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Date Posted: 01:06:38 01/18/02 Fri
Author: Private Eye
Subject: Sunday Afternoon in April

Me? I'm one of those old fashioned Welshmen, who learnt to sing the hymns (with the right words) in Chapel. Didn't get much choice in that, with a dad and grandad of the cloth. But then my Tadcu was also born opposite the Brewery Field and had Bridgend RFC in his blood, and I was the nipper who sat him next to Unlce Mac in the stand, and stood with my distant cousin on the touchline.

So when the minister asked whether I was free to play the organ that Sunday evening, I had a dilemma. He knew I wasn't going up to London ('O ye of little faith') but he probably also knew that I would be watching the game in the Wig and Pen (St Helens Rd, Swansea). The thing is, the match would be over by 6.30 pm wouldn't it? No conflict in terms of timing at all. But then, when was the last time I played Cwm Rhondda after 8 or 9 pints? Probably at a wedding.....

Sinner that I am, I declined the invitation to the evening hour of worship. I was convinced that I would be punished for my sin, and most of Wales with me, after all, how many of us honestly thought we had a chance of winning?

But then we had the build up - Max Boyce, Tom Jones, singing that they've not heard in my Chapel since Tescos opened its doors on the Sabbath. And the beer started to flow - out of bottles in the end because the dishwasher couldn't keep up (God, I hate Newkie Brown Ale). Jenks the boot kept us in it the first half and we went into the interval in touch. We couldn't really hear the commentry, but you could tell what Inverdale and Bracken were saying just from the look on their faces. England had the Grand Slam wrapped up, they would cut out the indiscipline, and Wales would be buried.

And so we went into the last 5 minutes just 6 points down, and friends turned to me and said "you're religious, time to get on the phone to God" Tim Rodber offended, and I said my first little prayer "O God, if we're meant to win this one, was that a sign? Let us win the lineout ball at least"

I wasn't the only one in the pub thanking God when St Scott sidestepped the English bishops. I wasn't the only one praying when St Neil prepared to win the game for us. It crossed my mind that there may have been some English praying for him to miss, but surely God, in this hour of all, was Welsh. And so it proved.

As it happens, I was still in the pub when the church door closed at 7.30. But I need not have worried. I ordered 24 t-shirts from Bern, and the minister bought one.

Private Eye

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