Red Silky Scarf

Red Silky Scarf

Wales v Italy

1^ST of February, 2020.

I got there early; just in case. You know how Cardiff can be on match days – ‘Chokka’.

The Park & Ride is a wonderful invention.

A Welsh dragon flag was draped around the shoulders of the one lad in front, as I observed that most other people on the bus, were also wearing distinctive red Welsh rugby jerseys; the countdown had begun and it was only 10 o’clock.

I made a bee-line for the nearest bookshop – well, it was a natural reaction once in Cardiff; just how many times over the years had I followed my dad, with my brother in toe. This time it was different though, as I would not be able to tell my dad about where I had gone.

Rocking-up in a burger bar I got tea and made it as strong as possible whilst hoping that the door was kept shut – despite it being dry – for once; it was still bitterly cold. Relevant bits of newspaper read and then to tackle the crossword; my usual Saturday morning routine, whilst trying to stay off ‘Twitter’. It was after-all League game number 24. The 30 – year quest was still very much on.

A good look in ‘Waterstones’ and lo and behold, what was this, a book on ‘Mo Salah’ and one that had gone under my radar. It took me all of the time it took for Wales to fling a pass out to the wing, to score a try, for me to decide to ‘get it’. Another one to add to my two hundred plus Liverpool collection.

By now there were crowds of people all heading in the one direction, towards the impressive castle and of course stopping in the many pubs, ever so conveniently situated en-route, towards the magnificent stadium, which I still look at in equal amount of pleasure and pride, which sits in the middle of the city centre like a beacon to all things Welsh.

An amble through the market and un-decided as to what to do about food. Those Welsh cakes smelt lush though, no wonder there was an ever – increasing queue to get them, just like the three red jerseys would be crying out for a pass to the side, in the later stages of the game.

I went upstairs; recalling the last time I was there with dad, in his favourite city, as we had sat down, over-looking the floor level, with our tea. I was so glad we had gone there then; when his favourite shop of all-time ‘Ian Allen’, had closed its doors; as my loving ex would say, ‘You can’t’ put a price on that And’. Exactly.

So, I got a tea and was told that I had to wait an hour for hot food! That just proved how busy Cardiff can get due to the rugby. Local business people must rub their hands with glee every time there is a match. The attractive girl though must have liked me as she bent the rules and swiftly lobbed my pasty into the micro and before you could say, ‘ping’; I had hot food. I gave her a flirty wink in acknowledgement and sat down. Like so many other times I turned, quite literally, to a book for company, not needing anyone. Quickly I was with Mo Salah; following his story about how he had to catch not one but three buses to just train, every day. Now that is dedication. It paid off though, as his talent shone through; he is now one of the major reasons behind any Liverpool success since he came to Anfield in 2017. I felt happy to just sit there and read, whilst eating a very lush pasty and eking out my cold tea (which I can drink, so I have found). I had a book and I had Liverpool – what more did I want? Oh, I also took a look at my treasured match ticket and sussed that I had to go to Bute Park to get in – ‘Liverpool’s end’ I said. That had to be a good omen.

Down the little alley way, from one world to another, just like in Brighton, and from the shops there was ‘The City Arms’ pub and I smiled, recalling the pints going up in the air when Stevie G scored that 40 – yard block-buster against West Ham. I got a programme as a souvenir– though I did not pretend to know too much about its contents.  

Nearly everyone was in red but there was a smattering of beautiful blue as people went in the opposite direction to me but it was good timing though, as before my very eyes a big red coach passed slowly by. It was only the Welsh team! Lots of clapping and cheering. And why not, as they were the Champions and Grand Slam winners; though that would mean squat now; if they were to do well again. I looked at the players and I have to say, I didn’t recognise them. They hardly looked back though and certainly I did not see them wave. A tad disappointed if truth be told, in my best ‘Nessa’ voice. I just hoped they did the business – that’s all that would matter. Rugby you see is a religion in Wales. End of.

I found Gate 1. If you ever go there – wrap-up warm! The icy cold wind whips off the River Taff which is underneath the planks there, as though we were on the edge of a wooden ship. I was grateful I had not two but four layers on and had my hoody top up. I felt sorry for the girls there who only had flimsy dresses on and a coat. ‘Brrrr’.

No matter from what angle you look at that space age stadium, I still marvel at it. So impressive. After about a twenty-minute wait with my Lidl bag being searched and doing the ‘Hokey-Kokey’ as I had to turn around – and that’s what it’s all about, these days, going into a stadium; I was flashing my prized, precious ticket, at a luminous orange chap. Once inside, amidst the smell of onions and hot-dogs I just could not help but take a peek at the perfect pitch. It looked fabulous. All lush green with those white lines and the tall posts which reached for the sky, and I loved it that the roof was closed. It reminded me of ‘Millennium night’ when we had been there.

This was more like it.

‘It’s my first day’ the good- looking blond steward said to me, smiling, after she told me correctly where my seat was. How friendly, as I walked-up the few flighted steps towards rugby heaven.

The view took my breath away. It was just fantastic. Awesome. I was right in front of the posts. Could not have been bettered. Could look right down on the try line. I had been lucky enough to have been there before – as I could see Michael Owen, in his gold shirt, running away to my right, after he scored not one, but two goals to steal the FA Cup from Arsenal. That was another good omen.

Click, click, click. On my phone, on my digital camera, all over. As though I wanted to capture the scene forever. It was even more of an awesome stadium. It’s so much better being there than watching it on the tele and shouting at the screen!

The players were warming-up and Wales were down at the far end as the band began to go past, led by their goat mascot. Their red uniforms resplendent. It was all part of the experience as much as queuing -up to go to the toilet.

The choir started singing and not just Welsh ballads either like ‘Calon Lan’ and ‘Cwm Rhonda’ but also Italian ones – a great touch; ‘Just one cornetto’ – not on a cold day like this one! Soon, Sam to my surprise, came and I immediately felt better. It was Sam who had very kindly offered me this fabulous ticket and I had accepted without even thinking. I love live sport and I love Wales. What was there to think about?

‘It’s awesome Sam’ I said enthusing about the view. He was beaming and being a proper, pucker, rugby man was also really appreciative of the view. It was his venue but we did find that we had both been in the stadium watching the football a few years ago when Wales had beaten Italy, 2-1 in an un-forgettable, knee-knocking Euro Qualification game.

This time I felt Wales would win. No worries. So long as they were not complacent. That’s about as much as I knew. Though I did of course recognise Leigh Halfpenny, with a white number 15 on his red jersey and Alan Wyn Jones – with tape over his ears. There were no airs or graces about these fellas. Legends and also Dan Bigger – who I recall kicking well years ago against France away, when Wales won.  Now, that’s not bad considering football is my sport! As for the rest I knew a few of the names but could not put faces to them. They were Wales – that’s all that counted.

No matter where I am, no matter what form it takes, even a few whistling bars, always my hairs stand up straight just listening to the national anthem ‘Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau’ which can reduce me to tears way before the end as I am always holding back my emotion and it was no different in this stadium, with over 65,000 Welsh people alongside me. Fantastic (even as I write this, I have played it on You-tube and fought back the tears).

I wondered what it was like to turn-out at a local park, in the mud, in the wet and freezing cold for the Welsh players as they were trying to make it at grass roots level – surely the heart and soul of real rugby; so different from all the razzamatazz inside the stadium; which included fireworks and flames.

Wales took about five to minutes to get going. Then they picked-up points whenever they could. Dan Biggar slotted three penalties, right before our very eyes and after everyone, I shouted ‘Yes’ as though a goal had been scored.

It was great being beside Sam as at every turn he would say something about what was happening. I did not need a commentator – just Sam.

Wales were cornering Italy. When they tried to run, especially through their smallish number 15 (Matteo Minozzi), they would get tackled and Wales would hit them on the counter. When Italy got frustrated, they kicked the ball and Leigh Halfpenny would just say, ‘Thank you’ and kick it back and at one stage, gallop through and catch his own kick. What a brave player. Italy were stumped.

The surprising thing was that it took Wales so long to score their first try. A move which developed to the right of me, passing in hand and then one of our fellas flung himself and the ball over the line. ‘Happy days’, Sam said, with a grin as wide as the stadium roof. It was just great to see and be there.

Try – ‘It’s not unusual to be loved by any-one, it’s not unusual to have fun with anyone’ as Tom Jones blared out in celebration.

That was it. Excellent. Those people whom I had expectantly seen with ‘TRY’ placards in the queue, now had the chance, to be on the tele, as they no doubt held them up.

I couldn’t believe it though that the ‘TMO’ or ‘VAR’ as I said to Sam, was checking it (Of course it was a try – Wales were at home!).

By half-time, which I guess could not have come quick enough for the Italians, Wales had scored another try in the same corner and were romping 20 points or so ahead. The points were in the bag and it was just a case of how many the home team wanted to score.

I was aware that it was a quarter of an hour from kick-off at Anfield and that no doubt Davie and Dean were ready in Davie’s house, sweets in the bowl, having got a stream for Liverpool’s game against Southampton. Nine and half times out of ten I would be with them – this was the very grateful exceptional ‘half’.

Italy did try and make a game of it in the second half as I also sportingly applauded when they threw the ball out to another man, like they had in the first half, backwards to a teammate – a neat piece of skill that was appreciated by all the crowd.

On the odd occasion there was an Italian sounding musical instrument which struck a chord with the fans and was heartily cheered. It was almost like I was watching a theatrical – operatic performance; a lovely atmosphere broken by the Welsh team running down the middle of the Italian defence which retreated, which led to another Welsh try – this time under the posts.  

Wales had a try chalked off by the ‘TMO’ (television match official) for what I don’t know, after a great flowing move, started to my right, on the half-way line. The white shirted ref had initially let play go on and Sam said, ‘Deffo try’, as he nipped to the loo.  

‘They could give them a right hammering here’ I said to Sam and he agreed. I felt that Wales could make a statement and possibly pick-up a crucial bonus point as well, for scoring four or more tries.

However, I had by now set my heart on events at Anfield. Always, always, from when I was about seven, no matter where I am, or what I am doing – my heart beats to the tune Liverpool set. It was just as well then that I could not get a connection with my net – the closed roof was seeing to that but my phone vibrated and immediately on edge, I received a distressing text from Deano, informing me that Liverpool were in ‘holiday mode’ and playing ‘crap versus Southampton’. I was not happy.

‘I hope he fires some ffs, into them’ I shot back, imagining Liverpool’s manager, Jurgen Klopp, ranting in the dressing room at his complacent players. I know I would have, as I was almost seething, sitting there in the Millennium.

Wales converted between the posts and finished-up, as I had text Deano, deservedly 40 points up. It could have been more but I settled for that. I shook Sam’s hand, said, ‘Thanks mate’ and hoped that I would be able to see Wales in the flesh again, as I quickly decided to get back. Past the castle, through the long pedestrianised street, walking at pace, whilst urging the reds on, before reaching Sainsbury’s on the corner, then gratefully seeing the ‘X59’.

I just about made the last available seat on the top deck. That’s the beauty of Cardiff. The stadium is so central. The transport links are fantastic and I had made great time. Then a quick heart-beating pulse of my phone, which could have meant anything.

‘Ox 1-0’.

With people all around me I just let out a loud ‘Yeahs!!!’ straight from the heart. I really, did not care what anyone else thought. Liverpool were ahead. That’s all that mattered.

Then there was another pulse, as I clocked the time, about half four.

‘3-0 hendo mo’.

‘YEAHS!!!!’

I shouted out again, in my own loving Liverpool bubble because I just knew that no-one on the bus could have been feeling like I was in those heart racing, pulse pounding moments. I was joyously nervous, as Liverpool were doing their best to bridge the gap after so many years.

When I reached the Park & Ride car park, I saw that Liverpool had scored again, another from Mo Salah – in the 90^th minute. It was surely just not happening. Un-real. Truly incredible. I was over-joyed.

What a day; I had seen Wales win and had lived heart and soul through another Liverpool win; as my dad might have said, ‘How lucky can you get?’…

Maybe ‘The fat lady’ is thinking not only about singing but also putting on her red dress and red shoes but also perhaps a red silky scarf…

2/2/2020 2739 A. Phillips