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>My day started with a quiet air of anticipation. I >knew I had a ticket through a mate who works for >Pontypridd Mini & Junior Rugby. I duly arrived at >Sardis Road to find myself not on the main bus, but on >a backup minibus with two families on board- none of >which I knew. I opened my mouth to say something near >to London, which was greeted by the astonished cry of >"HE CAN TALK!" >I remember driving up to the ground, having cracked >off a few terrible jokes, to see Country Gents and >Ladies in their wax jackets busily setting up >Champagne and Orange Juice breakfasts for themselves >from the rear of their Range Rovers. >We made our way to the ground, at which point I became >totally seperated from my adopted families, I knew I >was slightly late, because Tom had already started, I >made my way to my seat, only to find that I was about >three blocks over from where I should have been. Each >time I re-entered the arena (I cocked up three times!) >I'd just hear another blast of "Why, why, why, >Delilah?" before making my way back down the steps, >having all but missed the second most famous Ponty boy >of all time. I settled into my seat, programme in >hand, and commenced watching the most electrifying >rugby spectacle in recent times, all orchestrated >superbly by the most famous Ponty boy of all time- the >Ginger Monster. >I don't really recall much until roughly the 75th >minute, when the guy sitting in front of me, a >Birmingham based Rugby player turned to me and said >"You'll never beat us now!" At which point Scott >Quinnell juggled and passed to put Scott Gibbs over >the line. Needless to say, the Brum Bum went >completely gray! I was leaping about like a demented >salmon, hugging all and sundry, and then Brummie >uttered his famous (last) words, "Yeah, but Jenkins >will never kick this!" Oh, but if he only had the >knowledge of Saturday afternoons at Sardis Road, with >Jinxy's monotonous boot pummelling the ball home with >unnering accuracy and regularity, he would never have >said a word. >Needless to say, we all know what happened next, and >as the screaming, jumping, hugging and festivities >died down, I screamed at Brummie "YOU SHOULD COME TO >EVERY MATCH, BUTT!" He didn't look too delighted with >my bear hug! > >When the joyful crying subsided I made my way to the >minibus, clambered up on top, and did my >unaccompanied, and slightly adapted rendition of >Stereophonics' "We DID beat the English!" >It was unabashed, untethered joy, not only to win, but >to beat the Saeson... bastards. > >----------------------------------------- > >www.brettdavey.com

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