It’s only a game eh?

Ireland v Wales, Westpac Stadium AKA ‘The Cake Tin’ Saturday 8^th October 6pm

 Where's me thermal blanket Ma?

After a restful night on Friday we set off dark and early on the day of the big match. It’s 440km from Rotorua to Wellington, and we wanted to get there early to soak up the atmosphere, so by 6am we were on the road. A blanket of thermal fog covered the landscape while the sun dragged itself slowly over the tops of the volcanoes. It was a magical and somewhat spooky sight. On down past lake Taupo (a live volcanic lake) past the snow-covered peaks of the Tongariro National Park, through the ‘desert’ and finally around Palmerston North and into Wellington. Linds had done a sterling job of getting us there well in time with the most taxing part of the drive being the last couple of km to the house. Although we had been warned that it was a twisty, windy road we weren’t quite prepared for just how twisty, windy and bloody scary it actually was. You can get some idea from the photos of just how steep it was. 

 A house on a very, very steep hill

Bags in, showered and then off to town for some grub and pre-match scoops. We checked out the fan zone but it was fairly sparsely attended at about 2pm so we headed into a place called the Green Bottle (guess what sort of a pub that was, go on guess, you’ll never get it). Chips & curry sauce was on the menu and Linds decided to go the whole hog and get her face painted. Hardly anyone in
green had an Irish accent (mind you the Welsh weren’t much better). One part of the bar was labelled ‘Ticket Swap’ where an Irish fan had left the plea “Corcaigh man looking for tickets for QF, Republic v Wales”. Underneath someone had scrawled “Typical Cork man, which fecking Republic?”

 A rugby convert. Catholicism next? 

Off for a walk and then into Mac’s Brewhouse by the Fan Zone. By 3pm it had filled up and more and more the accents were becoming familiar and more difficult to understand. We set off for the ground (a 20 minute walk) at 4pm and stopped to help some ukulele-toting Munster fans out with ‘Athenry’ as they were struggling with the chorus. Through the train station and down the platform, onto the walkway to the stadium, surely the strangest way to access a rugby stadium. Also it’s only got two entrances but it was easy enough getting in. 

We were ensconced in our seats by about 4:45 and a text home to Dave C informing him of my whereabouts (In the stadium, halfway between the 22 and the tryline, no idea if left or right cos I don’t know where the cameras are, come on Ireland!) elicited the response ‘In my scratcher (bed), on the right hand side, near the window, in my Paul O’Connell peejays and scrum cap. No cameras. Up soon and up Ireland!’

 A Kidney In Wellington, yesterday.

The stadium filled quickly and the eejits dressed as leprechauns etc. made their presence felt. Rugby- wise I was confident but nervous. Sure we would win but I didn’t want to say it out loud in case I jinxed us. Jinxed us for feck’s sake. What sort of mumbo jumbo is that, eh? I’d about as much say in what was going to take place out on the pitch as any of the plastics or ‘Oirish had. But sure you'd do or say anything if you thought it might tip the balance...

Ireland’s call. A crap song to be fair but I was crying as I belted it out.  To be honest this Ireland in front of me are a rugby team first and everything else second but it’s hard not to well up when a shower of feckers from the small country where you were brought up are fronting it up against the big boys (or another shower of feckers from a small country in this case). 

Off we went... It was a very quick and smart start from Wales and we were caught cold. I still wasn’t worried. We’d won four games in the RWC for the first time. Form was improving all the time. BOD was making all the right noises this time and looking like he really believed in it. Hope was really worth having this time around, surely to jayzus. And so we came back, attack after punishing attack. We turned down kicking chances (with ROG in the team it was hard to see why) but the basics were all there. BOD had promised us, get the basics right, the rest will follow. Wales soaked it up. Texts from home said they couldn’t keep it up. They would break sooner or later. 

And so they did. Second half is hardly a few minutes old and Keith ‘flight of the’ Earls is over for his fifth of the tournament. Here’s where we kick on. Same as against Italy. Semi final here we come, England or France I don’t care. Now we are with the big boys. Now we can finally crow about it.

Wales obviously had other ideas. They turned up again and again. We tried but didn’t have whatever it is, in us. No excuses, they were better on the day. We’ve been better than them too but it was more important to be better today. 

Leaving the stadium I, as they say in Wales, won’t lie to you, I was sick. Even now less than 24 hours later I’m starting to feel sick just typing this. Yeah it’s only a game but what a game. Lindsay started to understand why it is I go now. The build up, the people, the atmosphere (Sidenote: Soccer songs and ‘Mexican Waves’ at rugby? They can feck the feck right off – we don’t need you thanks very much). 

We eventually got out of the stadium no thanks to only two exits. Fans milled about together, there was still the France v England game to watch but even the thought of England getting beaten didn’t cheer me up. We watched the first half and then made our way back to the twisty, windy house tired and not a little tearful. We spoke to the kids on skype and life stared to make sense and come into focus again. Sure it’s only a bleedin game eh?