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Date Posted: 07:47:32 12/23/01 Sun
Author: Ponty Williams
Subject: My day at Wembley.

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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