2011/2012 – Through Thick and Thin – Part 1 (2011)

By Nick Powell

From the end of January to the beginning of March, in anticipation of my 20th birthday and acceptance that professional sport is well and truly beyond me, I’m looking back through my 20 years to find the sporting memories that have had the biggest impact on me.

Over the next two articles I look at 2011 and 2012, where the teams and athletes I supported finally began winning and just how special it made me feel.

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2011/2012 – The Best Years – Part 1 (2011)

Prior to 2011, my sports teams had encountered some pretty rotten luck. Arsenal had spurned title race after title race (and they’d have their own disappointment during this year), Harlequins had reached the knockout stages of multiple competitions and been knocked out at home in all of them and no tennis player or golfer I followed had tasted success in a major.

Sure, Team GB had relative success in 2008, but that same year England weren’t even in the Euros and their rugby counterparts had flopped yet again at a Six Nations.

Other than the 2005 Ashes I can’t remember a single time I’d thrown my heart behind a team or athlete in a major competition and they’d actually pulled off a win. And as good as that series was, I only really became aware with it when England stood on the verge of winning and within 18 months handed the Ashes back in humiliating fashion.

I’d learned to deal with disappointment. Reluctantly, of course, but learned nonetheless, and 2011 kicked off in horrendously typical fashion.

Harlequins missed out on a place in the LV Cup Final after conceding a last minute try against a poor Newcastle at home, Laurent Koscielny and Wojciech Szczesny’s horrendous mix up had gifted Birmingham the League Cup at the expense of Arsenal and naturally my Esher team were far from setting the world alight.

Chaos at the back was at the centre of much of Arsenal's problems

But out of the ashes of Quins and Arsenal’s miserable failures, England were emerging in the Six Nations, with an unlikely charge to the title.

I say unlikely not because of their squad, which was quite strong, but because of their coach.

Martin Johnson had no coaching experience but had managed to get England playing some decent rugby and have a spirit about them reminiscent of the 2003 squad. They were nowhere on the same page for discipline, quality or composure but they had a spirit about them and Johnson was aiming higher, as indicated by the fact he was not fully impressed by England’s resounding wins against Australia at Twickenham (their first since 2005), and Wales in Cardiff (their first since 2003).

England stood on the verge of an unlikely grand slam, then they went to Dublin...

But his massive limitations as a tactician were brutally exposed as England were savaged 24-8 in Dublin, in a defeat that largely felt like the polar opposite of last Saturday’s incredible win for the men in white.

I cried. Obviously. Cushions were thrown. Feet were stamped. I had contained my rage for as long as possible, but as Jonny Sexton made it 17-3 I unleashed my fury upon the world like the crashing of a thousand waves. By the time Brian O’Driscoll crossed for 24-3 I was untethered and my rage knew no bounds.

I stormed upstairs and screamed at the TV like some mutant creature until the anger left me absolutely shattered. I was finished, knackered, done. As Steve Thompson crossed for England’s consolation, a smile started to reach the corner of my face. In spite of this defeat, England still had a chance of winning the tournament overall.

Mercifully the game ended and as my Mum and Dad, who had done an amazing job of calming me down, went out to meet some friends, me and my brother sat and watched Wales attempts to do the impossible in Paris and overturn the 33 point deficit they had on England's points difference.

Watching Jonathan Davies getting more and more and more flustered as Wales slumped to a similarly embarrassing defeat was hilarious (apologies to my Welsh relatives). My brother, Alex, made the experience all the more enjoyable as we took it in turns to mock the legendary fly-half.

And as the full time whistle blew, I finally had my win. It was as bitter sweet as a tangfastic and orange peel sandwich, but a team I followed had won something.

No-one remembers that tournament, and no-one cares, least of all England fans. But I’ll cherish that rollercoaster evening for many years to come. After all, it’s only one of three England Six Nations triumphs in the 15 tournaments I’ve been supporting them.

Meanwhile, Esher were having an upturn in form, and Harlequins were going well in the second tier European competition, the European Challenge Cup. Nevertheless, when they drew Munster in the semi-final, we had surely reached the end of the line.

Or so I thought. An incredible performance saw the plucky Londoners overcome Europe’s biggest club at the time. By the end of the game I had bitten half my nails off and was squeezed in to a ball, hands together in prayer, but as Ronan O’Gara drifted a conversion wide, it was time to celebrate.

On the way home I must’ve said “I cannot believe it”, 50 times. And as we arrived back in London, having flown that day, the tickets were duly booked for the big final.

The final was a typically painful one from my perspective. Quins had started well, but found themselves trailing 9-15 after having a 9-6 lead. 12-18 with three minutes to go, I had conceded.

But Quins hadn’t. Joe Marler burst through the middle, offloaded to Danny Care, whose speculative grubber sat up for Gonzalo Camacho in the corner.

The iconic Quins photo as Camacho gathered Care's perfect kick which gave Evans a kick for victory

He finished and at 17-18, Nick Evans had a touchline conversion to win it from the touchline. There was no way he was getting it.

Except he did, and I couldn’t believe it. That scene of my heroes celebrating victory in a half-empty Cardiff City Stadium with a beautiful May sunset is honestly one of the most special moments of my life, it’s the first time 'happy' tears had ever been in my eyes.

Quins fans watch on as Nick Evans kicks his side to victory in the 2011 European Challenge Cup

And to be honest, I had a lost less to complain about as a sports fan. Earlier in the year England had annihilated the Aussies on their own patch in the Ashes, Lee Westwood was the World’s top golfer and Andy Murray was becoming hyper-consistent as the World’s Number 4, even if the big prize alluded him.

And perhaps best of all, over the summer Mark Cavendish had won the green jersey at the Tour de France. For a few years I’d sat on the sofa with my 'Pépé' (my Mauritian grandad) watching 'Cav' roll through the finish as the winner of the final stage, but he was doing it wearing Green. And this was surely as good as it was going to get for British Cycling, we surely weren’t going to be capable of producing a General Classification contender?

As the new season (2011/12) started, Arsenal began terribly, but Harlequins were on a sensational run. By December they had recorded their 14^th straight win and although their year ended in a defeat, I could no longer complain about being a serial loser.

But even this didn’t prepare me for the elation of 2012.