Today was rugby day, hurrah! And not just on TV: I went with a few friends to the Twickenham Stoop to watch one of the quarter-final of the European Cup (on these shores, it takes the name of a sponsor, a huge brewing company from a country where they have never heard of rugby. Sigh!).
The loyalties in the group were divided: I was supporting the Irish province of Leinster, and everybody else was supporting the local team of the Harlequins. That latter preference was mostly based on reasons only distantly related to sport: namely, the good looks, or rather shape, of some players. In contrast, my own criteria for supporting Leinster are highly rational: I like their attacking game, I have always had a weakness for Ireland, which has grown stronger over the years... Oh, and I just discovered that the usual jersey of their team being blue, the Leinster fans often encourage their favourites by chanting: "Allez les bleus! Allez les bleus!". What is a (French)man to do?
I must regretfully report that being handsome and shapely does not always ensure victory. In a hard-fought match, where brawl and resilience were more decisive than skills, Leinster, despite being better known for the latter than the former, held on to a 6-5 lead in the face of some rather unsportsmanly conduct by Harlequins.
And that was not the only happy event that day. One of our party couldn't come to the match as his wife was about to give birth. The baby is not born as I write these lines, but I certainly hope he will be named Rocky, in honour of man of the match Rocky Elsom. Then again, it could be a girl...
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