRK, converted well by Francis, gave the visitors the
lead 9-8 which was to stay until the dying minutes. Both sides were testing
each other's resolve in set pieces, with ascendancy swinging back and
forth and naturally resulting in minor acts of aggression judged worthy
of numerous penalties and sinbinnings. Karl received his obligatory card at a critical
time midway through the half but was ably replaced by Donnie showing just
why Harlequins had a scout on the touchline looking at this 'utility of
all utilities'. Backline play was consigned to close quarter running and
hard tackling by the insiders Dave, Hamish and Hanro
with little room for free-flowing play that was our intended weapon. Likewise,
Oslo seemed unable to swing the ball wide without dropping it or cutting
back in, so the ascendancy we needed to push for the final flurry was
left to our forwards who to their tribute never stopped running despite
such dodgy knees, bloodied faces and unkempt hair.
Five
minutes remained when a kickable penalty was awarded to Oslo and they duly gained the ascendancy
once again 11-9, much to the excitement of the flag-waving, drum-beating
supporters high up in the stands. BRK were not to be outdone though and
straight from the kickoff rucked
and mauled the ball (with a Drillo or two thrown
in) up to the quarter line and presented Hanro
with a chance to discover how to pass straight to Hamish and realize that
a backline move at speed was long overdue. Pace and swift passing through
Hamish, missing Tim to Dave Bourne then on to the headbanded,
tank-legged enigma himself Francis with the line in sight. Oslo were late to the party and (my view
obscured) no doubt five sidesteps, two fends and a Rokococo
shimmy later, the ball was planted and the final was back in Bergen's hands. Scenes reminiscent of a Larry
Flint weekender minus the Lolitas gave way to
a tense few minutes of injury time with last minute bloodbin
replacements before the final knock-on and whistle gave BRK the NM title
2004 with a scoreline of 14-11. Jubilant scenes
followed, more mate-like than Flint-like, as the ghosts of the past two
seasons and the early season loss were banished.
Ian
thanked all the guys involved for their commitment throughout the whole
match which was first and foremost a collective team victory with each
and every member of the squad contributing to a vital pass, tackle, knock-on,
wayward kick or bottle refill all enabling in some small way the trophy
to head back to the 7-fjells adorned with the black and red ribbon.
Speeches
made, medals hung, photos taken, slaps, kisses and tickles later and it
was b-line to the pub and the after-match function. Luckily all the lads
and supporters made it through the variable nocturnal nightlife scenes
of Oslo's inner east to a hard to find underground
den with cheap pints, food and disco lights. Tim had obviously stopped
off at the off-licence on the way and Willie was intent on establishing
that the Oslo lock was not the only one with long hair present that night. Stories of
heroics on the field were thrown about dominated by who would take away
the knock-on award. Willie was in contention up to the final whistle until
someone discovered he was not at the ground. There should have been a
Drillo award for kicking: 'kick and hope for the best, it
worked in the 1994 and 1998 World Cup's, so it's gotta
be good for us'. That's rugby in Norway, taking the best from both worlds.
Pints were downed with ease during the awards, especially Winnie's,
with merit given to those who played well, dressed badly, retired and
looked in rubbish bins. The jovial atmosphere of the den made way for
some street action as a large BRK contingent headed out in search of new
adventures. Yours truly, pleased at avoiding a whack to the damaged eye
during the game, was duly punished for having the wrong shoes on and pile-driven
into a bush by Hanro and finished off by Dave Hume. Not one for the scrapbook
that. Aussie Dave and Ian played boy scout leaders
to a group of adolescents intent on pulling each others hair out and beating
one another with their shoes, whilst the rest of us had trouble keeping
up with our tour leader Dave Hume. Dave, next time carry a GPS so we don’t
get lost please?. Some of us made it to an establishment
named Dattera til
Hagen including tourboy Samir
who slipped his way in past the doorman despite being only 12. The place
was packed upstairs, perfect for gropers but not so for geezers so tables
and chairs were found downstairs upon which to assert our west coast presence.
By this time the beer had kicked in and tummies were rumbling again so
with little activity on the drinking/checking front and no takers (well,
we had Hanro with us) for our obvious good looks,
charm and wit it was kebab time.
Oslo locals Arnt and
Kristine guided the way to Peshawa Pizza (sic)
where the doners were downed with the class
and dexterity of…..well, a Svein Jarle
eating a doner……After a pit stop at our new
found friends apartment for a final refreshment it was apparent Arnt's
charm offensive was not working and Kristine was moving ever so close
so we headed back to the hostel in the wee small hours. Just enough time
though for trolley races with Ayrton Van Wyk,
Alain Irving and Rubens Bourne providing onlookers with much amusement.
Why is it that trollies always turn-up on street
corners at 4am?
The
hostel was home already to Karl, Fran, Dave Hume and Aussie Dave when
we arrived and after a quick undie wedgie
from Ian, Karl was happy for the rest of the night, only to be kept awake
by something Fran found amusing coupled by the fighting in the corridors,
the fire alarm going off and increasingly high methane levels rising to
the ceilings.
A
great weekends rugby and festivities had by all and a fine way to cap
off a long and staggered season that showed where the heart of Norwegian
rugby truly lies.
::
Read more ::
>>
ORK's
Match Report
(You've
got to love the choice of wording here:
"This
gave Bergen the National title after coming in second for the last 2 years...")
>>
PICTURES
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