Stimpson's final strike breaks Welsh hearts

Leicester 13 Llanelli 1

The European champions are still in business, thanks to the 16-pound cannon cunningly concealed in Tim Stimpson's right boot and two bits of adjoining carpentry at the city end of Nottingham Forest's City Ground, but if the ferociously competitive cut-throats in the Leicester side – the Johnsons, the Backs, the Healeys – have an ounce of humanity about them, they will shed a tear for Llanelli. For the second time in three years, the Welshmen were denied a place in the Heineken Cup final by a penalty at the death, and this one was cruel beyond words.

Out on their feet and barely able to draw breath after mounting the rearguard action of their lives during a one-way second half, the Scarlets were 12-10 up and settled in the Leicester half of the field as the two packs banged into each other for the last scrum of the afternoon.

The front rows hit the deck – why wouldn't they, after 79 minutes of tumult? – and the referee, David McHugh, blew his whistle of doom in the direction of Martyn Madden, the Llanelli prop. Stimpson, the best part of 60 metres out, struck a low skimmer towards the distant posts and saw the ball hit both bar and post before stumbling almost pathetically into the three-point category. He almost apologised on the spot.

Llanelli had been here before: in the 2000 tournament, Northampton's Paul Grayson killed them off with the final kick of another tourniquet-tight semi-final. Unfortunately for them, Stimpson had been here, too. The big full-back, a scruffy performer for much of yesterday's contest but strong in thought and deed when it really mattered, kicked an equally difficult, equally important goal to see off Stade Français in last season's final. So much for his alleged fragility on the big occasion.

Leicester might easily have relinquished their title yesterday. Their discipline at the breakdown was desperate – if the excellent McHugh refereed them every week, England's other Premiership clubs would make a far better fist of challenging for some domestic silverware – and their line-out flickered like an ancient lightbulb. Young Harry Ellis suffered the full range of indignities at scrum-half and, as a result, Austin Healey failed to make the remotest sense of the hurly-burly surrounding him at outside-half.

Had things worked out just a little differently for Stephen Jones, a born stand-off as opposed to a manufactured one, Llanelli would have compiled a match-winning lead by the interval. But Leicester's good fortune either side of half-time gave them an even break they scarcely deserved, having played like suckers for the opening period. Jones had kicked three penalties to go with the 16 he had slotted in his two previous games in this tournament, when the aggressive Martin Corry hit him full in the face with a stiff-arm challenge. It fell to Jones to dish out the required punishment but, with the bells still ringing in his ears, he hooked his kick wide.

Then, three minutes into the second half, a chance rebound off a retreating Llanelli defender allowed Graham Rowntree and Fereti Tuilagi to plough into the soft Scarlet underbelly and create a simple try for Ellis, who slipped away from a ruck to slide over to the left of the posts. Jones re-established a two-point advantage for his side 10 minutes later, chipping over from in front of the sticks after Lewis Moody, by some distance the outstanding Leicester contributor, killed a ruck on the 22. But the game had shifted on its axis and the last quarter saw the Welshmen running ever faster just to stand still.

In one sense, Leicester played like champions. A good deal went wrong for them yesterday, and the sheer physicality of the fire-fight up front asked big questions of Dorian West, Darren Garforth, Martin Johnson and Neil Back, the thirtysomethings in their pack. Yet it was they who went the extra yard – who looked into the eyes of their opposite numbers, upped the ante and imposed their will at the death. Fitter in body? Not necessarily. Fitter in mind and spirit? It was a close-run thing, but yes.

It is by no means certain that Llanelli will find the wherewithal to mount a comparable challenge next season, for a number of their key performers – Scott Quinnell, Dave Hodges, John Davies – have precious few laps left to run. Gareth Jenkins will build a new Scarlet collective and it will be as vibrant a unit as ever, but Heineken Cups are won by mature teams. Having twice come within a few paltry seconds of making the final, Llanelli's latter-day Carwyn James may well have to wait another five years before he takes a side all the way. He deserves better.

Leicester: Try Ellis; Conversion Stimpson; Penalties Stimpson 2. Llanelli: Penalties Jones 4.

Leicester: T Stimpson; G Murphy, O Smith, R Kafer, F Tuilagi (L Lloyd, 70); A Healey, H Ellis (J Hamilton, 63); G Rowntree, D West, D Garforth, M Johnson (capt), B Kay, L Moody, N Back, M Corry.

Llanelli: G Evans (W Proctor 70); M Jones, N Boobyer, L Davies, S Finau; S Jones, G Easterby; M Madden, R McBryde, J Davies, V Cooper, C Wyatt (L Gross, 69), D Hodges, S Easterby (I Boobyer, 71), S Quinnell (capt).

Referee: D McHugh (Ireland).