Inbox Cymru am Byth!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Gwilym Havard Davies
to rozblundell, Pollycann, cookiemonster_., clare ...
More options Mar 21 (1 day ago)
Well, it is done. At last our generation finally know what it’s like to be the envy of the Rugby playing world. Saturday was the best day to be Welsh in our life-time, even if you weren’t lucky enough to be on home soil. I can’t imagine that there is a Welsh person living abroad who doesn’t feel a foot taller than everyone else today. From what I’ve read, the TV pictures gave a pretty good sense of what Cardiff was like on Saturday (though outside of Wales, you’d have had to have tuned into Rugby Special on Sunday night to have seen what it looked like on Sunday morning!). Even hours before the match had begun; the feeling in Cardiff was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Imagine how excited, anxious, proud and plain terrified you felt on Saturday, then imagine walking through the streets of our Capital surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people who felt exactly the same as you!
Probably the most emotional moment for me was the long walk across town from lunch to the stadium – I’d elected to take the lone ticket, mainly because I thought if this really was a date with destiny my Dad and brother should be sitting together, as they’ve had to endure the hard times together for longer, and also because I thought I’d be less nervous watching on my own! I allowed myself a good half hour to get across town, and as I walked along Mary’s Street in the sunshine (God had to be on our side!) the total sense of collective pride and anticipation already had me welling up. It was bizarre, it was almost as if for the first time I can remember, we dared to believe that no matter what, we were going to win today. And win we did. Aside from the inevitably nervous start, and a late Irish flourish Wales absolutely dominated the game. When Kevin Morgan went over and put us three scores ahead, the sensible part of us knew that the Slam was ours. But naturally being Welsh none of us could quite believe that the Irish wouldn’t somehow cheat defeat until the final whistle was blown. And when it was, everyone just hugged whoever was next to them and put every last scrap of energy into screaming at the top of their already hoarse voices. Then they hugged the person on the other side. Then they climbed over the seats to hug the people behind. And then… Well you get the picture. This was then followed by quite a lot of crying – especially the men, and a time to recompose yourself while they erected the podium. Then, once the cup was lifted, the entire process begun all over again. Then we all had a bit of a singsong with Max. No one left the stadium until around half an hour after the match had finished. As I left the stadium to go and meet the others it occurred to me that the celebrations and feeling was more like we’d won a war than a rugby match.
Cardiff at night was a bit like when they used to try and fill a Mini with as many people as possible on Record-Breakers. We all revelled hard and fast, I ended Clwb Ifor Bach, where I literally danced my trousers off - by the end of the night I had two rips in the knees and had a rip from the flies to the back belt line. My body finally gave in to exhaustion at around two thirty and walked back through town to Duggy & Hughseys flat, and the streets were still packed and by now beginning to show the strain. Given the state of my trousers, anywhere else in the country, I probably would have been arrested for indecent exposure, but by now Caerdydd was beginning to resemble an over populated safari park run by mental patients.
Sunday was a time for smiles, lunch in the bay, reflection, and watching the highlights. Topics of conversation included rugby, rugby and rugby. We bought all the news papers and dared each other to smell the Welsh shirts we’d worn the day before.
What a time! What a team! And a real feeling that this is the beginning of something rather than the end. This weekend there cannot have been a single person who had seen Cardiff on the TV and not wished they were part of what was happening. And if you’re Welsh – you were, even if you weren’t actually there!
Cymru am byth!