Sporting Culture in Wales was a commodity unbeknown to me as an Englishman.<\/h2>\n

And having arrived to study during the pandemic, I never had the opportunity, in the first year of residence at least, to soak in the true atmosphere of anything in Cardiff in truth.<\/p>\n

So when the turn of the year dawned, despite my barren distaste for what I formerly cussed as ‘egg-chasing’, the highlight of my winter’s schedule was the 12th February – when Scotland came to town.<\/p>\n

The two sides headed into the crunch test with contrasting openers. Ireland demolished Wayne Pivac’s men 29-7, with the entirety of the Welsh structure put into question, and the Kiwi’s position scrutinised under serious threat.<\/p>\n

Scotland on the other hand are the perennial underdogs, and their win over bitter rivals England had accelerated dreams of a first Six Nations triumph.<\/p>\n

The Atmosphere<\/strong><\/p>\n

Everyone, including my university colleagues with little to zero interest in the sporting world, always spoke of the Rugby days.<\/p>\n

The bustling streets, the face painting, the reality that you couldn’t enjoy a beverage without queuing for at least half an hour. It all seemed nonsensical.<\/p>\n

Alas, the inner critique and curiosity got the better of me. I made a deliberate effort to experience the streets of Cardiff on Saturday, in my mind to prove that this romance of Rugby in this great nation was built on false foundation. I could not have been more wrong.<\/p>\n

As soon as I took my first step onto St Mary’s Street, one of two mainstays in the city centre, I saw it. The sheer volume of people flocking like peckish seagulls. The surround sound of chatter, of laughter, and of Scottish and Welsh enjoying each others’ company – it immediately tilted a crooked smile from cheek to cheek.<\/p>\n

I walked through the town, with children face painted, fans draped in Welsh flags and kilted men singing folk songs of old emanating through my peripherals, and I stopped, turned and listened.<\/p>\n

“Too-ral-ay, oo-ral-ay addy,<\/em>
\nWe went up by train and by car.<\/em>
\nWhen the juice of the barley was flowing,<\/em>
\nWe all saw the game in the bar.<\/em><\/p>\n

“Oh! We loaded the bus up with flagons,<\/em>
\nAnd left about twenty past seven.<\/em>
\nWe stopped fourteen times between Neath and Bridgend,<\/em>
\nWe were still in Glamorgan at eleven.<\/em>
\nSinging…”<\/em><\/p>\n

\n