On the train to Cardiff, a Welshman, overhearing one of my travelling companion’s Australian accents asked us who we thought would win on Saturday.
Without hesitation, as we’d already discussed the possible outcome of the game at length, we both replied “Australia by two scores” and I added “maybe more”. The strength of our conviction obviously upset the bloke as he proceeded to muster up his most authoritative scoff and chuckle.
“Colonials” he smirked to himself. We returned indifferently to our six pack and crisps, he to his indignation.
Travellers to France are often forewarned to at least try and speak a little French when interacting with the locals or else you might find yourself on the receiving end of the famous Gallic arrogance. This isn’t such a terrible thing in itself but it can be damned annoying when your waiter deliberately misleads you into ordering cold tripe. In the same vein, those planning to take a trip through the Welsh countryside, particularly on a big rugby day, should be forewarned that the best way to get on a Welshman’s good side is to talk a little about Wales’ glorious past before daring to mention the present.
The Welsh love of rugby is something to behold. Even after nearly thirty years as a mere shadow of their former selves, the nation has yet to even consider that it might not be the centre of the rugby universe. On game day the city’s heart pumps with the blood red shirts of Wales’ fanatical supporters.
Inside Millennium Stadium you can see how rugby here has become a religious experience. The sea of red jerseys rises up through the stands to the closed roof where strands of light beam in through the misty air as if they were falling through the stained glass of some ancient cathedral.
On this day the Australian crowd gave a good showing of itself during the national anthem but it was only ever going to be the warm-up. As the Welsh throats opened, the cathedral feeling was completed and standing within earshot all around me were half a dozen of the best singers I’ve heard in my life.
Before the game I’d chatted with an old weather-beaten boyo who’d come to watch the game resplendent in his 70’s era jersey and kilt. Having buttered him up with a question about why the Welsh hadn’t selected the bullish Will James even though he was the most aggressive forward Wales have produced since Scott Quinnell, my new friend took me into his confidence about the decline of Welsh rugby.
“As hard as it is to accept that we’ve dropped so low”, he said “its worse that the powers that be haven’t done anything to help the weaker sides get any better”. As he spoke New Zealand scored yet another try against Portugal and his point was made. As sad as it was it did gladden me to discover that rugby supporters the world over want to see the IRB do more to help develop the lower ranked nations.
Back on the pitch and any thoughts for the minnows were well and truly forgotten as the action began. Our weakness remains our scrum and marginal improvement, as the entire Italian team found out against the might of New Zealand, does not count for much. Even after Berrick Barnes brilliant run to set up Matt Giteau’s try, the suspicion always lingered that if we started to gift penalties in the scrum, the likes of Stephen Jones or James Hook would happily convert them.
So it played out in the second-half which the Welsh deservedly ‘won’ 17 – 7. Such victories are meaningless as Australia took the foot off the pedal when they thought they had the game won and that is going to be our biggest problem in the games to come. We have the talent and we are building a good tournament but we are going to need to play at our best for a full eighty minutes to challenge New Zealand or South Africa.
Out on the streets after the game the Welsh were in reasonably good spirits and talked of the strength of the fight back and how the score flattered the Australians. They know how to pull a positive out even the deepest of holes over here. As I walked out of the stadium I overheard one Welshman joyously proclaim “at least we know they’ll give the English a bloody good hiding in the quarter final”.
The Welsh cup remains half full.
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