Bread of Heaven is Irish humble pie

THEY’LL be singing their hymns and arias in the valleys for many a day to come and good luck to them.

The better team won on Saturday. What is more, the RIGHT team won.

Wales came on a mission and achieved it in magnificent fashion.

Those of us who wondered and perhaps even hoped that they would be subsumed by the almost intolerable pressure which had accumulated in the days leading up to the Grand Slam decider were left in no doubt as to the mental capacity of Mike Ruddock's men.

They say more than 140,000 people, twice the capacity of the wonderful Millennium Stadium, poured into Cardiff on Saturday. The countless number without tickets were queuing for admission to the "super pubs" from 9am. The city centre square with its giant screen was packed. The atmosphere was electric and the Welsh players saw it for themselves as they drove through the streets shortly after noon.

Who could have blamed them if they were overcome by the weight of expectation? Max Boyce wound the fans up still further and, once the game began, the whole situation might have completely undermined the Welsh side as Ireland got off to a bright start and moved into a deserved three-point lead. It was at this point that Wales needed a rub of the green and they got it in copious quantities.

A wobbly drop goal attempt by Gavin Henson somehow made its way between the posts. Then the loose head prop Gethin Jenkins, of all people, emerged from nowhere quite probably an offside position in fact to charge down a Ronan O'Gara clearance. The ball rolled kindly in front of Jenkins, who hacked it on (his coach Mike Ruddock suggested later that Welsh soccer manager John Toshack should take note!) to get the unlikeliest of tries.

Stephen Jones, who had earlier missed, for him, a sitter of a penalty, converted. And while the Irish were still reeling from this dreadful shock to the system, up stepped Henson to bang over a majestic penalty from two metres inside his own half.

Only 21 minutes had passed and already the crowd were in full, awesome voice.

"Land of My Fathers", "Bread of Heaven", "Sosban Fach", "Men of Harlech", "Cwm Rhondda", even "Delilah" rang out almost without a break. It was a magnificent scene, a privilege to be a part of.

The Welsh nation, betrayed by a succession of Westminster governments to such an extent that many of its people still count themselves downtrodden, regained its pride through the one medium that strikes a chord with every man and woman of them.

By the final whistle, by which stage Ireland had been well and truly hammered and for whom the 32-20 scoreline was more than a little flattering, you just stood there in awe and undisguised admiration of this wondrous occasion. You had to join in the acclamation when skipper Michael Owen accepted the RBS Six Nations trophy before leading his men on a rapturous lap of honour.

Owen himself, his back-row colleagues Martyn Williams and Ryan Jones, booked their Lions places for New Zealand with a stupendous 80 minutes of power, pace and support play.

All the time, man of the match Dwayne Peel was snipping at their heels, leading a display of high intensity that the flat Irish were rarely able to match, never mind control.

Tom Shanklin has often looked laboured and languorous; this time he was a dervish in midfield, beautifully setting up Kevin Morgan's second- half try that finished the game as a contest. Stephen Jones was cool at out-half, Henson again looked the part as Shanklin's partner and Shane Williams, as always, was a real bag of tricks out on the left wing.

And the Irish? Sadly, they were a big disappointment, though it has to be said that, just like most things went right for Wales, the bounce of the ball seldom went their way.

For instance, in the 24th minute, Brian O'Driscoll, Denis Hickie and Geordan Murphy combined for the best move of the 80 minutes, only to see Girvan Dempsey hauled down inches from the line. That move merited a seven-pointer but the front-row lost control of the resultant scrum and a gilt-edged chance at a vital stage was lost.

In the second half, Anthony Foley was within a fraction of getting the ball down in time in the right corner, but Shane Williams was able to force him to put a foot in touch.

At the end of the day, though, it has to be accepted that, by our modern-day standards, Ireland's Six Nations campaign has been no better than mediocre. Shortcomings were apparent in the early wins over Italy, Scotland, England and were cruelly exposed by France and Wales.

Skipper O'Driscoll may argue with some justification that they haven't become a bad side overnight but, of course, you are left to wonder if this was ever a good one in the first place.

"If I had the campaign over again, my wish would be to keep them healthy, especially my midfield," said coach Eddie O'Sullivan in a reference to the absence of Gordon D'Arcy and Shane Horgan.

"I acknowledge that other teams lost players through injury as well, but they coped better than us."

The explanation for that, with respect, is pretty simple. Whereas we have a healthy front line of players, the second layer is virtually non-existant.

Dempsey a wing of international calibre? Give me a break. But the former full-back is only one of as many as a third of Saturday's side who may not wear the green come next season.

Anno Domini may have caught up with Kevin Maggs, Reggie Corrigan, Shane Byrne, Simon Easterby, even the great Anthony Foley and that wonderful servant John Hayes.

It will be O'Sullivan's task to find suitable replacements and mould them into the finished article in time for the 2007 World Cup. Few would envy him the task.