Six Nations Rugby Kickoff

Scotland v France

Scott Anderson

(Murrayfield, 3^rd February 2008)

Last weekend saw the start of the annual European 6-nations championship, the oldest international rugby tournament, its roots being the inaugural international rugby match in 1871 between Scotland and England (won by Scotland). Evolving via the Home Nations Championship (Scotland, England, Ireland, Wales) into the current 6-member tournament (latter teams plus France & Italy), it represents the highest level of international rugby in the northern hemisphere. The southern hemisphere is dominated by the ex-colonial, Anglo-Saxon countries, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa, although there is also strong progress being made in the game in South America (in particular Argentina) and other parts of Africa.

Over the next 6 weeks, the professional athletes that make up the 6-nations teams will each play 5 highly physical matches that will determine the top national team in Europe.

Given that the Rugby World Cup 2007 only reached conclusion in mid-October (as described elsewhere) after which I felt completely ‘rugbied-out’ I was quite surprised to find myself getting into the mood and looking forward to the upcoming internationals. Probably something similar to ‘the smell of Ralgex (*) and sweat’ after the first post-festive training session. Anyway I garnered a couple of tickets for myself and brother Ross, ostensibly a late birthday present for him and organised the logistics for being in Edinburgh on the first Sunday in February.

(* a particularly nasty muscle heat cream, often used in schoolboy torture rituals).

A bad move … not only did the Arctic decide to open its normally tightly closed winter doors and exude a cold front right down the west coast of Scotland (which is normally more temperate than the frigid east coast), but I caught a cold. Or maybe just a continual feeling of numbing coldness enveloping my bones. Know the feeling? Anyway this cold frame of mind seemed to dog the whole weekend, from the golf course being forcibly shut due to torrential rain (& snow – see photo of snow on Cumbrae, an almost unknown occurrence) right through to the miserable mood it seemed to engender in the local population, including my mother, who is no fun at these times.

So by the time Sunday came, my expectation levels had been somewhat cooled, and the nationalistic fervour that usually shores up such tartan events had a hard job penetrating my shell of cynicism. Even the customary pre-match alcohol intake held no great attraction. Until, that is, we found the Famous Grouse (Whisky) tent. The latter are one of the biggest distilleries of blended whisky in Scotland, and for years the pre-eminent sponsor of the Scottish national team. They were handing out free drinks, officially only one per person, but after 4 or 5 of these plus the Celtic music and jokes (Irish frontman Jason Byrne was outstanding, he could swear for Europe, never mind Ireland) the mood was rising once again.

Of course, being Scotland, warmth and glory lasts only so long. The game against France had been hailed optimistically as the beginning of new winning ways for Scotland, the French being seen as a new, inexperienced selection. We scored first, a drop goal in the first 5 minutes. And that was it, the French began to run, the ball began to bounce (for them), and the cold returned. By the 75^th minute (when we left to beat the rush for the gates), Scotland were down and beaten 6-27. And so it remained.

Footnote: Of course the ‘down’ can only be preceded, or followed, by an ‘up’. At least that’s the Celtic approach. One particular moment took place on the day before, in the local rugby club, watching England lose – against all odds - in the last minutes of their opening game against Wales. The cheers in the all-Scottish (male & female) bar was evidence of a joint Celtic cause. Or just plain Anglophobia?