Wales

I know Scotland's performance was poor and the result a cliff hanger, but Fiji made it a cracking weekend!

Scotland v Italy - St Etienne

The stadium was almost full with the official number 34,701 .... and I was the one. Well if I hadn't been there it would have been 34,700 wouldn't it?

Cuba (Part 7)

7 July:

There's a match tonight against a Cuba select. Some of the guys who played for Havana a few days ago will be playing. Our boys were embarrassed when they were found so wanting physically in the previous match. They are determined to be ready this time, so very little drink for the "players" last night and no drink at all, except water and soft drinks today. The non-players, however, can make up for them. There's no need to confuse the hotel bar with an unexpected reduction in turnover, is there?It's a good game, we win, mainly because of better discipline, the Cubans give just too many penalties. We're joined at the match by a girl from the British Embassy; we've all got a formal invite to a reception at the Ambassador's residence. Proselytizing rugby, it seems, deserves official notice. Also, (I've only just learned) Glasgow and Havana are twinned !!! The BBC's new correspondent (all of three days in-country) has come along, not believing that he would see a game of rugby in Cuba. He's a Leicester Tigers man and thoroughly enjoys the match. He comes back to the hotel with us, taking interest in our Club and our reasons for choosing Cuba to tour. I take a mental note to remember "Our Man inHavana" as I'm sure we'll be hearing him report on momentously historical events in the near future. As he says, "Why do you think I tried so hard to get the post?".

Cuba (Part 3)

2 July:

After court (if you've been on a rugby tour, you'll know what I'm talking about), where our particular "badge of ignominy", which is a "yellow jersey" entitled "poof de tour" is awarded. This morning, quite unusually it was jointly "won" by two of the younger lads. The jersey, which is only laundered BETWEEN tours, has to be worn at all times by the recipient (except in bed, on the rugby pitch, or swimming). It was therefore not a surprise to see both lads in the one jersey. (The temperature was 30 C)

Later that day, we all went to Havana for a game of pub golf (don't ask!). Everybody took it very seriously, but it had the inevitable conclusion, everybody got very, very drunk. (It transpired later that there wasn't even anyone sober enough to collect the scorecards).

3 July:

There's a game scheduled today against an Havana select, KO 5.30. All the "players" are having the day off drink in preparation (the over-indulgence of the day before is really of no consequence they say .. yeah). We older guys are quietly pleased to get a chance to re-charge the not so sprightly batteries. (although you'd never get any of us to admit this).

The very high temperature (and very high humidity) and the 4 day bash the lads have been on takes it toll on the pitch and the surprisingly well organised, and fit and strong locals hold us incredibly to a 0 - 0 draw.

You don't get many of them! I'm trying to explain the game to some locals and without a score to show them, it was pretty difficult to demonstrate the point of the game, although they really appreciated the athleticism and physicality.

A full set of my pics of the tour can be found at Flikr

Sporting Events ??

Just back from Paris where Irish hearts were broken by Scotland not quite doing enough to give Ireland the 6 Nations Championship. With a couple of "dodgy" tries, the wrong player being sin binned (Scotland's best player at the time) one could argue that Ireland were a shade unlucky. Unfortunately, back home, with footballers stamping on fans; potential "player of the year" being called a cheat and a Knight of the Realm (Sir Alex Swearengin) giving an unreportable press conference because of the amount of expletives, I was again cheered that my preferred sport is played by "sportsmen".

Newcastle Falcons v Saracens

Scene set-up: Friday night, Newcastle Falcons 20, Saracens 14 with seconds to go. Saracens require a converted try to win by a single point. (Memories of the Falcons match at Bristol a few weeks before where this actually happened in the time over 40 minutes when Bristol got a penalty try and the Falcons were robbed).

Falcons are in possession and the crowd are counting down in sync with the match clock; "five, four, three .... " a kick to touch; match over? Saracens take a quick line out, catching the Falcons out and break through to run under the posts from 80 yards. Horror of horrors, it's happened again and the falcons lose by a single point again (in "overtime"). Quite a few fans make their hurried exit even before the Saracen player has actually crossed the try line.

Wait ... the referee and touch judge are in conference. After a few moments discussion they take the play back to the line-out which is then replayed. A couple of heart stopping tackles later and the Saracens concede a penalty which is dispatched out of the ground and Newcastle are the victors.

The ruling was correct, of course, as Saracens had taken the quick line out with a different ball, procured immediately from a ball-boy. This is not allowed of course. The Saracen player showed some quickness of thought as he did not really have much choice with the clock so obviously running out. As the infringement took place in real match time, the referee has to continue play from that point which in essence gave Saracens a further play that they would not otherwise have had.

The main point of this long-winded explanation is to pay tribute to all the players who, in a situation of high drama and emotion, allowed the officials to decide on the issue without interference, pressure or re-course, and accepted (especially the Saracens' players) what was in reality the correct decision. Credit to all concerned.

Scotland v Ireland

Saturday at Murrayfield just before the teams came out; over 20 Scottish mascots versus one solitary Irish mascot. "Fair odds" most would have said at that point, no-one expected the narrowest of Irish victories. Well played Scotland.

Croke Park - 24th February 2007

I was at the Ireland v England game at Croke Park last Saturday. I've quite a lot to share as a non-committed Scot; but I'm starting with someone else's words, a professional, who I think accurately describes the most important elements of what was an unforgettable experience. The words are Patrick Collins' and the piece was published in the "Irish Mail on Sunday" and then in the UK. The link to the original article is here

This was sport as it ought to be ... a force for healing

On a damp, squally evening on the north side of Dublin, a game of rugby was played and a page of history was turned. England came to Croke Park; the Union flag was flown and the British anthem was sung. And, somehow,the sky did not fall nor the walls of the stadium crumble to dust.

This was sport as we dreamed it might be, a force for healing rather than division. It was fierce, passionate and committed, as it should be when Ireland meet England at rugby. But it was also honest and respectful, because the people of Ireland, in this citadel of Gaelic games, had set the impeccable tone.

That tone was set before a ball had been kicked or a pass delivered. Ever since Irish rugby moved from its home at Lansdowne Road to the place they call ‘Croker’, this was the day which the nation had awaited with a mixture of pride and dread.

The history of Croke Park has been told and re-told these past few weeks; of the murderous assault by the Black and Tans and the deaths of innocent civilians back in 1920. And still there are those who believe that Ireland is ill-served by entertaining such visitors in such a place.

The rumours had rampaged across the nation for weeks and months. There was talk of disruption, of protest, of nationalistic gestures.And the fears would not evaporate, despite the wealth of preparation. Yesterday was the testing time, when the ordinary sporting citizens of Ireland would show the world that the nation has moved on, or would take a long stride back to the old ways. And you could sniff the nervousness in the Dublin air as the hour grew close.

The English team were congenially applauded as they trotted out in track suits, seven minutes before the scheduled kick-off. Not quite a hundred thousand welcomes perhaps, but as warm as anything they normally receive at Twickenham. There were the usual nervous smiles as the teams were presented to President Mary McAleese. There was an anguished longeur as the President returned to the official tribune. And all the while, we sensed that both the stadium and the nation were holding their breath. Would demonstrations erupt? Would ancient grudges find raucous expression? The answers followed swiftly and impressively.

The announcement that the anthems were about to be played brought a sustained clatter of applause. Then the combined police and army band struck up the familiar air and the English fans cleared their throats and bellowed God Save the Queen.

Why, high in the stands you could actually make out the words: "Send her victorious, Happy and glorious". And here’s the strangest thing, so widespread was the singing that you could almost believe that Republican voices were joining in that request for the deity to preserve the monarchy. None will admit it in the bleary dawn, of course, but that was the way it sounded.

Sure, the real passion was saved for the Soldier’s Song, that trenchant assertion of pride and purpose,and the sheer vastness of the great stadium made it resound as never before. But the respect shown to England and the English was deeply moving, the decent gesture of a civilised people. And that decency simply endorsed the view expressed by the Irish historian, John A Murphy.

"When our English neighbours are made welcome in such a splendid stadium in the capital of a mature and sovereign republic, the innocent Croke Park dead of November 21, 1920, will be honoured, not insulted."

Naturally, the Irish mood was not harmed by the fact that England were then beaten out of sight. All the pre-tournament fears that this was an England side destined to suffer now came to miserable fruition. And all the promise, all the hope which had attended the men in green came to a glorious conclusion.

After a briefly nervous beginning, Ireland were simply immense. Stronger and more disciplined at the front, infinitely more resourceful among the backs. Driven forward by the thumping boot of Ronan O’Gara, they dictated the terms, devoured the points, put an immense distance in class and attainment between themselves and their hapless visitors.

And, as beaten teams do, England slowly, unmistakably, disintegrated. These are still the world champions, still men with apparently authentic expectations of defending the title.But that was not how it looked in Dublin last night.

While Brian O’Driscoll and his inspired band simply reeked of elegant class, Phil Vickery’s side looked as dejected as if they had already seen the reviews and witnessed the inquests.

It was not remotely good enough, not nearly sufficient for the daunting task ahead. And as they dragged themselves off the field, they wore the air of men who know that worse, far worse, may lie in store.

And yet, dejection was by no means the prevailing mood of this Dublin day. Sure, the victors began their celebrations long before the stadium had emptied. Sure, the Irish rugby brotherhood would mark down this triumph as a victory to stand with the best.

And, certainly, the prospect of another Triple Crown is some consolation for letting the Grand Slam slip. But the real triumph had been delivered far earlier, when a band struck up a familiar yet foreign anthem in a place where terrible events had occurred.

And, as one, the people had stood in affectionate respect. The stadium announcer,in those ponderous tones which officials employ, somehow made it official. "To every person in this 81,000 crowd, I want to say thank you very much," he declared. There was more applause, more approval.

For on this historic day for civilised sport, he spoke for us all.