"Ballymena RFC, birthplace of Lions legends, hosts thrilling first Test match"

An hour before the match begins, I’m questioning whether coming to Ballymena RFC for the first Test was the best choice. Only the bartender and I are here, and she isn’t particularly interested in whether Tom Curry should play No. 7. “Which newspaper are you with again, the *Ballymena CuriosityNews*?” No, the other one, I explain. “Ah, the Antrim edition,” she replies.

Just as I start to think all of Ballymena’s thousand or so members must have headed toward Portrush for the Open, they begin arriving—first a few, then a dozen, then more.

Soon, discussions turn to the age of their Lions jerseys. One is from ’01, another from ’05, a few from 2013, and a couple of youngsters, more focused on their own game than the one on screen, wear the 2025 version. Too young to grasp the match’s significance, they only sense that it matters to the adults. The Lions tradition is passed down through generations, tracing back to two men from this very club—Willie John McBride and Syd Millar, who shaped the team into what it is today.

Millar, a butcher’s son, and McBride, a farmer’s son, were both Ballymena natives. Upstairs in the clubhouse, a wood-panelled room bears their name, filled with memorabilia. They played, coached, managed, and led nine Lions tours between them, including the legendary 1974 campaign, when Millar was coach and McBride captained the undefeated side in South Africa.

A large photo of McBride after the third Test covers one wall, signed by every squad member. When Scott Quinnell visited years ago, he was moved to tears standing before it. “A Lions team’s first priority is attitude,” Millar once said. “If that’s right, everything else follows.”

Downstairs, the Lions’ attitude appears strong. They lead 10-0, and the tension has faded. Most in the bar seem more concerned for Australia, now seen as underdogs. “I hoped the Wallabies would put up more of a fight,” says the man beside me. He owns a 1989 Lions jersey but isn’t wearing it. “Then again,” he adds, “I was only a midweek player.”

Stevie—what everyone calls Steve Smith—was the reserve hooker for Finlay Calder’s side, which rallied to defeat Australia after losing the first match. Watching young Tom Lynagh on screen, he remarks, “I played against his father.” Smith looks like a man who’s lived hard. His bruised knuckles might still ache from the time he knocked out four of Sean Fitzpatrick’s teeth.