Sale Sharks 20 Northampton Saints 13

By Cap'n Major Bloodnok
November 2 2015

Sale Sharks fans must have the trimmest buttocks in the premiership, given the number of squeaky-bum finishes we get served up by the team. This one produced an extended finale that had residents around the AJ Bell wondering where all the mice had come from.

This was to be the battle of the man-buns, the tussle of the topknots. Tom Arscott's tight ball of hair versus Ben Foden's querulous cow-lick. The non-appearance once again of Arscott's fluorescent pink boots seemed to be a bad omen but, to even things up, Ben Foden was playing out of position.

In the event, though, it was TJ Ioane’s muscular Medusa locks that battered everything in sight and took the plaudits.

Shortly before kick-off, Sale were forced into a Sam-swap as Sammy's-gonna-get-ya had to pull out to be replaced by the man with two first names: Sam James. Sam T's hunting partner, Johnny Leota, moved to the inside position to accomodate James at outside centre.

Saints’ kicking robot, Stephen Myler, started the game and, after a few minutes of general dithering about from both teams, Sam the Second made a break from a line out. As is sadly too common for Sale, the move fizzled out a few phases later with a knock on. After another 10 minutes or so of dicking around, Sale got a chance for the lead following a Saints' infringement at the maul, which has been the most positive aspect of Sale’s game for the last year or more.

The phrase “Cipriani's kick slid just wide of the posts” is, sadly, accurate on a depressing number of occasions, and so it was this time. A few minutes later, ex-Sale boy Luther Burrell gave his fellow England reject another chance at the posts when Mike Haley nutted him in the arm. This time Danny managed to put the ball between the posts to give Sale the lead, 3-0.

Cips made it two in a row five minutes later, and we now had a head-turning 6-0 lead. Up to this point, Northampton were looking nothing like last season's table-toppers. That started to change, though, and Saints' pressure earned them a penalty which their kicking robot duly converted.

We then witnessed a travesty of justice of absolutely monumental proportions as demonic referee Andrew Small had the temerity to award Saints another penalty when it was quite clear from 70 yards away at the back of the South Stand that Burrell was grimly hanging on to the ball and that “hands in the ruck” by Sale was a ridiculous decision. Why, oh why do referees so often ignore the combined wisdom of those of us who only want to assist? Anyway, the kicking robot made it 6-6.

Then, with half time and a desperately-needed wee approaching, Tom Arscott froze the Saints’ defence with a flash of his magnificent man-bun. While they were recovering, Tom slipped the ball to part-time three-quarter Josh Beaumont who sent an exquisite pass to Sam the Second out on the left wing. A chip ahead, a blast of the afterburners, a favourable bounce and five more points were on the scoreboard. Why is that Cips seems able to nail the wide, difficult kicks, but makes a bog of the simpler ones?

Half time: 13-6 to Sale.

Shortly after the restart we had a real “what the fuuuuuuuuuuu.... whoooooaaaaaaaa!” moment as Haley sent a huge up-and-under that seemed to go mostly sideways. A pint-sized streak of blue lightning called Will Addison knicked the ball from George Pisi’s expectant grasp, and took full advantage of the lack of defensive cover to score. Cips overcame the difficulty of a kick in front of the posts to make it 20-6 with over half an hour to go.

Sharks fans are too battle-hardened to get over-excited at a two-score lead with that much of the game left (or with any of the game left—remember Leicester!), and the natural pessimism with which we are imbued came to the fore as it appeared that Jamie Gibson had scored out wide on the left for Northampton. But impeccable referee Andrew Small calmly called for a TV replay, which showed that Cusiter's covering tackle had just put Gibson's foot into touch.

However, with 25 minutes to go, kicking robot Myler scored and converted the expected try to bring it to a seven-point game.

Ten minutes of gluteus maximus exercise by the fans later, and Cips was given the chance to extend the lead.

Cipriani's kick slid just wide of the posts.

Nether region activity ramped up over the remaining minutes until—relief of relief!—Sale had posession of the ball in a ruck with five seconds to go...

“Five!”, “four!”, “three!”, “two!”, “O—” PHEEEEEEP!

Clock at zero and demonic referee Small gives a penalty to Saints! Holding on! Aaaaargh!

Wise old Sale-watching veterans sucked at their few remaining teeth.

“‘Ere we go”; “seen this a ‘undred times”; “well, at least we can't actually lose”.

Saints took the penalty and moved the ball forwards...

And forwards...

A ruck, a metre or less from the line. Sale fans’ buttocks clenched so tight you could bounce rocks off them. Anxious faces turned towards the big screen...

PHEEEEEEEP! Angelic referee Andrew Small declares that Northampton have knocked on! Game over!

“YEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!”

Cue deranged dancing and cheering from the stands and terraces.

Went home happy.