Oh Glory! The Dragon Roars. Wales Triumphs. Poetry.
It was one of the greatest days of my life. Since the birth of my sons, never have I been more consumed by joy and delight. Sadly, most can only look on a Welshman’s appreciation of rugby from outside. I am one of the fortunate few. Since my earliest days I have known that rugby is like a religion for us – no, even more important than that, it is life – no, perhaps even more important than that.
And it is true, particularly when it comes to playing England, for in that final moment when we drove their maul into touch, I could have died happy. Nothing could complete me more. And we did it in such heroic, brave, glorious style!
After so many years, this time, for the first time, my mother had taught me how to sing the anthem in Welsh. I sang my heart out and the tears were streaming down my face even before kickoff. That would have almost been enough for me. I hardly dared dream what wonders would follow.
As our momentum grew in the last quarter, even though we were still behind, I began to get this strange feeling that it might be possible. A crossfield kick, a magnificent try, straight in front of me. I could not have been more perfectly placed, as if it were staged just for me. We were level and that feeling started to grow. When our pressure brought the inevitable penalty it was a long, long way but I knew Dan Biggar would not let us down – and we were in the lead! Just moments more and it was done. The unbelievable was real. We had taken England down at home, in Twickenham, as underdogs, in the most compelling, glorious, magnificent, absolute victory!
My thanks go to my son, Evan, whose enormous generosity took me and a large group of friends to this very special occasion. I doubt this day will be bettered in the rest of my life.