LONG READ Champions Cup: And then there were eight...

Regrets? There’ve been a few. In fact, looking back, there’ve been rather more than a few so, hopefully, you’ll forgive me if I don’t hold a candle to my shames and itemise my stupidities here. But what truly stings is when even life’s rare successes come wrapped in remorse; to wit, sticking a round pound last weekend on Munster to confound a limp Stade Rochelais when, clearly, I should’ve gone all-in with what little now remains of my pension pot. Such is sport. No one ever bets enough money on a winning horse.

Back in the day, out and about among the red hordes on the highways and byways of Europe, the flutterers in the SKY TV trucks worked to a principle which went by the nimble acronym of NBAMIE: Never Bet Against Munster In Europe. It was a lesson learned the hard way in bear pits such as Perpignan and Castres and which swiftly morphed into a second, even less nimble abbreviation of BTOJBOTR: Bugger The Odds Just Bet On The Red, the theory being that since Munster cared not one jot for the gravity of form, logic or common-sense, why should anyone else? Thus did folk recoup their earlier, cringing, mortgage-sapping losses and, back in the here and now, thus did my round pound of the past weekend suddenly become three round pounds. Rest assured, I shall spend each of them wisely.

Admittedly, in a slew of games which the bookmakers had cheerfully chalked up as eight, odds-on home wins, Stade Rochelais/Munster (a somewhat dubious 1/4 versus 14/5) did appear to offer the only glimmer of hope both for the travelling teams and for cheapskate punters such as myself. But then, a glimmer of hope is all Munster seem to need to nourish their ferocious appetite for this competition. In truth, I’m not sure how they do it. I’m not sure even they know how they do it. But they just do and it was a joy to watch.

Except, of course, it wasn’t; at least not in the heart-stopping finale where the dribbling thought of picking up some extra pocket money was secondary to the rather more disturbing thought of whether I’d live long enough to collect it. Three minutes without breathing – involuntarily or otherwise – isn’t recommended for folk in their sixties who’re tiptoeing through what glib doctors refer to as ‘Sniper’s Alley’. But Munster’s junkyard dog tenacity and Jack Crowley’s nerveless brilliance turned out to be enough. And the fact that, of all people, Ronan O’Gara should end up getting drop kicked out of Europe by a moment of such composure and nous from a Munster fly-half proves, surely beyond all doubt, that irony is not entirely dead.

Hopefully, things will get sweatier from here on in and, certainly, they should do. As Lee Trevino once observed: ‘putts get real difficult on the days they hand out the money.’

But we should note, too, that Benetton Rugby came thisclose to pulling off a similar stunt down in Castres. Ahead courtesy of five, free-wheeling tries, the Italians finally ran out of sandbags in the penultimate minute as the ill-disciplined French squeezed into the quarter finals for the first time in 23 years. For Benetton, no question, it was a blow upon a bruise given only points difference at the end of the group stages had denied them a home tie in what was their first appearance in the last 16. Glass half full or glass half empty? Either way, it was a tristezza that’ll take some drowning.

But in the wider context of the competition, the Round of 16 offered up much the same as the Pool Stages; bugger all away wins, not nearly enough jeopardy and far too many blow-outs. Even with two games being decided at the death, the average margin of victory was – as in the group stages – a lumpish 20 points. Hopefully, things will get sweatier from here on in and, certainly, they should do. As Lee Trevino once observed: ‘putts get real difficult on the days they hand out the money.’

But given eight matches in deafening sunshine yielded no fewer than 80 tries, many of them – Baptiste Serin, Ange Capuozzo – just sumptuous, it feels a little churlish to carp. In the loudest statement of the weekend, Leinster atomised a hapless Harlequins in a performance which, like the publication of James Joyce’s Ulysses in the very same city a century ago, was greeted afterwards with ‘terror-stricken praise’. Put it this way, Harlequins getting hit for 62 ain’t exactly shocking but, normally, you’d expect them to chip in with at least 51 points of their own. Here, though, they scored zip. Nothing. Utterly pointless. They ended the match sitting on the side of the plate like a sucked plum stone.

Indeed, it was a sobering weekend for the Gallagher Premiership as Glasgow Warriors ripped through Leicester Tigers in much the same way as a swarm of locusts might flatten a field of corn, Sale Sharks were swept aside by Stade Toulousain – do not poke bears in their own lairs – and RCToulon ran up a round six dozen against Saracens in a bonkers game of conkers in the south of France. Mark McCall took some stick last week for – effectively – bringing a knife to a gunfight but having put 35 points on Les Toulonnais in the first half – when did that last happen – he and his younger, wider squad might just have unearthed something to fire up their push for the Premiership; ‘a lot to like, a lot to learn and a lot to be proud of,’ said the shrewd Mr McCall afterwards. We shall see.

Only one can make the final and, frankly, it could be any of them. Mind you, it might yet be Munster. When three dogs scrap over a bone, don’t be surprised if it’s the fourth who sneaks in and steals it.

The one English success was Northampton Saints who, this season, continue to perform like lions in Europe and lambs in the Premiership. I won’t lie, it’s baffling. But their dismantling of the savvy, streetwise Clermont Auvergne was a small work of art; broad, sweeping brushstrokes in attack rounded off, inevitably, I suppose, by a splash of Pollock. The one thing that kid has no need of whatsoever is a publicist.

Yet, the liquid Leinster apart, it was the sheer clout of the top end of the Top 14 which, again, caught the eye, the consolation for everyone else being that they’re in a circular firing squad in the same half of the draw. Only one can make the final and, frankly, it could be any of them. Mind you, it might yet be Munster. When three dogs scrap over a bone, don’t be surprised if it’s the fourth who sneaks in and steals it.

And, certainly, as the spirited Saracens, the gallant Ulster and gritty Sale Sharks all proved, The Three Musketeers can be rattled even in their own backyards. Now, was that French complacency? Possibly. But, even if it was, can they be rattled for the full 80 minutes? That remains the weightier question to which, you suspect, only Leinster might have the answer.

So have we learned anything ahead of this weekend’s quarter finals? Possibly not, given the smart money is still circling around the four fancies we started with back in December; indeed, the Rouge et Noir derby apart – and good luck calling that one – it may not be until the semi finals that the real jeopardy kicks in.

But, here and now, the last eight this weekend serves up UBB/Munster; Leinster/Glasgow Warriors; Northampton Saints/Castres Olympique and, last but scarcely least, the aforementioned RCToulon/Stade Toulousain. Intriguingly, given you could comfortably flog 60,000 tickets for this one and still have 10,000 diehards queuing up outside for returns, Les Toulonnais have opted not to move it down the blue coast to Nice or up the blue coast to Marseille but to keep it chez eux au Stade Mayol. Backroom staff one, bean-counters nil. It might yet prove a shrewd if costly decision.

But, no question, as we move from one knockout weekend to another, the financial market has shifted, although not quite as seismically as some this past week. Northampton’s odds to win the thing have shortened a tad (14/1), likewise UBB’s (7/2) but Leinster now appear to be the favourites (5/4) a slither ahead of Stade Toulousain (unchanged at 13/8). RCToulon remain a sore temptation (22/1) – I’m sorry but that’s a nutty price for any team with the likes of Baptiste Serin pulling the strings – and while Castres Olympique are the rank outsiders, it’s Munster who’re the big movers with the bookmakers; 100/1 last week, they’ve shortened to a saucy 50/1 this. Now if that’s not worth chancing another hard-earned pound, I’m not sure what is.