Sights and sounds to remember

Mar 17 2008 Western Mail

Delme Parfitt savours the magical atmosphere in Cardiff on a memorable Millennium day

WE had “We are the Champions” by Queen and “Rockin’ all over the world” by Status Quo, but it was the lyrics of a different track that struck the main chord as Wales jigged a lap of honour at the Millennium Stadium on Saturday.

“Right here, right now. Right here, right now...” went a far less well known tune by someone or other, I can't think who.

Just three words used, but they were all we needed.

Because we were indeed right there, right then – and on Saturday evening that was all that mattered.

It was live for-the-moment stuff, the kind of event, a party that demanded actual presence rather than a view through the window of a television screen.

And it was worth – if only for a few fleeting seconds – savouring the privilege of being one of the 74,609 souls sharing the arena with the team that delivered the most unlikely Grand Slam of the 10 this nation has chalked up in the last 100 years or so.

There were other bonuses for having gone through the gates as a member of Her Majesty’s Press.

First up there was a note penned by HRH the Prince of Wales, handed around the media box just before kick-off.

“While far away on tour in the West Indies,” it began, “news has reached me of your Triple Crown success.”

Well thank heavens the messenger made it with his scroll of parchment sealed with a blob of wax. It took him all of a week to get there, but you can’t have everything.

The Prince noted that “your vice-patron” would be in the ground lending his support.

In other words, young Wills had apparently switched allegiance for the day.

Instead of jumping up and down in a replica England shirt at Twickenham and then quaffing champagne with Jonny Wilkinson afterwards, William decided his presence was needed in Cardiff and he sat soberly next to WRU chairman David Pickering throughout the match, at least looking like he gave a damn about Wales winning the Slam.

Whether he shared a glass of Bollinger with Gavin Henson before departing on Saturday night is unclear, but there were definitely no sightings of Wills in Caroline Street munching chicken curry half ’n’ half.

And yet it was a day that scarcely needed the royal seal of approval, not when the BBC’s John Inverdale had finally elevated the status of a match involving Wales above that of a warm-up.

Invers, who was apparently taken aback by the storm his comment on the day of the England-France clash created here in the Principality, took the time to broadcast from the set of S4’s Pobol y Cwm earlier in the day.

And it’s certainly hard to imagine what else he could possibly have done to endorse everything that is great about Wales.

Sky probably had a better idea though.

As I made my way through driving rain to the stadium, one of their back-room team was directing Neil Kinnock towards a set of umbrellas protecting their cameras on the banks of the Taff.

The former leader of the Labour Party looked in chipper mood.

Well, he would do wouldn’t he, with Cardiff City off to Wembley in a couple of weeks time.

You had to wonder which triumph Kinnock would have taken had he been offered the Grand Slam or an FA Cup final appearance for the Bluebirds. I think I know the answer to that.

But on a day that meant so much to an entire nation, this was no time to be quibbling about the shape of balls.

If nothing else the interview would have been a chance for Lord Kinnock to escape the madding crowd of Cardiff city centre, because, even by the standards of international days, there was a full-to-bursting feel about the streets of the capital.

They were all there. The groups of young rugby boys, bellies full of Brains and corned beef pasties.

The well-to-do retired couples with connections, on their way to meet friends for a pre-match lunch at Le Monde in their Eden Park gear.

And, talking of full-to-bursting, the big boned Valleys girls in their tight jeans and cowboy hats.

Yet it was the sights and sounds inside the ground that will linger longer in the memory, and some of them did nothing to flatter the image of the French.

Having travelled in by train with a group of Parisien 40-somethings burping red wine fumes about the carriage, I was already starting to doubt the fabled sophistication of our Gallic neighbours.

So imagine my disappointment when I saw French management duo Jo Maso and Marc Lievremont looking a right pair of prats in rollneck jumpers and blazers stolen from Captain Birdseye’s wardrobe.

To add insult, the embarrassment extended to the pitch at one stage, with Les Bleus outside-half David Skrela managing to miscue a restart drop kick so that the ball actually went behind him as it crossed the touchline.

It put me in mind of a charity golf day I once attended, when one fellow, realising that his playing companion was a novice, took the precaution of standing not just at right angles to his tee shot but slightly behind it as well, believing himself to be completely safe.

Poor fool. Seconds later he was writhing on the floor having been struck on the knee cap by a Titleist that shanked violently out of the club’s socket.

But Saturday wasn’t all about French faux pas.

The sight of Manon and Gwenan Gravell, daughters of the late, great Ray, accompanying 50-cap Ian Gough out onto the field with the Triple Crown plate warmed the heart.

It was just a lovely moment, and it would have been reflected on with fondness for years regardless of the outcome of the game.

Poor old Goughy looked choked with the emotion of it all, but with a bunch of grizzled Frenchmen looming on the horizon this was no time for blubbing.

Later, when the Grand Slam was in le sac, Goughy and the boys joined in with the crowd’s rendition of hymns and arias as they stood on the pitch waiting for the presentation ceremony, team and supporters as one.

Even Charlotte Church was singing at one point, I’m sure I spotted her joining in during one of the 500 or so cutaway shots of Gavin’s girl on the big screen.

There was just the one worrying note at the end of the day, though.

Shaun Edwards brought a pint of lager into the post-match press conference and captain Ryan Jones supped from a can of Carling throughout.

This is clear evidence that a drinking culture is undermining Welsh rugby and that .... calm down boys, I’m only joking.

I hope Shaun, Ryan and the rest of ’em got plastered.

No group of sportsmen anywhere on the planet deserved a session on Saturday more than this lot.

Cheers lads. And thanks.

View images from a glorious Grand Slam weekend click here