travelblog: Cardiff rugby

We lost, but we lost <i>well</ì>. This is a difference thats lost on some people so i'll try and explain. There's no shame involved if your team played well, took its chances yet still were defeated by a superior side. This 'winning is all that counts' attitude does no favours to anyone. Although, over the years my country has crafted losing into some kind of artform.

It was also interesting to note the difference in the Aussie fans themselves, there were a couple in front of us who were funny erudite people enjoying the game and having a chat with us. Marvellous.

Behind us, however, lurked a different barbie of shrimp. First off he smuggled a bottle of champagne into the ground. How, I didnt want to know but he was walking kinda funny. He was the most myopic blinkered fool I may have ever met seemingly with a two phrase vocab
"Smash him!" when we've got the ball, and
"Hands!" when they have. Now Wales is my team and I back them 100%. But when a Welsh player commits a foul, it's still a foul, i dont expect them to be let off due to their Welshness! And his little nickname scheme was intriguing. Gregan became Gregan-y, Jones became Jones-y and Fortesque-Smythe became... Well you get the picture. Basically he was a soccer yob from a country without a real soccer team. Not all Austrailians are like this but its obvious to see where the unfortunate stereotype comes from.

Oh and I almost forgot! We had a minutes silence to remeber Sir Tusker-Watkins, a great servant of the Welsh game. There was 45 seconds of utter quiet and then some idiot shouted a call and a bunch of fools called back. There was shocked silence for a second or two, this sort of thing does not happen at the rugby. And then a single clear voice in a rich valleys baritone rings out, audible to 72,000 people;

"Quiet! Philistines."