Frankly Mr Shankly

In the heat of the moment, winning can mean everything.

Ok, so it might've been a glib, off-the-cuff remark, but it encapsulates the very essence of what it means to be a supporter.

Obviously there are undoubtedly far more important things to dwell on in life: there are untold tragedies happening on a daily basis both domestically and globally.

I accept that if you look at things objectively in the cold light of day, these are the events that should be of greater importance and significance.

However when you're a passionate supporter, sometimes logic can fly out of the window. Supporting your team becomes all-consuming and can dominate the very core of your existence, it can sometimes feel like nothing else is as important.

If you spend much of your hard-earned dosh and devote considerable time to following your club around the far corners of this green and wet land, then in return all you ask is that your team shares your passion and commitment and gives its all for the common cause.

Tthe very least you would expect is that the team turn up in spirit as well as in person.

After witnessing Sunday's inglorious and spineless surrender at the Madejski Stadium, I'm no longer sure that truly is the case.

If anyone would've ever said to me that I'd one day reach the stage where I'd feel like cutting out the middle man and just throwing my money down the nearest grid, then I'd have laughed in their face.

Now, well I'm no longer quite so cock-sure. Perhaps I've been deluding myself all these years.

Frankly Mr Shankly you might've been wrong - it is only a game after all, or at least it appears that way judging by the way some players seemed to approach it.

Any team, no matter how good, would miss the creative spark and influence that someone like Charlie Hodgson brings to the team. Last season alone is testament to that fact.

To discover just before kick off that he would be absent with a knee injury was a blow. However, there is strength in depth at Sale and as they say, one man's loss is another man's opportunity.

It was surprising then to see McAlister chosen in the three-quarters. Personally I questioned whether he would've been better played at inside centre with Mayor outside him and Thomas inside at 10. The McAlister/Thomas combination has after all just started to bear fruit.

Anyway, what do I know? Not a lot really, except that Hodgson plays flatter than any other fly half thereby creating space and time for others.

If that's not an available option, then playing McAlister at 12 I believe would be the alternative creative channel - his ability to run with the ball, his strength and his ability to step off either foot would open up space for others, like Thomas to exploit and make up for Charlie's absence.

To say it began with not so much a bang as a whimper is being kind beyond the call of duty.

Sale never seem to play for the first 20 minutes in any match. Whether this is a conscious ploy to try and grind the opposition down with physicality, or simply down to having too high an opinion of their own abilities, I know not. What I do know is that other teams always take advantage of this and Sale tend to spend half the match playing catch up.

The Sharks took the kick off clumsily, as has been customary all season and failed to clear their lines. The ball was taken into contact and the ruck took forever to clear - another characteristic of this season's play.

A half break by McAlister failed to lead anywhere as Cueto's pass was intercepted by Ojo. His devastating dart down by the flank and his clever offload to Paice should've resulted in the first try of the game.

Only superb tackling back by McAlister prevented it as he clung on to Paice's back and dragged him to ground.

However, Sale's drift defence was powerless to stop the influential Geraghty, playing in an unaccustomed role at 12, from spinning the ball out wide to Armitage. He drew his man, Mayor, and fed the ball to Tagicakibau. Ripol had no chance of stopping the marauding winger.

Armitage converted from out wide and left Sale floundering seven points adrift with only two minutes played. You sensed this was going to be a very long and painful afternoon.

Make no mistakes about it, Sale were not just poor, they were woeful. It's the worst I've seen them play this season.

The only thing that was half-decent was the scrum. Then again when you have the beef of Sheridan, Bruno and Lewis-Roberts in the front row, you wouldn't really expect anything else.

Everything else was utterly dire. Basic skills were forgotten, the line out was a shambles and our backline adopted the unusual tactic of trying to trap the ball with their feet, rather than catching it. This isn't football.

It felt like every ball was either knocked on or turned over. Sale couldn't manage to string more than two phases of play together without gifting possession to the Exiles.

At every breakdown Sale only committed one or two players to forage for the ball, London Irish responded with three or four, driving the Sale flankers back and always gaining possession.

It was actually the first time in a long while that I've felt embarrassed by the team's performance.

It was like watching a scratch team. Any independent observer would be forgiven for thinking that the 15 players had never been on the same park together before.

As one young Irish supporter in front of me kept shouting -"Sale Sharks, you're rubbish. Who sponsors you then? Anchor butter?" Obviously that got a laugh, yet it was probably closer to the truth than you could possibly imagine.

Even when Armitage was sin-binned for tripping Cueto, Sale couldn't make the numerical advantage pay. With such an error strewn display they could conceivably still have lost had the Exiles only had 10 men on the field.

Irish are a decent team, but they're not world beaters. They played good, flowing, heads up rugby and in Geraghty they've unearthed a gem.

The problem is they were there for the taking. They were made to look better than they were and the reason for that is simple. Sale were inept, clueless and shambolic.

Our only plan this season it appears is to hoist continuous bombs into the opposing half and hope to gain some territorial advantage.

I've said it so many times I'm beginning to bore myself, but it's worth saying again because eventually the penny has to drop. Garryowens are only useful if you're prepared to commit the numbers to chase the ball, or at least challenge and harry the receiver.

There's absolutely no point in kicking away possession and then lolloping up the field after it. You don't regain possession, you end up out of position and you're forced on to the back foot.

If Sale had a Plan B then maybe it wouldn't be so bad: the problem is, they often don't even seem to have a Plan A.

McAlister tried his hardest, of that there's no doubt. He was always prepared to run with the ball in hand.

Unfortunately much of what he tried didn't come off either due to basic handling errors or the rest of the backs not tuning into his wavelength.

It was unfortunate because he, more than anyone else, put in the hard graft and was always looking for openings. He was rewarded for his efforts with a ninth minute penalty after Irish were penalised for not rolling away from the tackle.

He could have reduced the gap further on 18 minutes, but his kick floated inches wide of the uprights.

Looked at dispassionately, penalties were probably the only hope that Sale had of winning the match. Their open play was very poor and there was no incisiveness or cutting edge.

Even when a try beckoned Sale somehow managed to fluff it.

Chabal received the ball 10 metres from the Irish line and straightened his run with one of characteristic bullish charges. He drew his man and just had to offload to his right and the try was a certainty.

Even allowing for the fact that the overlapping man was tight head Eifion Roberts, the score looked nailed on. The final pass, however, was wayward, even an acrobat would've struggled to get his hands on that ball.

Still, it was a slight improvement on passing the ball directly out to the 16th man, the crowd, as had happened a number of times earlier. I know Philippe has often commented on the value of the 16th man - but I didn't realise he wanted us to play as well.

Just when it seemed things could get no worse, the inevitable happened. Sale once again messed up the lineout in their own 22 and Irish were awarded an attacking scrum.

The scrum collapsed twice and the referee awarded Irish a penalty. A quick tap from Hodgson led to a sweeping Irish move across field, as the ball was shipped from Hickey to Geraghty. He stepped inside Mayor and fed a lovely angled pass to Tiesi, giving him a free run for the line.

Armitage couldn't convert but the damage was done. For a defence that had performed manfully during the course of the last seven games, it was shocking to see just how easy it was for London Irish to carve their way through.

The final six minutes of the half lasted an eternity. If there was a gameplan it wasn't immediately obvious.

It wasn't just the Sale supporters who were scratching their heads, many Exiles fans were actually shocked by the standard of rugby of a team tipped for a top four finish.

Looking down at my notepad I realised I must have phased out for the last few minutes and drifted off to a better place, for as Mr Davey blew for the halftime respite, the only words I appeared to have written were dull, dire, dreary, dreadful, disastrous and dross.

The prospect of another 40 minutes of that standard of fare was enough to make one want to run for the hills.

Were teacups thrown in the dressing room or boots kicked across the floor? Who knows? They certainly should've been.

Whatever was said during the break didn't work. Sale were on the back foot again right from the off.

A dreadful pass from Laharrague to McAlister caught the backline flat - well when I say to, I mean behind and somewhere in the vicinity. Needless to say the ball was lost.

A quick interchange between Geraghty and Hickey and before you could blink Armitage was in under the posts to rub further salt into the wound.

If the plan had been to batter Irish into submission, paving the way for our backline to run riot later on, then it failed spectacularly.

Somebody forgot to tell Kennedy, Casey, Paice, Dermody and Lea'aetoa. If anything they seemed to get stronger during the second half and were even more fired up.

Even Hodgson and Armitage were up for a fight with anyone - not the best of ideas when Sheridan's around, but you've got to hand it to them, they were well and truly wired.

Any Sale attempt to run the ball, usually started by either McAlister or Laharrague barely lasted more than a couple of phases before stalling for a multitude of different reasons, all of them bad: a misplaced pass, a knock on, a forward pass or some other disaster.

The only hope that Sale had was to try to keep things tight and nick the penalties as they were awarded as Irish were playing on the edge of legality all the time.

Trying to play tight is difficult at the best of times, but when you're having one of those days where nothing goes right, it's well nigh impossible, and there's always a looming possibility that you'll fall for the sucker punch.

Had the pass from Geraghty to Armitage not been adjudged to be marginally forward, Irish would've secured the bonus point.

McAlister reduced the deficit with a penalty on 46 minutes after the Exiles were penalised for crossing, and successfully kicked another nine minutes later after Kennedy was penalised for offside.

Apart from that Sale rarely threatened the Irish 22. There were, at least, two moments to lift the spirits - a half break from Laharrague that Ripol couldn't get to, and surprisingly a move that almost produced three phase rugby but the final pass to Cueto was adjudged to be forward. It was of course, but sometimes you hope the touch judge is looking away and you keep your fingers crossed.

It was indicative of the general laissez faire approach that Sale chose to adopt. In fact, it was so lacklustre that even in a two horse contest, the Sharks would've finished third.

It was a contest lacking pride, passion and a fighting spirit. The only Sale staff member wholly committed was Robbie Dickson.

Had he not been restrained, he would've been on that pitch and at Leguizamon's throat after he pinned Wiggy to the ground for a bit of afters. Maybe Robbie should dust off his kit for Petrarca.

A rare Irish mistake led to a surprise Sale forage into the Exile's 22. Cueto couldn't get to the inside pass from McAlister which was a shame as there was space to have nipped in for a try.

Still it did result in a five-metre lineout with a Sale throw. I'm sure Briggsy will dream about what happened next for some time: the night-sweats will haunt many a waking hour.

With the Irish line at Sale's mercy, he overthrew and Mordt was able to run the ball to safety.

McAlister slotted away an easy penalty bringing Sale to within losing bonus point range and the supporters' hearts lifted ever so slightly.

In truth it would've been unfair had it stayed like that, because Sale didn't deserve a thing.

However, the Sharks don't believe in taking the easy option. Irish set out their stall and it was obvious from the field-placings that they were determined to deny Sale the bonus point.

It was heart in mouth time from then on, as Sale were guaranteed to give away a penalty. Unfortunately that's what they specialise in. When discipline's needed, they tend to misplace it.

Sure enough, at a ruck right in front of Sale's posts, Schofield was pinged for falling on the ball while it was clearly still in the ruck.

It may have been that Mr Davey penalised him for killing the ball. Such were his gestures by this stage, that it was almost impossible to decipher what he called it for. Forget dramatic signalling, this was positively Shakespearian.

Anyway the upshot was Hickey converted the penalty and Sale once again shot themselves in the foot. The match had already been lost, but indiscipline cost Sale the points.

Even Chabal's bullocking run at the end couldn't lift the spirits. That ended in an embarrassing fumble and a pass into touch once again - shocking.

The crowd groaned, the referee looked at his watch and I... I just wanted to go home, but I knew I had the prospect of a four-hour drive to get there. It was that bad, I just wanted to get away.

The match was in its final play when the opportunity was presented for McAlister to drop Sale into bonus point range again. It didn't work of course, it rarely does.

The similarities with the Bath game were spooky - last minute and the chance to salvage something you didn't really deserve. The result was the same and in the end it's fair to say that justice was done.

The better team won, the team with the passion, flair and technique ruled the roost.

Next up is Petrarca in the Challenge Cup. It's a pity Sale's game isn't against a team like Gloucester or Wasps. At least it would give them the chance to mix with the big boys again and hopefully begin to salvage some pride and spirit.

You have to play what's in front of you however, so Petrarca it is.

Hopefully the memories of the victory in Padova have been blocked from memory. Sale won convincingly over there, but they also conceded unnecessary tries.

Philippe Saint Andre accused his players this week of thinking they were better than they actually are. Let's hope that message has sunk in. There's no room for arrogance and complacency in rugby.

If you go onto a park with that attitude one day the other team will whoop you and you'd deserve it. Let's just pray it's not Petrarca.