Wales.
A green country chocked full of lovely people, beer, sheep and rugby.
Since the fall of the manufacturing and mining industries in the UK, Wales in particular has seen more than its fair share of hardship. It suffers, in areas, from high drug use, high alcohol abuse, violence, teen pregnancy as well as unemployment and limited prospects.
In sport, rugby dominates, with football second. The football team has yet to qualify for a World Cup and perpetually disappoints. Though one has to have expectations to disappoint, I suppose.
Though the Welsh rugby team has had a few recent successes - the 2005 and 2008 Grand Slams - the team has not smelt perpetual glory since it's heydays in the 1970s. The team sent over for this world cup had a number of unknowns and very little expectation given their poor performance in a generally dismal Six Nations.
Before their first match against South Africa in Wellington, few were hopeful. Any hopeful comment, as is the Welsh way, was quickly followed by a self-deprecating remark. However, Dan and I were fortunate enough to spend a little bit of time with the squad a couple days before the match.
There was something different.
I mentioned it immediately to Dan, and as soon as I could to my parents who had come to New Zealand to watch a few games and see us. There was a certain calmness, a confidence, an quiet belief in the squad. No one said anything about it - in fact, we hardly spoke to the team at all. We had a buffet lunch in the same room as them, and were intimidated and starstruck by these massive men. ('There's Hook. Oh look, that's Adam Jones. Omg Rob Howley is right behind us in the buffet line!' Or, my favorite - we get into the lift, and there is Shane Williams. We rode down 3 flights with him, the tension was palpable. This is the one and only time in the history of the world where we were not allowed to fart. Under any circumstances. I'm sure he hated us, but we'd love him anyway). There was a quality in their demeanor. An element of their body language suggested 'We've got this'. My Dad responded to this description by saying 'Every team feels like that... before they play' (though he has a been a Cub fan for 30 years more than me, so his cynicism is justified).
But this team... there was something.
A team of many unknowns on the international stage:
- What will Priestland be like?
- Can James Hook play full back?
- Sam Warburton is only 23 - can he captain this side?
- Will Huw Bennett fill Rees' shoes?
- Which Jamie Roberts will turn up - the one of the last British Lions tour, or the one of the most recent six nations?
- Toby Faletau and Dan Lydiate are so young, won't the experience be missed in the so important back row?
And on and on and on.
And then they played.
Any one who watched the match against South Africa knows they should have won. They were a kick from clinching it. But such is the downfall of inexperienced teams. But the way they played. They attacked, the pack worked together, the backs punched holes... they played the sort of rugby that spectators long for, and the game desperately needs.
After the match, they gritted their teeth. These young guns, instead of being distraught, knew they still controlled their fate. In fact, in the aftermath of Ireland's stunning win against Australia, all Welsh fans realized that their loss to SA might actually have helped them! They could avoid Southern Hemisphere teams until the final!
But first, Samoa.
We have to beat Samoa.
Though Fiji had been the team's undoing in 2007, this Fiji squad was not quite the threat it used to be. But Samoa loomed like a pothole that we only had to take our eyes off for a split second before it would puncture our tires.
We went into half time down. Welsh teams of the past would have lost their composure, their discipline, their game plan in the second half. A typical Welsh team would have conceded a few penalties to put the game out of reach, before a furious comeback in the last ten minutes would make the score look closer than it was.
Not this team.
They came out and played to their strengths. They eliminated many of their mistakes (though kept a few - for instance, in the 80th minute, turning the ball over) and capitalized on Samoa's faults (though, to keep our blood pressure through the roof, Jonathan Davies tried to throw the ball away... thank heavens for Shane...).
And again, it was running rugby. It was hard rugby. Through two games, our tackling was not just superb, it was artful. Our defense showed no holes (even the hole that allowed SA to score, I'd argue, was caused by poor positioning by the referee). Jamie Roberts smashed through their line again and again. Big man, Jamie. George North charged with no fear, though he was probably concussed in the second half.
This was what we wanted to see.
Then, almost like a switch had been flicked, the Welsh started appearing on people's radars. More and more information came out about their grueling training camp in Poland. Their coaches, Gatland, Howley, Edwards were praised. Edwards was even interviewed about how the team had revisited the fundamentals of tackling and worked on their technique incessantly. Suddenly, Jamie Roberts was feared for his strong lines, Warburton renown as a master of the breakdown, Lydiate and Faletau revered for their strong running and scrummaging, Luke Chartreis was the giant who could pluck a ball from anywhere, Leigh Halfpenny was a new Shane - it was all coming together. This was not the plucky teams of 2005 and 2008 that were outperforming. This was a team that knew how good it could be, and were proving it.
Equally as important were the fans.
Though we could never hope to have the numbers the Irish had (they were absolutely everywhere), we made our mark and made the best of impressions on the host country of 4 million. The fans, as a rule, were friendly, loved to have a good time, were respectful and made Wales proud. They seemed to follow in the footsteps of the players - it came out that the squad was drinking very little, was always focused on the task ahead, and delighted locals with singing in the Waitomo caves and golf on Lake Taupo. This contrasting to the English fans and players who proved themselves to be a shameful disgrace. Which, of course, gave much pleasure to any Welsh/Irish/Scottish... anyone-but-the-English, fan. The Welsh fans sang with victory and loss alike - Bread of Heaven, Hymns and Arias, Delilah, and of course, the song made along the way - Sam Our Captain. 'Sam our Captain' encapsulated the experience - confidence, poking fun, pride in our players, a few laughs. But most importantly, a song doesn't get created, and certainly doesn't stick, if a team doesn't perform. We filled the pubs and the streets and the shops and the houses of kind hosts with these songs that couldn't help but get others to join in, whether or not they knew the lyrics. Red and dragons swept across the towns we visited.
There was hope.
For a country with little to be proud with in sports. For a country who could only point to two recent Grand Slams as successes. For a country down on its luck. This team, led by Sam our Captain, was giving hope to a nation. From New Zealand we could feel the hope of all those in Wales. But far from feeling pressure, the lads stepped up and played with passion, majesty and force that made them second favorites to the All Blacks in the host nation. Whenever people discovered we were Welsh supporters, they shook our hands, talked about how great their rugby was and most mentioned their hope of an All Black - Wales final.
Then came Ireland.
Now, I never thought that Ireland would topple Wales. Yes, they had beaten Australia, were more experienced and had a fantastic back row. But they reminded me of the pluck Welsh teams of past - outperforming their capabilities. Most backed Ireland - and who (besides the Welsh) could argue; they had beaten Australia and changed the entire face of the competition. But who, I asked this of Dan many times, who on that Irish team could beat Wales? Sean O'Brian? Not against Warburton. O'Gara? You're having a laugh. O'Driscoll? Maybe with a new set of knees. Tommy Bowe? I'd like to see Ireland try and get the ball to him.
We were very fortunate to be with the team and their trainers on the night they beat Fiji to clinch their place in the quarter finals in Gatland's hometown of Hamilton. We mentioned to a man high up in the organization 'so, what of the Irish next?' to which he responded 'Don't worry about them boys'. To a member of the trainers we asked about the risks the Irish posed. He answered 'O'Driscoll is held together by that much masking tape' (he indicated an inch with his finger and his thumb).
This was the hope. This was the confidence. 'Don't worry about them boys'.
The night of the match, we were in Queenstown (not Wellington where the match was being played) unfortunately. But we were to make the best of it, and I knew it would be a heavy one. I handed over my card to the barman and opened a tab. I didn't want dashes to the ATM to ruin the night (though the tab almost ruined me!).
Fair play, there is no one better to win or lose to than the Irish. We were two of four Welshmen in a pub filled with Irish, and the atmosphere was utterly tense, but jovial and full of friendship and mutual respect. At half time, an Irish bloke came over and wished us luck. At full time, we bought him a pint and shook hands. Turns out he was the manager of the bar, and he gave us a few free drinks. We wished they could have lost to us in the semi finals - leaving so soon was unfair.
But Wales had won. Wales had won! WALES HAD WON!!! We were going to the semi finals! I can't even describe the joy, the absolute jubilation. The balloon in my chest that is my soul swelled with joyful helium that I thought would let me fly. This was Welsh rugby at its absolute best.
The next week was a blur. It was nervous. It was full of smiles. Dan and I would be driving and suddenly one of us would shake our fist and shout 'We have to beat France!' We would sing in the van as we cruised along desolate South Island roads. Everyone we talked to wished us luck. Every Irish person we met congratulated us.
We flew up from Dunedin for the match. We'd read that the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff was to open for people to watch the match on the big screens. 65,000 people they were expecting. That's more than the capacity of the stadium that actually held the match! And they were all Welsh fans! Dan and I joked that we wanted to fly back to Wales to watch the match, rather than go the match itself!
The atmosphere in the stadium was tense. Then it was electric.
Then there was the red card.
I felt sick. I held out hope, but knew it was going to crush me. The boys played so valiantly. It hurts even to write this. An Irish friend of ours texted Dan after the match saying that he'd never seen a team fight so hard. Ever. And that was it. They fought against the odds, like warriors. And even 14 on 15 they were the better team. Even 14 on 15 they should have won. And that's what was crushing. That's what lingers still - that they left everything they had, every ounce their being, out on that field. Leigh's kick's shadow grazed the wrong side of the crossbar. This kick, that kick... I didn't cry at the match, because we had to go meet some people. But I cried that night on the way to the airport. I cried that night curled up on a bench in the arrivals lounge. And I cried, or yelled loudly and unintelligibly, many times in the weeks that followed. I was shattered for days and would well up with anger any time I thought 'rugby', which was very often given it was the world cup. I could only imagine what it was like in that stadium in Wales. 65,000 people in one room, crushed.
But how hard we fall shows how high we'd reached. And that's something to be proud of. That's something those boys, and any Welsh fan can hold their head high about. It something to remember when we get teary eyed again.
Some mentioned to me that it must be a win-win, since I'm half French. However, the way the French played that semi-final game, was nothing to be proud of. The way the team and the coach had conducted themselves throughout the world cup, was nothing to be proud of. If they had beaten the Welsh playing the rugby that they played in the Final, I would have been behind them all week long. As it was, however, I was disgusted and a little ashamed. I was angry when the coach and the captain had the audacity to come out and say that they, the French team, had to change their game plan because of the red card. That they found the game harder with the one-man advantage. My blood runs red even now when I think of it. However, within the first 20 minutes of the Final, they had redeemed themselves, and I quietly hoped they would win - they played the sort of rugby that merited a place in the final. Though I had no qualms with the end result, I was proud to be associated, however loosely, with that french team.
It may seem silly that so much emotion was plowed into this team, into this sport. But that hope and pride to the Welsh, to me, is something that is irreplaceable and incomparable. Even if we go on to win the next World Cup - even if we win every single world cup until the end of time - some piece of me will always hurt and will never heal. Those boys, led by Sam our Captain, who came from nowhere to achieve so much.
In times of rational thinking, I reason that this might be for the best for Welsh rugby. If we had gotten to the finals, and had been soundly beaten by the All Blacks (though I think it would have been a fierce game) we would have left thinking that we aren't, in fact, good enough to beat a Southern Hemisphere team. The way it happened, we left knowing that we can - we just need to tighten up a wee bit. A better kick here, creating our own little luck there - and we can be a perennially good team, always competitive with the best. I hope that this world cup, and Wales' performance in it, inspires more young people to flock to the game, and play it with the passion and integrity the boys showed in New Zealand.
Our best rugby is ahead of us, though it might seem blasphemous to say that given the standing of the team in the 1970s. But I do believe that Wales will put on quite a show in 2015, something you won't want to miss.
Thank you to the Welsh players and fans of this world cup. You will always be a part of me.
Thanks for reading.
A green country chocked full of lovely people, beer, sheep and rugby.
Since the fall of the manufacturing and mining industries in the UK, Wales in particular has seen more than its fair share of hardship. It suffers, in areas, from high drug use, high alcohol abuse, violence, teen pregnancy as well as unemployment and limited prospects.
In sport, rugby dominates, with football second. The football team has yet to qualify for a World Cup and perpetually disappoints. Though one has to have expectations to disappoint, I suppose.
Though the Welsh rugby team has had a few recent successes - the 2005 and 2008 Grand Slams - the team has not smelt perpetual glory since it's heydays in the 1970s. The team sent over for this world cup had a number of unknowns and very little expectation given their poor performance in a generally dismal Six Nations.
Before their first match against South Africa in Wellington, few were hopeful. Any hopeful comment, as is the Welsh way, was quickly followed by a self-deprecating remark. However, Dan and I were fortunate enough to spend a little bit of time with the squad a couple days before the match.
There was something different.
I mentioned it immediately to Dan, and as soon as I could to my parents who had come to New Zealand to watch a few games and see us. There was a certain calmness, a confidence, an quiet belief in the squad. No one said anything about it - in fact, we hardly spoke to the team at all. We had a buffet lunch in the same room as them, and were intimidated and starstruck by these massive men. ('There's Hook. Oh look, that's Adam Jones. Omg Rob Howley is right behind us in the buffet line!' Or, my favorite - we get into the lift, and there is Shane Williams. We rode down 3 flights with him, the tension was palpable. This is the one and only time in the history of the world where we were not allowed to fart. Under any circumstances. I'm sure he hated us, but we'd love him anyway). There was a quality in their demeanor. An element of their body language suggested 'We've got this'. My Dad responded to this description by saying 'Every team feels like that... before they play' (though he has a been a Cub fan for 30 years more than me, so his cynicism is justified).
But this team... there was something.
A team of many unknowns on the international stage:
- What will Priestland be like?
- Can James Hook play full back?
- Sam Warburton is only 23 - can he captain this side?
- Will Huw Bennett fill Rees' shoes?
- Which Jamie Roberts will turn up - the one of the last British Lions tour, or the one of the most recent six nations?
- Toby Faletau and Dan Lydiate are so young, won't the experience be missed in the so important back row?
And on and on and on.
And then they played.
Any one who watched the match against South Africa knows they should have won. They were a kick from clinching it. But such is the downfall of inexperienced teams. But the way they played. They attacked, the pack worked together, the backs punched holes... they played the sort of rugby that spectators long for, and the game desperately needs.
After the match, they gritted their teeth. These young guns, instead of being distraught, knew they still controlled their fate. In fact, in the aftermath of Ireland's stunning win against Australia, all Welsh fans realized that their loss to SA might actually have helped them! They could avoid Southern Hemisphere teams until the final!
But first, Samoa.
We have to beat Samoa.
Though Fiji had been the team's undoing in 2007, this Fiji squad was not quite the threat it used to be. But Samoa loomed like a pothole that we only had to take our eyes off for a split second before it would puncture our tires.
We went into half time down. Welsh teams of the past would have lost their composure, their discipline, their game plan in the second half. A typical Welsh team would have conceded a few penalties to put the game out of reach, before a furious comeback in the last ten minutes would make the score look closer than it was.
Not this team.
They came out and played to their strengths. They eliminated many of their mistakes (though kept a few - for instance, in the 80th minute, turning the ball over) and capitalized on Samoa's faults (though, to keep our blood pressure through the roof, Jonathan Davies tried to throw the ball away... thank heavens for Shane...).
And again, it was running rugby. It was hard rugby. Through two games, our tackling was not just superb, it was artful. Our defense showed no holes (even the hole that allowed SA to score, I'd argue, was caused by poor positioning by the referee). Jamie Roberts smashed through their line again and again. Big man, Jamie. George North charged with no fear, though he was probably concussed in the second half.
This was what we wanted to see.
Then, almost like a switch had been flicked, the Welsh started appearing on people's radars. More and more information came out about their grueling training camp in Poland. Their coaches, Gatland, Howley, Edwards were praised. Edwards was even interviewed about how the team had revisited the fundamentals of tackling and worked on their technique incessantly. Suddenly, Jamie Roberts was feared for his strong lines, Warburton renown as a master of the breakdown, Lydiate and Faletau revered for their strong running and scrummaging, Luke Chartreis was the giant who could pluck a ball from anywhere, Leigh Halfpenny was a new Shane - it was all coming together. This was not the plucky teams of 2005 and 2008 that were outperforming. This was a team that knew how good it could be, and were proving it.
Equally as important were the fans.
Though we could never hope to have the numbers the Irish had (they were absolutely everywhere), we made our mark and made the best of impressions on the host country of 4 million. The fans, as a rule, were friendly, loved to have a good time, were respectful and made Wales proud. They seemed to follow in the footsteps of the players - it came out that the squad was drinking very little, was always focused on the task ahead, and delighted locals with singing in the Waitomo caves and golf on Lake Taupo. This contrasting to the English fans and players who proved themselves to be a shameful disgrace. Which, of course, gave much pleasure to any Welsh/Irish/Scottish... anyone-but-the-English, fan. The Welsh fans sang with victory and loss alike - Bread of Heaven, Hymns and Arias, Delilah, and of course, the song made along the way - Sam Our Captain. 'Sam our Captain' encapsulated the experience - confidence, poking fun, pride in our players, a few laughs. But most importantly, a song doesn't get created, and certainly doesn't stick, if a team doesn't perform. We filled the pubs and the streets and the shops and the houses of kind hosts with these songs that couldn't help but get others to join in, whether or not they knew the lyrics. Red and dragons swept across the towns we visited.
There was hope.
For a country with little to be proud with in sports. For a country who could only point to two recent Grand Slams as successes. For a country down on its luck. This team, led by Sam our Captain, was giving hope to a nation. From New Zealand we could feel the hope of all those in Wales. But far from feeling pressure, the lads stepped up and played with passion, majesty and force that made them second favorites to the All Blacks in the host nation. Whenever people discovered we were Welsh supporters, they shook our hands, talked about how great their rugby was and most mentioned their hope of an All Black - Wales final.
Then came Ireland.
Now, I never thought that Ireland would topple Wales. Yes, they had beaten Australia, were more experienced and had a fantastic back row. But they reminded me of the pluck Welsh teams of past - outperforming their capabilities. Most backed Ireland - and who (besides the Welsh) could argue; they had beaten Australia and changed the entire face of the competition. But who, I asked this of Dan many times, who on that Irish team could beat Wales? Sean O'Brian? Not against Warburton. O'Gara? You're having a laugh. O'Driscoll? Maybe with a new set of knees. Tommy Bowe? I'd like to see Ireland try and get the ball to him.
We were very fortunate to be with the team and their trainers on the night they beat Fiji to clinch their place in the quarter finals in Gatland's hometown of Hamilton. We mentioned to a man high up in the organization 'so, what of the Irish next?' to which he responded 'Don't worry about them boys'. To a member of the trainers we asked about the risks the Irish posed. He answered 'O'Driscoll is held together by that much masking tape' (he indicated an inch with his finger and his thumb).
This was the hope. This was the confidence. 'Don't worry about them boys'.
The night of the match, we were in Queenstown (not Wellington where the match was being played) unfortunately. But we were to make the best of it, and I knew it would be a heavy one. I handed over my card to the barman and opened a tab. I didn't want dashes to the ATM to ruin the night (though the tab almost ruined me!).
Fair play, there is no one better to win or lose to than the Irish. We were two of four Welshmen in a pub filled with Irish, and the atmosphere was utterly tense, but jovial and full of friendship and mutual respect. At half time, an Irish bloke came over and wished us luck. At full time, we bought him a pint and shook hands. Turns out he was the manager of the bar, and he gave us a few free drinks. We wished they could have lost to us in the semi finals - leaving so soon was unfair.
But Wales had won. Wales had won! WALES HAD WON!!! We were going to the semi finals! I can't even describe the joy, the absolute jubilation. The balloon in my chest that is my soul swelled with joyful helium that I thought would let me fly. This was Welsh rugby at its absolute best.
The next week was a blur. It was nervous. It was full of smiles. Dan and I would be driving and suddenly one of us would shake our fist and shout 'We have to beat France!' We would sing in the van as we cruised along desolate South Island roads. Everyone we talked to wished us luck. Every Irish person we met congratulated us.
We flew up from Dunedin for the match. We'd read that the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff was to open for people to watch the match on the big screens. 65,000 people they were expecting. That's more than the capacity of the stadium that actually held the match! And they were all Welsh fans! Dan and I joked that we wanted to fly back to Wales to watch the match, rather than go the match itself!
The atmosphere in the stadium was tense. Then it was electric.
Then there was the red card.
I felt sick. I held out hope, but knew it was going to crush me. The boys played so valiantly. It hurts even to write this. An Irish friend of ours texted Dan after the match saying that he'd never seen a team fight so hard. Ever. And that was it. They fought against the odds, like warriors. And even 14 on 15 they were the better team. Even 14 on 15 they should have won. And that's what was crushing. That's what lingers still - that they left everything they had, every ounce their being, out on that field. Leigh's kick's shadow grazed the wrong side of the crossbar. This kick, that kick... I didn't cry at the match, because we had to go meet some people. But I cried that night on the way to the airport. I cried that night curled up on a bench in the arrivals lounge. And I cried, or yelled loudly and unintelligibly, many times in the weeks that followed. I was shattered for days and would well up with anger any time I thought 'rugby', which was very often given it was the world cup. I could only imagine what it was like in that stadium in Wales. 65,000 people in one room, crushed.
But how hard we fall shows how high we'd reached. And that's something to be proud of. That's something those boys, and any Welsh fan can hold their head high about. It something to remember when we get teary eyed again.
Some mentioned to me that it must be a win-win, since I'm half French. However, the way the French played that semi-final game, was nothing to be proud of. The way the team and the coach had conducted themselves throughout the world cup, was nothing to be proud of. If they had beaten the Welsh playing the rugby that they played in the Final, I would have been behind them all week long. As it was, however, I was disgusted and a little ashamed. I was angry when the coach and the captain had the audacity to come out and say that they, the French team, had to change their game plan because of the red card. That they found the game harder with the one-man advantage. My blood runs red even now when I think of it. However, within the first 20 minutes of the Final, they had redeemed themselves, and I quietly hoped they would win - they played the sort of rugby that merited a place in the final. Though I had no qualms with the end result, I was proud to be associated, however loosely, with that french team.
It may seem silly that so much emotion was plowed into this team, into this sport. But that hope and pride to the Welsh, to me, is something that is irreplaceable and incomparable. Even if we go on to win the next World Cup - even if we win every single world cup until the end of time - some piece of me will always hurt and will never heal. Those boys, led by Sam our Captain, who came from nowhere to achieve so much.
In times of rational thinking, I reason that this might be for the best for Welsh rugby. If we had gotten to the finals, and had been soundly beaten by the All Blacks (though I think it would have been a fierce game) we would have left thinking that we aren't, in fact, good enough to beat a Southern Hemisphere team. The way it happened, we left knowing that we can - we just need to tighten up a wee bit. A better kick here, creating our own little luck there - and we can be a perennially good team, always competitive with the best. I hope that this world cup, and Wales' performance in it, inspires more young people to flock to the game, and play it with the passion and integrity the boys showed in New Zealand.
Our best rugby is ahead of us, though it might seem blasphemous to say that given the standing of the team in the 1970s. But I do believe that Wales will put on quite a show in 2015, something you won't want to miss.
Thank you to the Welsh players and fans of this world cup. You will always be a part of me.
Thanks for reading.
