From the end of January to the beginning of March, in anticipation of my 20th birthday and acceptance that professional sport is well and truly beyond me, I’m looking back through my 20 years to find the sporting memories that have had the biggest impact on me.
For this article I go back to 2008 when I was fortunate enough to see England topple France in Paris in the Six Nations.
________
2008: The City of Love
You'll appreciate that the further I go back in time, the level of detail in these articles will drop somewhat. Nevertheless this was a weekend that really sticks out as a special memory.
I don't remember how much warning I had that we were going to Paris to watch England play France, but I had never been so excited in my less than nine years on earth.
This was to be my first-ever international rugby match, and with it having dominated my conscious life (my second earliest memory was Johno getting his mits on the Webb Ellis Cup), I just couldn't wait.
Family friends of ours, Gareth and Ben Handsford, had managed to get tickets at Stade de France and we flew over on Gareth's small propeller plane.
I was buzzing, and jumping up and down in the seats. So much that as we went over the Channel I threw up, and promptly calmed down.
The next few hours were a rush to get from the airfield to the game. And just seconds before the English National Anthem was sung we managed to get in.
It was a special 80 minutes. England, having chucked away a 19-6 lead to Wales in week one and putting in a very unconvincing performance against Italy the following week, managed to earn a sensational victory.
It was a pulsating contest, with France bringing their new found flair and England repelling them, largely guided by the boot of Wilkinson.
From Sackey's early burst at the beginning to Wigglesworth's wriggle over the line at the end, England were fantastic. It was the most proud I'd ever been of the team, since I first started watching them regularly in 2004.
Over these series of articles I've talked a lot about England rugby, and will probably talk about them plenty more. But it is wins like these that made, and still make, England so frustrating to watch.
From chucking away a massive lead, to scraping victory to a team that they usually thump contrasted with an amazing performance on the road and a thumping of Ireland. Oh, but we still managed to lose to the Jocks.
Then take the previous year. Hammered by Ireland, beaten by then-winless Wales, but comfortable wins against France and Italy and a hammering of Scotland.
It is a pattern which has blighted England on all but two occasions in my lifetime. They have won three or more games in a tournament sixteen times in the twenty tournaments I've been on this earth. They've only won all five twice.
But yet in Paris, that wasn't on my mind. They had done it. Until I saw my second England match I had a 100% record as a fan and that was such a special day.
As I tend to do in these articles, I like to thank people who made days like that special and I have to applaud everyone who came for the way they dealt with the hyperactive eight year old.
Through the being sick, to getting gum stuck in my hair, to shouting xenophobic slurs at the French, spilling caramel tea the following morning, and just being really annoying throughout the game, I was treated like a king.
And that, I guess, was my big lesson. If you allow kids to savour special moments like that, the memories may just last a lifetime. It will always be something I bear in mind whenever I watch someone still learning to fall in love with a sport.
It was a special 80 minutes. England, having chucked away a 19-6 lead to Wales in week one and putting in a very unconvincing performance against Italy the following week, managed to earn a sensational victory.
Our biggest rivals. A 13 point lead. Lost at home. 2008 vs Wales is as bad as it gets.
It was a pulsating contest, with France bringing their new found flair and England repelling them, largely guided by the boot of Wilkinson.
From Sackey's early burst at the beginning to Wigglesworth's wriggle over the line at the end, England were fantastic. It was the most proud I'd ever been of the team, since I first started watching them regularly in 2004.
Sackey's first half try gave England an early cushion
Over these series of articles I've talked a lot about England rugby, and will probably talk about them plenty more. But it is wins like these that made, and still make, England so frustrating to watch.
From chucking away a massive lead, to scraping victory to a team that they usually thump contrasted with an amazing performance on the road and a thumping of Ireland. Oh, but we still managed to lose to the Jocks.
Then take the previous year. Hammered by Ireland, beaten by then-winless Wales, but comfortable wins against France and Italy and a hammering of Scotland.
It is a pattern which has blighted England on all but two occasions in my lifetime. They have won three or more games in a tournament sixteen times in the twenty tournaments I've been on this earth. They've only won all five twice.
But yet in Paris, that wasn't on my mind. They had done it. Until I saw my second England match I had a 100% record as a fan and that was such a special day.
As I tend to do in these articles, I like to thank people who made days like that special and I have to applaud everyone who came for the way they dealt with the hyperactive eight year old.
Through the being sick, to getting gum stuck in my hair, to shouting xenophobic slurs at the French, spilling caramel tea the following morning, and just being really annoying throughout the game, I was treated like a king.
And that, I guess, was my big lesson. If you allow kids to savour special moments like that, the memories may just last a lifetime. It will always be something I bear in mind whenever I watch someone still learning to fall in love with a sport.
Seeing my hero slot the drop goal that took him to the highest number of drop goals in test rugby history is a moment I will never, ever forget
Comments
Post a Comment