On another much more interesting note, the rugger world cup has started, and I am in heaven. Big, burly blokes scrumming about all over the place, it all looks horridly violent and then you look at the action replays and you see the ballet of 110-kilo men being lifted into the air for the line-out, the care taken in a tackle to bring the opponent down without hurting him, the way that, in a well-honed team, as he is tackled a player will pass the ball to a team-mate he cannot see but whom he knows is there. You start watching for the eye candy, you keep watching for the beauty of the game.
Last night, in the Stade de France, the French hosts opened the tournament against the Argentines. For reasons probably linked to Laporte seriously underestimating the opposition,
they left the terrifying Chabal, whose aspect alone could floor you if you were feeling a tad vulnerable, on the bench until it was WAY too late. La Honte Nationale. As a result, Argentina gave France a wrist-slapping, which will provide me with plenty of ribbing material at work on Monday. As will New Zealand's trouncing of Italy, an up-and-coming rugby country that should have been able to put up slightly more of a challenge. Although I have to say the All Blacks are VERY fit. That is, if my own country manage to avoid pulling defeat from the jaws of victory again, and survive the unpredictable onslaught of the USA. If not, I shall be taking down the Jonny Wilkinson picture I have put up on my office door and keeping very quiet. Yes I know he's injured and so not playing until later. I just think he's pretty.
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