Italy………………………………. 17pts
Tries: Negri 42, Brex 67
Conversions: Allan 43, 67
Penalties: Allan 15
Wales…………………………… 29pts
Tries: Dyer 8, L Williams 17, Penalty 33, Faletau 49,
Conversions: O Williams 9, 50
Penalties: O Williams 5
As their unfortunate contribution to the most wretched four weeks in Welsh rugby history, the national team had gone careering downhill at a rate rarely seen since Franz Klammer hung up his skis.
Three losing rounds, each as pointless as the one before, drove even the most faithful of the Red Dragon Society off on a different piste, one offering a little comfort from the fearful consequences of hurtling down the global rankings.
Failure to kick their chronic habit of disappearing like the Klammers would bury their wounded pride beneath an avalanche of insults.
Wales, semi-finalists at two of the last three World Cups, would vanish from the official top ten nations. Worse still, they were in danger of dropping as low as 13th, beneath Samoa and Georgia, never mind Italy.
In the light of what happened at the Stadio Olimpico, it is reasonable to assume that at some stage between the lame home surrender to England and touchdown in Rome those responsible for creating the doomsday scenario decided they had better do something about it.
It was as if Ken Owens had told them a few home truths, a reminder, first and foremost, as to the nation they were representing. Wales, in the captain’s words, may have been ‘a laughing stock’ during the emotive maelstrom before the England game but Owens would have issued a harsh warning aimed at preventing a serious matter deteriorating into a critical one.
All the forebodings about the fate that supposedly awaited them would have justifiably goaded ‘The Sheriff ‘ into a stiff reminder that Wales, for all their problems, have never been in the busi- ness of dealing in wooden spoons or whitewashes.
Judging by what happened at the Stadio Olimpico, the penny dropped right from the off. When it came to finding salvation, one of the sport’s forgotten men found it in abundance for his first Six Nations match in six years, since 21 minutes of redclock time made for the longest of nights in Paris.
Rhys Webb, the scrumhalf who some dismissed as too old at 34, did more than lift flagging Welsh spirits. He galvanised the whole team with Rio Dyer the first beneficiary, the Dragons‘ wing chasing Webb’s chip in the hope that the ball would bounce kindly which it did, through 90 degrees.
Webb’s break from the base of a ruck polished Italy off ten minutes into the second half. His drawing of the full-back in textbook fashion presented the ever available Taulupe Faletau with a try on the proverbial silver salver.
Webb kept galvanising all and sundry until injury forced him into a premature exit before the hour mark by which time Wales were over the hill in the best possible meaning of the phrase, far enough clear to be home and dry.
By the time the wily old Osprey hobbled off, Webb had reminded the watching world that whatever might be said of some other ageing compatriots being over the hill in a very different sense, he most certainly wasn’t one of them.
As for the widely touted theory that a renascent Italy would run the hapless visitors off their feet, nobody told Webb. He engineered the first and last of the four Welsh tries, thereby freeing the team from their shackles long enough to score more in 41 minutes than in the three previous matches put together.
That any old win would do, no matter how scruffy, reflected the mood of the country at large, a stark reflection of how far the national sport had fallen in being smashed from pillar to post by Ireland, Scotland and, to a lesser extent, England.
Four points, probably more than most of the visiting legions dared expect, would at the very least dredge something from the bleakest of winters. Five ought to be sufficient insurance against finishing bottom of the pile, unless the Azzurri win at Murrayfield on Saturday.
Those fans who made it to The Eternal City will be too busy thanking the gods for the small mercy of a maximum win to be bothered about the daunting finale awaiting in Paris. That Italy contributed to their own downfall will be of real concern to the Wales management.
Rarely can a set of Test backs have suffered more from a collective dose of butter-fingers than Italy’s. That and the recurring sloppiness of their passing helped explain why Wales could negotiate the last half hour without being in any real danger of losing what had been a 19-point lead.
For all their control, Wales were still prised open too easily. Edoardo Padovani, stampeding along the right touchline, might easily have added to the match-winning try in Cardiff 12 months ago if only Pierre Bruno hadn’t fired the ball hopelessly out of his reach.
Had Ange Capuozzo been on the launch pad from full-back, he would probably have scored in the corner. Instead he watched his deputy, Tommaso Allan, throw an imperfect inside pass which forced Paolo Garbisi to check long enough for the chance to vanish like a mirage.
By then Liam Williams provided a welcome reminder that he is far from finished. Faletau set the try up, pouncing on an Allan fumble for Williams to score despite no fewer than five opponents within grappling distance. Had Wales conceded a try under the same circumstances, there would have been hell to pay.
While they kept their discipline, Italy lost theirs. Lorenzo Cannone’s collapsing of a maul robbed Owens of a score only to guarantee Wales a seven-pointer from the inevitable penalty try. The second row had only just completed his time in the bin when Bruno replaced him there, a forearm to Wyn Jones’ throat leaving the Italian wing lucky not to have gone for good.
When Juan Ignacio Brex at last made a pass stick, his try raised belated hope of a bonus point, albeit a losing one. George North had been introduced a few moments earlier, reduced to kicking his heels for more than an hour which made a change from filling his boots.
And so Wales head to their base on the French Riviera, relieved that, for now, they are still in the world’s top ten. A smaller mercy can rarely have been more gratefully received…
