“Ever tried, ever failed, no matter.Try again, fail again, fail better”
“Ever tried, ever failed, no matter.
Try again, fail again, fail better” - Samuel Beckett.
Heartache. Yet again. Encore une fois. Nothing but heartache. Raw emotional heartache. Honestly, it would break you in two. Cut you to your core. No matter. We work together, we play together, we win together, we lose together. We ARE together. We are Rangers - Bective Rangers.
The Bective family. Your family. My family. OUR family. The Cosa Nostra of Donnybrook. Dubs and Culchies. Doctors and dockers. No social strata. No notions. All together now. All together always. 23 lithe and fit of our finest young men don the rose, green and white, cross the whitewash and step out on to the field of play, like Gladiators into the Colosseum, once more to represent our extended family. An extended family from under 8‘s mini’s to over 80’s has beens . A family. Our family. The Bective family.
The mini’s look up in awe, in hero worship at what they aspire to be. They dream of Jonathan (he was always Jonathan to us - none of this Johnny nonsense) Sexton, Dan Sheehan, Ronán Kelleher, Hugo Keenan et al. Mini’s in awe of their Bective predecessors, Grand Slam winning Irish heroes - their aspirations, their future, their dreams:
“You’ve got to have a dream, if you don’t have a dream, how’re you going to have a dream come true?”
The oldies look back (not down), in retrospective appreciation of this new generation. The longer us oldies are retired, the better we were. Us oldies talk a great game but maturity also brings a sort of grudging admiration, respect even. We’ve had our shot. But it’s their time now. To build their legacy, but one that reflects on us too. And good luck to them.
The current generation? They know nothing but the here and now. They are OUR here and now. Forging their own path, creating their own memories, their own history, their own legacy. Fearless. They know nothing of blown knees, nothing of impending arthritis ravaging once lithe fit bodies, nothing of the upcoming arrival of their own offspring, fruit of their loins, which will flip their life’s compass 180 degrees, nothing of growing up into adults with the resulting responsibilities, nothing of middle age creeping up with unwanted birthdays. And so it should be. Youth is wasted on the young? Nope, only oldies think thus. The current generation live in the here and now whilst tolerating the oldies and their history. The past is a foreign country- they do things differently there.
We are Rangers, mighty mighty Rangers, we can do it. Except, except…..
Saturday last. AIL round robin semi finals. Do or die. Sh… or bust. Two games away from the big time. Senior status beckon once more. Finally, after five years of relegation to Junior status, five years of taking stock, five years of recalibrating , five years of embracing our new reality. It is said there are two thing’s guaranteed in life - death and taxes. Incorrect. There are three. Add change. Death, taxes and change. Change is inevitable. Embrace it.
The secret to change is to focus all your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new - Socrates.
So, we took the hit. We accepted the change. Embraced it even. Recalibrated. And started all over again. Last year. So close you could almost feel it, smell it, taste it. Yet …..close but no cigar. This year. Go again. Win Leinster. Again. The play offs. Again. Clogher Valley. Ulster’s finest. Tore through Ulster. 17-1 record. We dominate first half with big pack controlling the set pieces. March them back in scrums. Lord the line outs. But can’t score. They are very good. Young, fit, fighting for their lives - their community. Same as us. They score two quick tries against the run of play by competing fiercely at the breakdown, spreading the ball wide at every opportunity and using their youthful joie de vivre.
Half time and we trail 7-14. Still in this. Second half. They tackle us to death. We lose. Again. Two teams take to a pitch, fight like dogs for 80 minutes, and the better team wins. Clogher Valley were the better team. Clogher Valley wins. Respect to them. Awful emotional scenes on our side at full time. Again. But so proud to see we were gracious in defeat. And that Clogher Valley were humble in victory. Nice, decent, proud, honest people. You couldn’t but look on in grudging respect at their celebrations. Fair play. Best of luck in the final.
And yet. Like heading to the debs with the best looking girl in town and seeing your country cousin walk away with her. Heartbreak. Back to Leinster next season.
The Leinster league. The dog fight of all dog fights. Forever and a day. Even our Leinster League comrade clubs wanted to see us promoted. To make life easier for them. Suspect there was a collective groan around the 12 counties at 14.45 when the result came through. Ah Jaysus, not Bective again next year. Would they ever just shag off and qualify - give the rest of us a shot? But not to be.
For the playing squad. For Birch and his coaching team. For Emmett and his backroom team. For Mark and Sharon in the clubhouse. For Rory on video. For Ratts on logistics. For all of us. Heartbroken. Thoughts and prayers at this most difficult time. Cut flowers only. I’d say there wasn’t a quiche baked in D4 all weekend. Out of sympathy. Out of respect, even.
I get knocked down, I get up again, ain’t never gonna keep me down.
Hon Bective.
Regards,
Chuck
