Rugby’s Wales’ forum for fun

Feb 25 2008 Carolyn Hitt, Western Mail

Wales’ match with Italy provides an antidote to the stereotype of the miserable Welsh whinger

ROB BRYDON has been discussing his Welsh identity crisis with AA Gill, an exercise that ranks alongside telling King Herod you’re thinking of opening a creche. “I just found that the stereotypes aren’t true,” Brydon told the sneering telly critic who delights in the cruellest Cymric cliches. “We’re not sad, stupid, whingeing gits at all.”

You don’t say.

It has taken Brydon an entire 60 minute documentary to come to this conclusion. Why didn’t he just come and watch the rugby? Wales was the land of laughs on Saturday. You could have seen Sir Anthony Hopkins in a fez getting Caerphilly in hysterics as he unveiled a statue of comic genius Tommy Cooper. And in the Millennium Stadium, Tom Shanklin showed equally perfect timing as he snatched the interception try that would spark a second half score-fest for Wales. Just like that.

In pursuit of happiness, Welsh rugby has notched up three from three, a process Warren Gatland described with amused caution, “We’re doing quite well at the moment, making some progress and putting smiles on a few faces.” But more than a few are beaming as Wales take their place at the top of the Six Nations table.

Italy arrived in Cardiff determined to feel the joy of Six themselves. When the Azzurri first entered the tournament in 2000, their fan base for away matches was more likely to have travelled from the Bracchis of Tonypandy than the waterways of Treviso. But just as the team’s impact on Six Nations rugby has grown so has the culture of the Italian fan. More supporters than ever hit the capital this weekend. And they’re no longer vestal virgins in the realms of daft rugby fancy dress, eschewing their usual sartorial elegance to embrace chef’s whites, blue afro wigs and outsized clown’s feet. Queen Street on Friday afternoon resembled the Venice carnival as around 20 gentlemen in 18th century cloaks and three cornered hats posed for photos outside Boots. “Are you Casanova?” I asked one. “No, I am Marcello,” he smiled saucily, “and what is your name?”

On Saturday morning, my seven-year-old nephew, making his wide-eyed route to his first ever international, encountered a comic book hero with an Italian accent. The fan in tights bent down to whisper something in his ear. “I am Sooooperman!” he declared before sprinting towards the Guinness bar. Another supporter seemed convinced nothing bar a box of Kryptonite stood in the way of a superhuman Azzurri effort as he placed £130 on an Italian win at the bookies.

Hopes were also high among the gentlemen of the Italian press corps, who remain the most exuberant journos in sport – especially the one who seemed more concerned with hoisting the red, white and green tricolour above his head and chanting “Eeeeee-taa-liaaa!” than writing anything in his notebook.

“Who are they… the singers?” asked another press man as the trio of Welsh boxing champions – two with Italian DNA – were roared on to the pitch. I raised my fists, by way of explanation. “Ah Calzaghe, Calzaghe!” he laughed.

But it was Italy who packed a punch in the first half, or in the case of lock Carlo Antonio Del Fava, a knee that left Stephen Jones looking somewhat dazed. Thankfully not groggy enough to prevent him popping over the resultant penalty for Wales’ first points. Further evidence of the Azzurri’s physicality came as flanker Jose Sole shunted Dwayne Peel backwards and Gavin Henson endured a shorts-hoisting tackle that could have left him singing higher than his missus.

The choral talents of the home crowd, meanwhile, were silenced by Azzurri prop idol Martin Castrogiovanni who barged over the line after saying molto grazie to Matthew Rees’s wayward throw to the tail of the Welsh lineout.

If Italy’s first try left their coach punching the air with delight, the way they botched their second chance of crossing the line left Mallett hammering the wall in despair.

Canale’s fumble cost Italy what could have been a pivotal score.

On the half hour Shane Williams decided it was time to choreograph a little game-breaking dance, cutting Italy open with his quick steps.

Matthew Rees was hauled down short of the line but obeying Jonathan Davies’s yell from the commentary box to “go right!” the ball was spread via a floating pass from Henson to Lee Byrne. Before grounding the ball he shot one arm in the air in premature celebration but as he enjoyed the match of his international career we’ll forgive him for the gesture that should have stopped with Gibbs in ’99. One of these days, they’ll be so busy waving with one arm, they’ll drop it with the other.

At 13-8, the smile of the Millennium faithful was something of a rictus grin but Shanklin ensured the relaxation of facial muscles as he celebrated his 50th cap with that interception score within 90 seconds of the second half. Having soaked up the pressure from the Italian pack, Wales’ backs began to enjoy la dolce vita. Mike Phillips could have created a try if he hadn’t opted for the solo route past Marcato, a decision that left Shaun Edwards looking slightly peeved, to put it mildly. Stephen Jones hit the accelerator and sent Shane to the line; Byrne burst through from his own half to score his second try and later bamboozled the Italian defence with some positively balletic pirouettes. His sparkling performance left fans similarly bemused as to why he was ever omitted from the World Cup squad.

The finale belonged to Shane, patted on the back by Shanklin before he grounded the ball with an exuberant swallow dive as Shaun Edwards applauded almost incredulously from the coaching box.

So Gatland and Edwards have delivered three from three with a Grand Slam up for grabs. ‘What do they do?’ asked an English journalist. “Coach!” said Rob Howley mischievously. Cue more probing. “I’m not telling you, it’s a secret,” giggled Gatland. The press conference erupted with laughter that only died away when he returned to the default Kiwi phrase of, “Let’s not get carried away.”

James Hook confirmed a sense of mystery was key to his boss’s approach. “That’s the beauty of Warren,” he grinned. “You just don’t know what he’s going to do.” But whatever Gatland’s secret, after another great day of rugby laughter for Wales his next task is to stop Irish eyes smiling on Saturday week.