a conflicting weekend of sportafter humilation in the cricket down under for the past three months, draining us in every way as much with shock, sorrow and tiredness (up most nights from 3am gmt for yet further punishment - or was it a wake-up call after regaining the ashes in 2005, a dark reminder that was ever at the back of the mind) england shut up the oz piss-takers in the press with four inspired victories on the trot in the odi series, the last three beating oz, culminating sunday am to win the triangular series against all expectations (oz had been 6-1 on in melbourne friday night).
damp glasses all round. after all, you can't get drunk if you don't drink.
now it's time to thrash the dreadful italians at rugby up twickenham way. at least we're expecting 50 points on the board after the previous week's 40 point beating of an "improving" scottish side.
england only managed a disappointing 20-7 victory.
without jonny and his boot, fuck knows.
but the damp glasses are still being refuelled as we watch highlights of the oz thrashing by england on a damp night in sydney.
sunday afternoon is the big one in the six nations rugby, ireland v. france. the former grand slam favourites (they haven't done it since 1948, probably because the english hadn't yet finished rationing) and les grenoilles last seasons' champions.
it's a historic day as ireland are playing for the first time at croke park, home to gaelic football, on the north of the liffe for the first time whilst the intimacy of lansdowne road is being demolished (the latter held c.40,000, touchline stuff, croke 82,000 - but it's packed).
i'm watching the game from brighton. it's due to ko 3pm gmt.
1.30pm there's a general power cut (these can last from 30 minutes to 4 or 5 hours). streets & pubs are down. at least the stella pump's working in a bar up the road whilst my girlfriend finds a pp9 battery for thhe 1950s roberts radio as cover).
we return to the apartment block on the sea-front just before 3pm and find a woman waiting by the lift with her two year old son and his buggy laden with shopping. she hasn't understood why she's been waiting so long for the lift. the power's still out.
she lives on the fourth floor (we're on the third) so she carries junior whilst we lug her buggy and bags up to the fourth.
back downstairs the lights come back on. but just for a minute.
at least the roberts radio with a couple of red.
into the kitchen with robert to prepare a chilli. all i get is bloody football. the electrics come back on just before half-time and it's 13-11 to france. ireland still expects!
4 minutes to go, after a gruelling but thrilling second half with over 80,000 hoarse irish & french voices (having lived in dublin/wicklow for ten years the french are the biggest spending & most entertaining visiting supporters) ireland are leading 14 points to thirteen. my tv's up to maximum volume & so am i. france concede a penalty just outside their twenty-two. ireland have the option to kick for touch, tie the french down, maybe score another try (which would have put them out of sight), and wind down the clock to win. but non, the idjits (i'm irish-oz, so i've license) take the penalty goal. which they score. the crowd go mad with elation. one minute left and four points in the lead.
blind with celebration. looking forward to those victorious damp glasses of victory.
in the world cup semi-finals at lansdowne road in 1991 ireland took the lead in the last minute against oz. whilst the celebrations continued on and off the field oz kicked off and a certain winger nailed them.
ireland haven't learnt, yet. the french scored in the last play of the match to win 20-17 dampening spirits as much as glasses.
graystoke
