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>>Sat at home in surrey, where no-one knows what rugby >>is except when Wales lose to england (notice who I >>respect more). Me and my Dad watching the ginger one >>kicking goals the w**ker wilkinson could only dream >>of, getting steadily more wasted. At half time, heard >>bracken and inverdale giving it some about the scum, >>but I tend not to listen. Second half, Howarth's try >>gets us back in it. Then the tackle that broke >>Charvis' jaw means we get a penalty, with the clock >>showing 80 minutes and us 6 points down. Naturally, >>Jenks puts it deep into england territory. "That man >>Wyatt again", says Bill McLaren as our trusty lock >>wins yet another lineout. Howley, gives it to God, and >>he threads the needle to Gibbs. How did he get through >>that gap. YES! Elation as I run into the kitchen >>knocking over my mother on the way shoputing "WE'VE >>WON IT, WE'VE WON IT". The ginger one never misses, so >>I was confident. Engalnd k-o, they try a drop goal. >>Howarth calmly collects it under his own posts and >>marks. Surely it must be over now. He finds touch, and >>Bill McLaren (as well as the rest of the Celtic >>nations) goes cock-a-hoop. I still claim drinks from >>all my Scottish friends for April '99, without doubt >>the greatest month of my life.

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