Tuesday, September 20, 2011

S v W

Outnumbered 100:1 at the only pub we could find except for one called Em-Bar-Go. Obviously the Samoa fans were at a private pre-game party we weren't invited to because we didn't manage to memorise the entire anthem; no prizes for trying here. This is the WORLD CUP. The Welsh fans were friendly enough though; particularly the one who thought Vincent was wearing an American flag and came over wanting to know if his captain had been cited for the his shoulder-charge.

Vincent looked a lot like a Vailima superhero. As far as I'm concerned, he is one; he drove the four hour trip home with his wife snoring beside him, waking only to provide a drunken harmony to Jackson and show off her Sound Of Music prowess by doing all the parts of Do-Re-Mi. In her defense, who could have known it would ever be played on the radio? It was a dream come true. Then he took back the car alone, and bussed back. At least that's what he said; I think he may have flown.

Even I know how important a warm-up is; I was very conscientious at primary school. No-one was ever interested in watching me do it, which may be why I preferred to sit down...

Now I'm very conscientious about hydration. And colour-coordination.

The crowd was surprisingly sedate; not for lack of passion, of which there was plenty. I don't know if it was that it was Sunday, or the gravity of the game.

This is Wales. Rugby players are seriously enormous. If one of them tackled me I'd be in traction. At least I hope I would be; my food baby is so healthy they might actually just bounce off.

I always think the idea of an old-fashioned duel, before which the parties shake hands, is totally absurd. But, while I know no-one's going to end up dead (or at least not on purpose) during a rugby game, it's a battle. So warming up across the field from each other before engaging seems weird to me. Also, it's a little bit like seeing the corset that's making the wench's boobs look so bountiful. I don't want to see the tricks, I just want to see the effect. 

I'd been looking forward to the anthems as much as the game; Vincent and I had done a few final run-throughs at the pub, and I felt ready (except for the words - we were clearly going to need our little scrap of paper for prompting). Disappointingly, the crowd's seriousness meant they weren't sung with the gusto I'd expected; I could hear myself, which was unfortunate.

We were too busy watching to take photos during the game, but you know what happened. The team did a lap of the field at the end, and Vincent and I cheered and chehooed, and waved our flags all the way back to the car. It's not over yet.

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