Wales host Scotland: To 'Mordor' and Beyond

A Scot from Edinburgh and a Welshman from Llanelli, both exiled in Devon, went day-tripping to Cardiff. That's not the start of a bad joke, but the beginning of a typically atypical 6 Nations story.

From Exeter to Bristol Temple Meads and then on to Cardiff would be our itinerary.

There were exiled Welsh in Exeter who joined us, and then more at every stop the train made. There were Scots, too, in particular one kilted Borderer who proudly wore a South of Scotland shirt. He got on in the rural backwater of Tiverton, proving that you can take the man out the Borders...

My 'see you Jimmy' hat was drawing more and more attention as we reached nearer Bristol, upon where I began to blend seamlessly into the hoards of Scots. I had only previously been to Wales to play rugby in Cardiff - my focus was not on looking out the window on those occasions. Today, though, I was at leisure to take in the joyful and energetic scenery of South Wales. If that sounds facetious and overly harsh on the places that the train struggled through, then I apologise. It's industrial, clearly once thriving but now jaded in the extreme and clearly breeds good rugby players as well as good rugby people.

Cardiff Central train station is very central indeed, and we enjoyed our walk to collect our tickets. I made full use of the time to warm up my voice, humming Men of Harlech before downright shouting Bread of Heaven. I was not going to turn up to the Millennium unprepared. 

A Level geographers might see Cardiff as an excellent example of city centre regeneration. It's a pretty town centre, pedestrianised and so on. I was pleasantly surprised, though that reflects more on me than on Cardiff.

It was also a rugby town, a proper bone fide rugby town full of rugby people. Flags flying, rugby shops, the whole place geared towards rugby just like Limerick and Perpignan.

Not being an adventurous creature, me, I joined the sizeable queue in Gregg's to pick up some lunch. It was as if every Scot had seen the queue and felt it was their moral duty to buy a cheese and ham melt.

Well fed, with the voice box loosening up nicely, we joined the throngs. I was surprised at how close the Arm's Park was to the Millennium Stadium. It seems silly that Cardiff Blues play in a half empty football stadium and not this compact ground with so much history. 

The Millennium deserves every inch of its reputation. It is so much more impressive than the Stade de France, Murrayfield and the rest. So steep, with the crowd so close. And then the singing. About 60 middle aged to elderly gentlemen trooped out, with the brass band and the now customary goat, and began to sing the classics. 'Delilah' was huge, 'Bread of Heaven' everything I hoped it would be.

I was sitting next to a very inebriated middle aged Welsh woman who clearly has unresolved issues surrounding Leigh Halfpenny. These issues will not be solved in the near future. It seems to me that Welsh women broadly fit into one of four categories: Katherine Jenkins, Charlotte Church, Nessa or Stella - the final two are Ruth Jones characters. My teary, beery, companion, she was a 'Nessa'.

Scotland looked promising at times. Their scramble defence is world class. Stuart Hogg is pure class. Blair should have started, proving lots of people right. Ross Rennie was world class once again, proving that you don't have to play every week for your club side to justify your place in the national team.

I wrote last week, fairly angrily, at what I saw to be a growing and misplaced arrogance from Welsh fans, pundits and former players. They really are an arrogant bunch, but after a day in amongst them, it's easy to see why. They take it so seriously, far more than Scottish fans. They believe their rugby history is far more impressive and it defines their national identity far more than in Scotland. All this is hard to argue with. And they sing, and shout, and make noise and they're positive towards their own team and not unreasonably unwelcoming to opposition teams.

To paraphrase Jim Telfer, they think all the rugby is with them.

So rather than castigate the Welsh, I hope the Scots become more like them. Of course no one wants Andy Nicol to become Jonathan Davies, but we could do with taking a bit more pride in our achievements, our rugby history and traditions, a Scottish style of play, making our players our heroes and national icons. This is all tricky to do. Wales simply like rugby more than Scotland. They have a smaller population but consistently bigger crowds - it's their national sport. It matter more to more people.

For us, it's a minority game where small factions argue against smaller factions and don't buy tickets and moan about the prices and moan about the players and the coach and rejoice when they retire and seem to take a masochistic pleasure in the whole goddamed thing.

Today was a wonderful day, despite the result. I have a new found grudging respect for the Welsh and for how seriously they take their rugby. I still hope France beat them in the Grand Slam decider, but I left Cardiff thoroughly impressed with the whole thing and heady with the much clichéd brotherhood of the 6 Nations.