An Afternoon of Rugby

Much of my writings recently are random and varied. This is because they stem from past experiences recounted to friends, who immediately said, ‘you should write that down.’ So here goes:

It was the 21^st of March 2015. Ireland were going reasonably well in the six nations rugby championship. We had won the previous year’s championship on points difference. In 2015, we weren’t setting the world on fire or anything like that but due to a combination of teams beating each other, amazingly, the last Saturday of the season would decide the championship and four of the six teams could still win it. Whatever computer set out the fixtures must have had a fine sense of drama because the three final games followed each other in a perfect sequence.

But first I must set the scene. I was working in Russia in those years and I had repaired to an Irish pub in St Petersburg with some friends to watch the games. I was in great company. There were two French men, five English, two Scots, a Welsh man joining myself and three other Irish lads. One of the Irish was actually the cultural attache at the Irish Embassy in Moscow, who was visiting St Pete for the weekend. I mention this because its relevance will become clear later in the story. 

Now, the rugby scenario was as follows. Firstly, Wales were playing Italy. If they beat them by enough points and then if Scotland beat Ireland and England and France drew, they would be champions. Wales duly beat Italy by 40 points and set Ireland a massive task. We had to beat Scotland in Edinburgh by a significant margin to have any chance of the title. Beating Scotland anywhere at any time is never an easy task but we accomplished it, amazingly by about 40 points! Now Ireland were top of the table on points difference. It all came down to the final game – England v France at Twickenham. If France won, they were champions. England had to win by a margin greater than 21 points for them to be champions. Our French companions were confident but our English friends were even more so. And so it proved, as in the first half England tore into France and put up a huge score. By half time, they had achieved their 21 point margin. Irish and French faces were downcast in the pub and the sounds of ‘swing low, sweet chariot,’ the English rugby anthem, could be heard from the English corner. 

But hope springs eternal and early in the second half, we sensed a French revival. They scored a magnificent try. It was, as the French say, champagne rugby. Immediately, our two French friends launched into a resounding rendition of ‘La Marsellaise,’ the French national anthem. I hadn’t known that this is a traditional French way of celebrating a score. France were still well behind but better was to come – they scored again – another magnificent try. It was as if, like many French teams of the past, they threw caution to the wind and played by instinct. Our two guys immediately gave us a reprise of their anthem, this time joined by the Irish cultural attache, who knew the words by heart. It’s an inspiring song at the best of times but on this day, it seemed to bring the team to ever greater heights, even though the singers were a thousand miles away.

Now the English margin was down below the 21 point mark and the groans were audible from the English corner. But never fear, the bulldog wasn’t beaten yet and England surged forward for a magnificent try of their own. The chariot got an airing in the corner. France surged for another 45 pass magnificent try. This time the anthem almost drowned out the pub. It was followed almost immediately by an even better try. Ecstasy was now the tone. France were still well behind but Ireland would be champions unless the English scored another try. This was unlikely but given the form they were in, we looked on nervously with our French friends in an uneasy alliance. France scored one more try and England surged for one of their own. But it was too late – time was up. The final score was, unbelievably: England 55, France 35. England had lost the championship to Ireland on points difference by one solitary point. To be fair, all of our fellow protagonists were sporting and congratulated us heartily. 

We sort of felt that we should emulate our two French men so what followed from us was one of the most passionate renditions of ‘Amhran na b’Fhiann’ (the Irish national anthem) I have ever heard. So thus ended the most exciting end to a six-nations rugby championship or possibly any sporting championship ever.