Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau

For these blog posts, which are tied to the World Cup games that I'm attending, I generally have a broad idea before the game of the anticipated content, which I then refine, by adding observations, thoughts (and general rambling...) from the live games, to back up the initial broader thoughts.

With this in mind, as I prepared to head to Twickenham for last Saturday's headline-grabbing clash between England and Wales, I already had some plans in mind for this post.  The title of the post would be "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot", and the content would be a celebration of the way that the patriotic crowd had inspired the hosts to a fine victory, against the plucky opponents.

It is fair to say that these plans had to be changed somewhat...

I won't go into too much detail about the game itself - I assume you already know by now that the Welsh were triumphant.  But what I said above about concept of a patriotic crowd inspiring a nation still held very true, with respect to the Welsh contingent in the crowd, which apparently numbered 20,000, or 25% of the total Twickenham attendance.  The gentleman sat to my right was a Welshman, as was the guy sat behind me.  From the moment that they belted out the uplifting national anthem, "Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau" pre-game, and through several word-perfect renditions of "Guide Me, O Thou Great Redeemer", the voices from the valleys served only to inspire the men in red, out on the pitch.  The Sweet Chariot was malfunctioning somewhat...

As I said in my last post, there is a huge amount of respect built into the culture of Rugby Union.  When the aforementioned Welsh chap took his seat beside me before the game (and, he appeared to be a prop forward, so it sure was a cosy 80 minutes...) he shook my hand, and wished me all the best.  At the final whistle, I shook his hand and congratulated him on the win.  Can you really imagine such a scene occurring between rival Premier League football fans?  I somehow struggle to visualise such a scenario...

The walk from Twickenham station to the stadium certainly isn't dull.  For those who have never been to the home of rugby, it is located in quite a middle-class area of London (even borderline upper-class).  Street food, and other souvenirs, are sold from the gardens of these properties on match day.  I'm not sure how the logistics and financials are worked between the home-owners and the stall-owners, but this all adds to the occasion of the day.  Also, nobody can fault the sweet smell of street food!  Here is a picture I took on Saturday, showing the scene, with the stadium in the background.

Anyway, I'm skipping the live games next weekend, as the only available ticket prices I could find for England vs Australia were somewhere on the other side of the line the sand that represents value for money... but more live games... and more general rambling... will follow, later in the tournament!