SIDELINE CUT:Last week's rare tribute from the Toulouse players to the band of travelling fans was a recognition of how the team from the west represent whatever it is a "club" is meant to be, writes KEITH DUGGAN

THE CONNACHT rugby team’s adventure ended gloriously last night but how to solve the problem of what to do with the province is no clearer now than ever. Traffic to the Sportsground for the team’s last Heineken Cup game was brisk last night and the mood celebratory, with the few thousand regulars who have turned up on College Road through thick and thin enhanced by the new wave of fans who have enjoyed the visit of Europe’s premier teams over the past few months.

Nobody could say with certainty if and when Connacht would experience nights like these again and the big crowd was an acknowledgement of both that and the fact that, not for the first time, the Connacht players had carved out a monumental victory in the face of considerable adversity.

Conor O’Shea and Harlequins must have spent yesterday in Galway in fidgety mood, keenly aware they might be in line for a very Connacht coup: a victory against the head, nothing tangible to play for except pride and the reputation of the club and enough to leave its supporters with a familiarly bittersweet feeling that comes with following a team perennially down but never counted out.

O’Shea, as one of the most astute operators in the game, was well aware of one of the most basic truisms in sports: all streaks end. Connacht knew they were going to win a match again and they had earned enough favours from the gods over the course of their hard-luck story in the past few months to receive one or two of those freakish bounces or once-in-a-season fumbles that can sometimes decide rugby games.

But even if they exited the competition by spoiling the ’Quins aspirations of marching into the quarter-finals last night, the Connacht players still wake up today with the vexing feeling that nothing has changed. The Heineken Cup has swept away and today the Sportsground is like an empty field where the circus once stood. They are trailing in the Pro-12 league and face an uphill struggle to get back into top cup competition next season.

Connacht played their part in responding to the bonus of qualifying for the Heineken Cup. The furnished the Sportsground, which for decades had gloried in the distinction of being the bleakest place imaginable for visiting teams to come. More than one good outhalf has had his nerves shot to pieces after a day trying to kick penalties and conversions in the Sportsground. They have done their best to sell the brand: the green jerseys have become casual wear now and the flags of the home team adorn the promenade in Salthill. Attendances have risen dramatically this season, despite the black cloud of consecutive losses that has settled over the team.

The Academy has produced players like Eoin Griffin and Tiernan O’Halloran and Connacht continue to ring consistently excellent performances out of players like Michael Swift and Gavin Duffy. Eric Elwood and his management team have refused to allow the cruel run of injuries to become an excuse as the losses mounted. After the wheels fell off entirely in their game against Aironi, assistant coach Billy Millard went public with what was a stark ultimatum to the players to improve their performance.

It was a blunt reminder that even though Connacht continually face opposition teams with bigger budgets, they are a professional squad and will be judged on cold statistical evidence as much as for loyalty to the cause.

“How could you hate the West?” protested economist Moore McDowell during an unintentionally hilarious debate with TD Luke Flanagan on Prime Time during the week. McDowell was objecting to a suggestion put to him that he belonged to a cadre of D4 economists who “disliked” the West.

Ming was banging the drum for the lonesome counties and in particular for the newly opened and apparently greatly underused Western Corridor rail service. For McDowell, the issue was simple: the numbers did not add up and the train service was a luxury Ireland could ill afford. For Ming, the reason the train line was struggling was because the investment was not up to standard. “You can’t even get a cuppa tea on it,” he reasoned.

This was too much for McDowell to bear. “As for the cup of tea, Luke,” he declared. “The cup of tea! Do you want a restaurant carriage added as well?”

The throwaway line revealed much: McDowell may well passionately love the West but he remotely doesn’t understand the place if he can’t see how the unavailability of tea might deter potential rail travellers: not providing tea is almost as grievous a sin as not bothering to furnish the carriages with seats.

But the debate mirrored the relationship between Connacht rugby and its guardians in the IRFU. When it comes to Connacht, the IRFU finds it hard to justify the financial return on its investment.

Connacht rugby people have long harboured the suspicion it would suit the administrators in Lansdowne just fine if a meteorite fell on the Sportsground (although you have to reckon the meteorite would perish and the hardiest ground in Europe survive unscathed) wiping the poor relation off the face of the planet.

Connacht coaches and fans are, meantime, completely disillusioned with the pattern of seeing players – John O’Sullivan, Ian Keatley, Fionn Carr, Seán Cronin – bloom in a season only be snapped up by Leinster or Munster. The annoyance is doubled when it turns out those players fade into the support roles in the superpower clubs.

What are those players supposed to do, though, when they are approached by two of the best club sides in Europe? Say thanks but no, knowing the offer may not come again? Equally, the idea that players on the fringes of the Leinster, Munster and Ulster squad could give Connacht the extra few pounds or inches or pass required to turn those many narrow losses into narrow wins, is frustrating.

It deepens the suspicion among Connacht rugby people they are never dealt a fair hand and that whatever they achieve must be with smaller resources and against the odds. And that becomes wearying.

There is no escaping the fact Connacht rugby is caught in a Catch-22.

The complaints that it can’t go on like this aren’t quite true. It more than likely can. There will always be enough people who want to see elite rugby played in the West. (Some might even be willing to take the Western Corridor choo-choo to make that possible). There will always be bright young professionals on the upward arc of their career who will be happy to sign with the province. There may not always be men like Michael Bradley and Eric Elwood, who have managed to turn water into wine on several occasions down the years. But Connacht are masters at staying alive.

At the end of last Saturday afternoon’s game in Toulouse, the rare acknowledgement by the French team of the visiting fans was one of those special instances when professionalism gives way to chivalry.

It must have been entirely alien to the Toulouse players to hear the loyal cheers and chants from the Irish section of the ground even though it was clear their team was doomed to lose. The great thing was that it was not a patronising gesture but rather a recognition that Connacht, whatever its position on the league and cup tables, represented whatever it is that a sports “club” is meant to be.

It was the most eloquent testimony possible from one of the great forces in European rugby, a salute to a side that remains a riddle for the governors of Irish rugby while earning respect far and wide.