Personal Blogs

Good grief! I've posted previously on what it's like for me to be an England rugby fan. I've been following the England team now for more than forty years and believe me, the accrued pain far outweighs the joys by miles. And today, was a great illustration of what it means to be an unconditionally loyal fan (and it might be worth remembering that 'fan' is a condensed form of the original 'fanatic'). The game against Scotland was among the very worst I've witnessed, at least as far as being an Englishman is concerned, though truth be told, for altogether starker reasons, it was even worse for any Scot.

Scotland, as ever when they play against England, played as though their very souls were at stake. England, did what they can be so good at doing - play with the all the spirit, imagination and athletic energy of Winnie the Pooh's most lethargic of friends, Eeyore. Where the Scots have history, grievance and vengeance to fuel their fires, England have placid, bovine indifference and a capacity to absorb pain. Slowly.

And yet, at some terrifyingly late moment in the game it was a though the stultifying torpour that had settled on the men in white from the moment they stepped on the pitch had suddenly been cast from their collective mind as the players suddenly awakened from their somnambulant meanderings to realise the peril they were in. In a flurrry of late-found belief they kicked into life and in the dying moments delivered the killing blow.

England won, yet few honest English supporters would say the better team triumphed. So it looks like Scotland, barring an unlikely miracle of circumstance, will go home while England stagger on; befuddled, inept, musclebound, bereft of ideas and just as likely to get hammered by the French as they are to suddenly wake up and believe in themselves and post a monster score. And all I can do is to frighten my children as I hurl invectives at the TV screen.

There's got to be a better way of expressing pack loyalty.