In a parallel universe – with no pandemic – Harri Morgan would have been in Rome this weekend, making merry and making memories. Then, assuming a Welsh win, he would have mortgaged the house and made the trip to Paris to see Wales bid for a Grand Slam against France. It would have been the stuff of dreams, but reality has ordered he’ll instead be at home in front of the TV like everyone else.
Kudos to the Six Nations fixture secretary for having the foresight to pair Wayne’s Wales with Fabien’s France as the headline act for Super Saturday.
On pre-tournament form, this weekend’s fixtures would have presented the more mouth-watering match-ups for rugby union’s own annual Mikey Rayer.
There’s Wales out in Rome to kick things off, then England at home to France to follow.
And yet, If Italy are unable to put an end to their six-year winless streak, the Welsh bubble will breeze into Paris with a lone hurdle parked between them and a slam.
A solitary hurdle. But a colossal one.
Actually, scrap the hurdle thing.
This France team – in their domain – with the title on the line is akin to reaching the end of the eliminator, only to find John Anderson has left the Travelator on turbo.
It would be remiss to fail to acknowledge the cliched banana skin of playing Italy. That could be a perilous peel in years gone by, but the Italians have had a propensity during this championship for putting together output that is productive and attractive, before slipping over themselves.
Wouldn’t it be great to see them buck the trend? Next weekend, not this one.
In ‘normal’ times, concerns of a stumble in Rome, wouldn’t have delayed Welsh fans in their thousands from booking up excursions to the ‘City of Love’.
This year – in the final game – the premium paid for booking late would have been justified by the opportunity to see Wales attempt to win their first Grand Slam on foreign soil since John Dawes and Co. did the business at Stade Olympique Yves-du-Manoir back in 71.
Remember that? Wikipedia did.
This would have been not just another trip. It would have been a lifetime investment. Paid up shares in ‘I was there’.
Oh, to be ‘there’.
Belting the anthem a few decibels louder than you would in Cardiff. Trips to the toilet when full, and the bar when empty. A stadium of outposts and snipers conspicuously clad in red. Vocally empowering ‘our boys’ in their pursuit of glory.
The scenes.
Then there is what goes on behind the scenes. The glass in hand memories made by pilgrims in the pubs and piazzas.
Christmas morning level of excitement, the recovery pint, the night before jigsaw, scouting for spares, the buzz of securing a ticket, hypothesising, celebrating, commiserating, debriefing, Max Boyce-ing.
Thriving in good company. The best.
Turns out the Round 3 defeat to @WelshRugbyUnion was harder on some @EnglandRugby fans than others 🏴
Just ask @mikebrown_15…#GuinnessSixNations
— Guinness Six Nations (@SixNationsRugby) March 4, 2021
All of this whilst trying to maintain the welfare of Reginald, a blue ceramic penguin. Don’t ask.
These are the moments which evolve into the stories we will recall and embellish for years to come. When the 80 minutes is but a scoreline and attendance recorded on an online encyclopedia.
They are the reason – regardless of result or performance – we will go next time again.
An away fan. What a thing to be. Until next year . . .