Twilight guide to beating France (and Australia)
Unless you live under a rock – correction: unless you live under a rock which has no female organisms sheltering down there with you – you will be aware that Edward and Bella are going to be back flashing their cheekbones at each other today week, though obviously Jacob Black is going to have a lot to say about that, and as for those Volturi . . .
Ahem. Sorry. Got a little carried away there.
The Twilight series of books and movies focuses on Forks, Washington, a sleepy small town which hosts a family of patrician, elegant vampires – the Cullens – and a tribe of plaid-shirt-wearing, rugged Native American-werewolves, the Quileute.
(This column’s significant other usually feels it necessary to point out that properly speaking they’re shape-shifters rather than werewolves, at which point this column laughs, which usually provokes the S. Other to cite this column’s insistence that the villains in 28 Days Later can’t be zombies because properly speaking they’re infected, not undead... and you’re right.
Nobody really emerges from that exchange looking like a capable adult).
We raise the spectre of Twilight ahead of this weekend’s feast of international sport, a smorgasbord crying out for the word “bumper” to be attached to it somewhere, with a particular conceit in mind.
Consider for a second the fact that tomorrow evening’s World Cup qualifier sees the Republic of Ireland confront a group of players celebrated for their feline grace and lithe skills, stylish and aloof, men born sang froid – literally – running through their veins.
The following afternoon, then, the Irish rugby team take to the same field against an outfit universally regarded as aggressive, confrontational, and in the case of George Smith in the past and Pek Cowan in the present, unafraid of a flowing mane.
Elegance and mongrel. See what we’re getting at?
WE’RE unable to pursue our line of thinking to its natural conclusion, unfortunately. Richard Dunne may as well leave the garlic in the dressing-room (the Minister for Finance will be down for that later).
Trying to eclipse Thierry Henry will take a bit more than waving a crucifix a la Professor Van Helsing.
In the same vein (sorry) Brian O’Driscoll might as well forget about slipping a silver bullet or two into the pocket of his shorts usually reserved for his gumshield.
We doubt even that would halt Rocky Elsom’s gallop.
Still, a little co-ordination between the respective Irish managers and coaches could have paid dividends this weekend; in Twilight the vampires and the werewolves/shape-shifters come into conflict with each other rather than a third party.
If Giovanni Trapattoni had been more vocal about the French disdain for Australia (“You should have heard what they call Bend in the River – ‘wine?’ they said . . ”) . . . if Declan Kidney had let fly about the Australians’ disrespect for La Republique (“Robbie Deans was saying to me there earlier that you’ll be a long time looking in Paris for a decent steak,”).
It could have worked. Distracting the opposition is a rewarding art if you can master it, and we’ve missed something of an opportunity here.
A face-off between France and Australia later on this evening – we’d envisage the dance floor in Copper Face Jacks as the ideal venue – would have left the boys in both shades of green in a better position with the breaking dawn tomorrow morning.
Not to worry. They’ll have to do the business on the field instead.
It’ll just take a little bit of mongrel. And a little bit of je ne sais quoi.
contact: michael.moynihan@examiner.ie; Twitter MikeMoynihanEx
