Saracens v Leicester
Sunday 12th November
My mum and her husband Brian, who live in Bulkington, a village in Warwickshire near where Brian was born, came down to Kerry’s (where Trevor is temporarily staying) and Jun and I took the bikes up to Watford to join the gathering. Not quite a day all together, Brian, Joss and I went up to the Vic and sat in the back row of the Upper Rous (my second time in a week) to watch a Premiership rugby match. It was the first ever live match for two of us but Brian was as generous with his knowledge as ever. All I could do whenever a response was required was to try to paraphrase what had just been said and add something non-committal or, more embarrassingly, contrast it with football.
Back in Durrants in the third year, I was proposed as house (Saxon) rugby captain by 13-year-old classmates, many of whom had no intention of offering their services against the Normans, who comprised some of the hardest boys in the year. I picked those who’d play and we won a bad-tempered match. In the final we thrashed the Danes who’d also overcome the size differential to defeat the Celts. I picked up the second and final certificate of my sporting life on behalf of the team and still have it in an envelope with my chess and crime prevention certificates.
The Saracens were fielding Andy Farrell, who (for style reasons, I won’t keep writing “Brian told me”) this season jumped the divide between Rugby League and Rugby Union (don’t ask). Apparently the National squad need him, though he seemed no more than solid in this game at inside centre. Saracens never lost the lead, but with only a 6 point advantage going into the last few minutes, Leicester were driving hard for the try. Meanwhile, I was thinking about how much more interesting it was that there were more ways to score points (and, significantly, a combination of seven of them) than in football. Saracens stopped their drive at the posts and won 22-16.
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