“Brute beauty and valour and act”

It’s only natural to have mixed feelings about a team who put you through the wringer for 80 minutes, even if they do eventually provide enough euphoria to power a small town come the final whistle. You love them and hate them in equal measure. But when Shane Young received the Colours trophy from DUFC President Seamus Considine and called his team up to share the moment, we forgave them everything, for what this DUFC side pulled off at Donnybrook last week, in this most significant of fixtures, will deservedly rank among their finest achievements in a long and proud history.

The game itself was the story of two great contributions, those of Richard Brady and Shane Young. The inside centre’s defensive performance was outstanding, and included several try-saving tackles made at full stretch. That UCD didn’t make several line breaks in the first half – as opposed to zero – was entirely down to him. Young, the Trinity captain, gave an inspirational display. He was colossal right from the off, first to every breakdown, turning over ball, making huge tackles, scoring his side’s first try and taking man of the match hands down.

Colours is ever a game full of sound and fury, and it signifies everything. Donnybrook was by no means full, but so compelling was the encounter that crowd couldn’t have kept back from filling the night with its cries even had it wanted to. We were pretty damn fired up in the press box too; the solitary professional journalist, eyes glued to his laptop, wasn’t particularly impressed. But it was impossible not to jump out of your seat when Colin Murphy broke the line, to dance a merry jig as Shane Young scooted in under the posts, to slam the little desks in frustration at another penalty conceded, to howl in disbelieving rapture at the sight of John Byrne cantering down the line to win us the game. The best thing about the display was the pride and committment on show. Although this was a match between two Dublin universities, it was more akin to a Munster match than anything you’d commonly see in Leinster. For those on the right side, it was rather like watching the Munster-All Blacks game, played a week later: not a perfect game, by any means, but made more than the sum of the skills on display by one’s emotional engagement with the heroic underdogs.

Trinity defended like their lives depended on the outcome, rucking themselves raw, covering across with energy born of desire and tackling like men possessed.

It didn’t seem like it was going to be enough. As UCD took a stranglehold on the second half and the penalties against us mounted, it looked like it was going to be just another brave yet ultimately doomed performance by the perennial underdogs. When Brian Cawley, who epitomised the sheer strength the Belfield men possessed up front, finally broke down the Trinity resistance towards the end, our hearts sank. In an instant, all Trinity’s efforts were as nothing, all our jubilation soured; the very contemplation of victory over these behemoths seemed to mock us, and add bitterness to the cup.

Shane Hanratty, thankfully, had other ideas; he’s had some great days at Donnybrook before, and doubtless will again, but few will linger in the memory so long as his first touches on that Friday night under the floodlights. The winger had no right, in the words of Tony Ward, to scoot around the chasers with such ease, to get his pass away, to see Byrne hold onto the ball; if the flanker had trimmed his fingernails that morning, the chance would have been lost.

Gerald Manley Hopkins, a rather sickly Jesuit priest, wouldn’t have been a big rugby fan, but he could have been watching this match when he penned the line that now sits as our headline. No doubt the team have already sat down to examine the video of this game, seeking way to improve upon their performance in games to come, but for us in the captive audience it was all about emotion; about pride and self-belief; about doing themselves, and their college, proud.