Come full-time, Donal Lenihan was drained. Granted, the Irish team was too, that contest in Twickenham had, after all, been quite a trip, from the 82nd second when it looked like a pulverisation of the Sasanach was on the cards, to the next 70ish minutes when the nation would have asked, as one, ‘lads, what are ye at?’, to the last 10 minutes when all was good with the world again.
Pitch-wise, though, Donal’s co-commentary had resembled the Richter Scale, from those exultant highs when Ireland went 8-0 up against 14-man England, to the funereal lows when exasperation got the better of him, not least when Ireland attempted to partake in the act of scrummaging, to ear-piercing a …
- March 13, 2022
