I didn’t mind too much that England lost to Wales on Saturday. There, I’ve said it, it’s off my chest.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want England to win. Believe me, from my armchair I made every single tackle (and was still beaten in the tackle-count by Mr Barritt). It’s just that over the years I’ve found every English error exasperating, have screamed in anguish at every refereeing decision against us and have taken every defeat personally. As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, in recent years that’s been one helluva heap of hurt.
And yet on Saturday I was relatively sanguine. Why? Well, largely because I witnessed a team of relative international rookies stand toe-to-toe with a supposedly vastly superior team and not concede an inch. Players hitherto regarded as no more than good club players displayed genuine international credentials and players with potential came of age. In short I saw boys become men.
England's future bodes well. I am hugely encouraged – at least for another 2 weeks.
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