Having lived in New Zealand for ten years, Kiwis tend to raise an eyebrow when you suggest that the Six Nations is the greatest rugby tournament on the planet. They point to the one sided games and the poor record of the Northern Hemisphere national sides in the annual Autumn internationals.
But to the real supporters of rugby, the hardened fans who brave awful weather each year, who travel to games over thousands of miles via car, train, plane and ferry, who socialize happily together long into the night in success and defeat, this is the real annual tournament of rugby.
My first ‘live’ experience of this special tournament came way back in 1985. I had secured my first five nations (as it was then) ticket through my school at the age of 13. Wales V Ireland at Cardiff Arms Park. It was a huge green ticket and I spent hours in the week leading up to the game just staring at it in wonder and excitement. Even more exciting was that my parents were going to allow me to go the game on my own, with just three friends for company. I had rarely been to Cardiff with them and certainly never on my own.
We left our small town, Brecon, at 8.30am to get to Cardiff for the 2pm kick off. A small public bus took us over the Brecon Beacons mountains to Merthyr Tydfil, to meet the train at the end of the line. As I paid for my ticket at the station and walked through to the platform, I came across a sight that will stay with me until my dying day……there must have been 500 people crammed onto this small platform waiting for the train, all adorned in red: red Wales shirts, red and white scarfs, and as was the fashion of the day, red and white bobble hats. I instantly knew that this was some thing special, and my first feeling of Welsh rugby patriotism flooded through my veins.
To my teenage amazement I watched and listened as grown men openly drank from brown beer bottles and the whole carriage joined together in Welsh hymns and songs. The noise of the train only quietening when the train guard arrived at our carriage. This large man analysed the sight in front of him and I instantly thought that these drinkers on the train would be in dire trouble.
“There is no drinking on my train” his voice boomed, and with a smile appearing on his face he continued “Unless the guard can have some!” Cheers and laughter echoed around the train as he took a bottle of beer from a passenger and took an even bigger swig. More cheering!
The train meandered its way to the capital, stopping at notable valley rugby villages such as Mountain Ash and Abercynon, picking up more rugby passengers en route. If Merthyr had been full of supporters, the station at Pontypridd was a different level. This rugby hotbed, home of famous Welsh rugby internationals from over the years and the ‘Ponty’ rugby team was literally a sea of red as men, and women, attempted to cram onto the small train. Despite my friends comment that ‘they’ll never all get on”, with some pushing, squeezing and a little swearing, all were housed uncomfortably for the last fifteen minute part of the journey into the city. The singing picked up to another level as we got closer to the National Stadium.
The rest of the day itself is now sadly a blur, I recall people hanging out of pubs around the city, I recall television crews interviewing people from the street and I recall people swapping their tickets on Westgate Street with the shouts of ‘One upper stand ticket for two terrace’ seeming to be the going rate. I recall the children’s enclosure at the far back right of the stadium where we stood for the game, and I recall the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as 60,000 people joined with the band in the rendition of ‘land of my fathers’. I also sadly recall that the men in green completed a worthy victory that day.
This was the start of a love affair with the six nations tournament. Later as I grew older, I joined the older men in the drinking, the singing and the pubs, and I joined the 20,000 plus supporters who make the annual pilgrimage to either Ireland or Scotland each year, to enjoy the rugby and to socialize with supporters of the other six nations countries.
It is only when I recall this story to Kiwi’s that they are left a little quiet, for the Southern Hemisphere’s four nations has very little of these supporters stories to share and enjoy.
Long may the supporters enjoy the greatest rugby tournament in the world. Bring on the 2015 Six Nations!
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