"A friend we will never forget": Ronan O'Gara's tribute to Anthony Foley
Is it really Friday? Of late, time passes in stages of nightmare, not hours or days.
There are moments and scenes I know. Airports. Prayers. Arrangements. Transport. But they all fuse into an emotional daze. We are all nowhere near a stage of mourning yet, because I am not accepting it, not able to accept that Axel is gone. Watching him being taken from the team hotel last Sunday evening in Paris was being hit by a freight train. But we seek the insulation of denial then to get us through. This evening (Thursday) we gather in Killaloe. On Saturday, we gather in Thomond Park. It’s important to be there. I hope the entire 2006 Munster squad will be there. There’s strength in numbers. These so-called bullet-proof rugby players are feeling unbelievably vulnerable at the minute.
I could say this has been a dreadfully difficult week, but that is wrong on many, many levels. Incorrect. if this is difficult for his colleagues and friends, what is this for Olive and her two children?
No, difficult is not accurate.
This is something none of us have ever experienced. I’ve seen a lot of rugby and life, but this is something I haven’t seen. For me, this was Munster v Racing, that’s all it was about. A fella against me I’d played my whole career with. A juicy tingle of rivalry. We loved that. Everything in my career with Munsteer was interwoven with Axel. And there should have been words of consolation, a handshake, from one of us after. Who knows which way. And a beer in the dressing room afterwards. That was a given.
And this is what happens.
Things like this take months and years to digest. How it affects me or Jess or any of the Munster lads and their partners is infinitesimally small compared to Olive and the kids. That’s the only thing that’s in my head.
Peter O’Mahony was right. Nothing I am going to say here will do Anthony Foley justice.
Everyone is rattled. Axel was an ordinary man. A Christy Moore ordinary man.
The only thing is he was no ordinary man. The more you know Axel, the better you appreciate him. You’ve got to get to know him. You earn the right to know him, and he’s worth the investment. He’s a fella that’s closed to most people. He’s not open for business to just anyone. But if he takes to you…he’s been there every moment for me and with me. The day I made by debut for Munster, away to Harlequins, was the only day ever he didn’t start for Munster. Greg Tuohy took his place. And ever since, when the slagging started, Axel got absolutely hammered for that, right to this day. You know the Munster dressing room, nothing sacred. Any time the going got tough for fellas in that unforgiving crucible, it was thrown back at him.
He had a wicked sense of humour. The craic in that side dressing room in UL was merciless. A slagging to cut you in two. Brilliant. He loved the banter. That’s what made him great in camps and on tours. In the morning time, though, stay away from him, you’d get nothing. It was like hopping off a wall. But any time after lunch, you’re sorted.
From a rugby point of view, Axel kept things simple, he was so direct and to his point. There was no general chat. If you didn’t agree, he’d spell it out even plainer for you. But that’s great too. He had a quick way of finding a solution. People cite his rugby intelligence, and that’s right. But he’s a footballer too, remember.
When Garret FitzGerald’s number came up on the phone last Sunday, I thought he was leaving it very late to suggest going for a coffee before the game. If I’d got a call from anyone else suggesting what he did, I’d be telling him to go back and check his misinformation. His gravelly voice confirmed the grave news was horribly accurate. And he was extremely upset. The lads had been ringing Axel’s phone and his room. Someone said they’d go upstairs and check.
Munster never got to the ground in Colombes. Racing had been and left. We drop the gear there early before repairing to a nearby hotel for a team meeting and pre-match meal. I told one or two of the players before the team meeting that there was no game. Word spread quickly. This was around 1pm Irish time. I told our joint head coach Laurent Labit I had just got a call. They were brilliant in the way they immediately said it was not possible to play the game, even though a postponement hadn’t even been mooted at this point. Foley? Foley’s a legend, Labit said. The Munster players cannot play.
I think Garret had rang the EPCR and said if you want to give the game to Racing, do so, but our coaches had said under no circumstances would that happen. And these were some circumstances. Our boys were having coffee, getting strapped up. Once they heard the reason, there was just silent disbelief. The reaction in France has been huge. Dusautoir, Pelous, legends who I’d have no contact with have been onto me expressing their condolences. It’s one of the upsides of the digital age, the way the message gets spread. I had Rua Tipoki onto me from New Zealand within a few minutes of finding out myself.
The moment we all descended into the surreal was arriving at the Munster hotel near Longchamp. And meeting a father like Brendan Foley. Sitting in the team room, meeting the new Munster staff whom I hardly knew. Some introduction.
Jess and myself just sat there Sunday night. Drained and disbelieving. The women had great craic too around this team. Munster was like a professional GAA team, with very little turnover in the county panel, shall we say. A core of 15 that played together for 10 years — with Axel, Gaillimh and Claw the founding fathers.
And it was very, very important that, as Olive’s point of contact in Paris this week, there was an awareness that we were there, getting done anything that needed doing. Keeping up our side of the deal. She couldn’t even picture where her husband was in Paris. Axel flew back surrounded by his family and tight friends on Wednesday. Michael O’Leary laid on a plane I believe. They were met at Le Bourget private airport by a priest from the Irish Cultural Centre in Paris, who prayed for, among other things, the family’s strength. A really draining experience. It’s unthinkable what she is going through. We will get through Killaloe because Munster’s knees don’t buckle. They’ll stand firm.
Tomorrow at Thomond Park, Munster and Glasgow heads will be all over the place. The players will be emotionally drained because it’s too much for any human to be able to park what’s happened.
You can’t do that.
But what we will see is the crowd at Thomond Park carrying the Munster team. There is only man who could trigger the tsunami of emotion we are bracing ourselves for and that is Axel, because that ground hasn’t been full in a few years, and there’s one reason it’ll be full tomorrow — to go and respect Axel.
That’s why I’m going. People have seen what Axel did with Munster and to earn the respect and reputation he has and now it’s payback time.
It’s not easy either for Gregor Townsend. He understands the Munster mentality. It’ll be a difficult experience because everyone has that 100-yard stare in their eyes at the moment. There’s no drive, no energy to do anything the last few days. Will that be the crowd too on Saturday or will they find their voice. I reckon it’s the latter.
That’s the sporting perspective and of course it’s relevant but it’s not life and death relevant. The real issue here is pure, complete sadness.
This weekend has everything to do with Axel, everything to do with Munster rugby, but at the same time nothing to do with a performance or a result. This weekend it’s about respect.
It’s important for Axel’s farewell, if I could say, that the memory left is of a packed, throbbing, ferocious Thomond Park. And in an odd way that’s got nothing to do with rugby. He had an unbelievable career, but he was young and normal, a father, a son and a husband. Away for a trip.
And now this?
Ongoing coverage from Anthony Foley's funeral
