Twickenham is a very different sporting venue to any that I have previously attended. The accents spoken by those in attendance wouldn't be out of place at Oxbridge, nor in one of Central London's legal chambers. At one stage last Saturday, 6 "chaps" strolled past me in a group, each one dressed impeccably in matching tweed jackets, along with collar, tie, etc. Jolly good, old fellow, jolly good...
Also, the physical dimensions of a rugby supporter stand out from the norm. I attend many football matches, and often feel, with my 6'1" frame, like the character of Gulliver, on his travels to Lilliput, as I gaze at the assembled masses of short, but loud, supporters. When attending a rugby match, however, many of my fellow spectators have been observed to be 6'8" and upwards, and of a very sturdy and muscular build... and this is just the women......
Spectators are provided (for a fee) with an ear-piece, connected to the referee's microphone. Other than the very audible bone-crunching collisions between players, something else that is obvious via this handy piece of equipment is the level of respect shown from the players towards the referee. The referee is always referred to as "Sir", and no bad language is ever used. Compare and contrast with our dear national sport, in which it doesn't take a degree in lip-reading to identify the liberal usage of Anglo-Saxon terminology, towards the much-maligned "man in black".
Only last weekend, I saw a football game on TV where one prima donna footballer struck another prima donna footballer twice in the face, before chest-bumping him to the ground, whilst a third prima donna footballer showed up on the scene, engaged in some pushing, shoving and back-heeling, which ultimately resulted in a red card, and lots of somewhat childish acrimony between two managers, who refuse to engage on any level with one another at the best of times. In rugby, respect is always very obvious, as the quotation at the top of this blog post sums up very nicely.
As the game I attended last Saturday was contested by France and Italy, there were also many nationals from those two countries in attendance, which made for a very cosmopolitan feel at the venue. Les Bleus (always Les Bleus, never Les Rouges, despite the colours being worn) won both the vocal contest in the stands, and the sporting contest on the field of play.
The loudest cheer of the day, however, was reserved for prior to the game, as everyone gathered around the nearest TV screen to watch the unfolding action from the game at Brighton. The edition of the Rugby World Cup that I remember with the most clarity from my youth was from 1995 - the tournament clashed with my GCSE exams, and presented a great, and maybe excessive, alternative to revision. In that tournament, Messrs Mandela & Pienaar marked a South African triumph, whilst I still remember watching every moment of Japan's painful 145-17 demolition by the All Blacks. Just 20 years later, the scenes that I watched unfold on the TV screen of the Stadium bar last Saturday, of Japan defeating the Springboks, truly represented one of the great upset victories of all time... indeed, arguably the greatest upset victory of all time... in any sport.
I wonder if a well-known 1999 quote can be reapplied, in this instance? If so, then the quote would read:
"Rugby... Bloody Hell...!!"
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