Bristol’s star spangled evening

Woke up in Workington this morning to the sound of the bloke next door having a shower. It wasn’t the poshest hotel I’ve ever stayed in, but it did a job, I suppose. It had been a late night as I got chatting to a couple of Hull KR fans, an Oldham fan who lives in Edinburgh and an Aussie journalist who had been covering the Scotland v Tonga match.

All four of them were sat up in the hotel bar, when I returned from the Weatherspoons in Workington town centre where, being a Wakey fan, I’d felt obliged to sample a pint of Wildcat. And very enjoyable it was too. As it had been dark when I arrived in Workington, I hadn’t seen much of the town before the game, and I didn’t see much after, although I can confirm that it has a splendid bus station. Apparently, it was the first purpose built, covered bus station in Britain. Built in 1926. So now ya know.

Back in the hotel bar, we talked all things rugby league, and it was only the thought of my long day today that forced me to turn it in, in the early hours. Morning came far too soon and having waited for matey boy next door to finish his shower, I hopped in mine, hoping he hadn’t stolen all the hot water. My luck was in.

The breakfast room was a curious mix of builders working away from home and rugby league fans, high on the World Cup. One such chap I recognised as Phil Cole, Chairman of the Bristol Sonics rugby league club. I’d seen his photo in one of the papers at some stage, and the fact he was wearing a Bristol Sonics fleece, were all the clues this Sherlock Holmes needed. He was, as I suspected, travelling later down to Bristol.

Having been a main player in establishing the Sonics in the first place in Bristol in 2002, I thought it would be odd if he wasn’t there to see a World Cup match played in that very city, 11 years later. As Phil returned his attention to his bacon and eggs, I headed across the road to the train station.

Leg 1 of my journey today, was to head north to Carlisle for my inter city connection down south. Whilst Workington’s station hints at a busier past, Carlisle’s is still the business. The buffet bar is a very impressive building, I imagine the new one they are building at Wakefield Westgate will be equally as inspiring. Not! As my youngest would say.

Whilst enjoying my morning coffee and catching up on the reports of last night’s match, a bloke in a Leeds Rhinos jacket walked in. Chuff me, they get everywhere that lot. As it happens this one, was in from Sydney. On a World Cup tour with his Kiwi wife. He’d emigrated 13 years ago and had forgotten “how cold it is over here this time of year”. Cold? I was surprised how mild it was. With my ensuing travels, space was a bit of a premium, and I did wonder if I would regret not packing my gloves and thick England jacket, but not a bit of it. Back in Wakefield, they’d all be out in t-shirts up Westgate tonight if these temperatures keep so high.

He and his wife were off to Bristol too, no doubt hoping for a bit of warmth, being that bit nearer the equator. They weren’t off to Avignon though. Scheduling was a bit tricky, and I can certainly confirm that, but the main reason was that Mrs Kiwi, wasn’t keen on flying. Eh? They’d just flown half way round the world to get here. I’m surprised they even consider nipping across the channel flying. This was my big trip, but it must have seemed like nipping down the road for a paper in comparison to their travels.

Virgin trains did us proud, arriving promptly for Leg 2, ready to whisk us away to the promising land of Birmingham. Sometimes I forget that I’m living the dream. Anyway the journey took me through some great places. Lancaster, a place I associate with the Morecambe Bay Origin game, where a team from one side of the bay played a team from the other back in 2004. I’ve no idea if it became an annual event, but it sounded like a great idea at the time.

Then there was Preston, where the Ireland team will be based at the town’s university. My next door neighbour was telling me that his lad who started there in September will be doing some stuff with the Irish squad, studying their nutrition or fitness regimes. Another great example of how the World Cup is connecting with people.

Warrington and Wigan were also on the route. A couple of places every league fan is familiar with, and future destinations for my World Cup travels. Whilst Carlisle station adds a touch of class to the weary traveller’s arrival in town, Warrington Bank Quay less so.

Leg 3 of my journey was a straightforward run from Birmingham New Street to Bristol Temple Meads. The heating in my carriage was on full, and the sun was streaming through the windows. It was hot and I’m sure I even saw the couple from Sydney unbutton their coats.

Never been to Bristol before, apart from a car trip straight to Ashton Gate and back again for a soccer match in the early 1990s. All I remember is that we lost, and whilst we stood on a terrace, the other three stands had lots of shiny, red seats. That’s all I knew of Bristol. However I’ve now discovered that it is a fine city, with a mix of impressive old buildings and new architecture around the waterfront. A bit like Leeds, or Manchester, but with posh Victorian buildings for the old, rather than the refurbished warehouses we have in the North.

Leg 4 of my journey was the most leisurely. I had just under five hours between arriving in Bristol and kick-off, so plenty of time to plot my route, enjoy a beer and grab a bit of tea. The fact it took me several hours to work out where to get my bus to the ground, is probably more a reflection on my navigational skills, than on Bristol’s public transport system.

I noticed plenty of signage up around the town, promoting the game, and Radio Bristol had interviews with the coaches as part of their build up. I knew the Bristol World Cup team had been working overtime to promote their fixture, which looked like the hardest sell of all. USA against the Cook Islands in Bristol was always going to need more effort to draw a crowd than say Papua New Guinea against France in Hull.

I made my way to the bus stop and met another lad wearing a Rhinos shirt. I told you. Chuffin everywhere. This one was a native of Southampton. Grandparents live in Leeds, so he was dragged along to Headingley on a Sunday afternoon as a child, whenever his mother took a trip up north to visit her parents. We spotted a Cook Island flag at the back of the bus, and headed there. These blokes would know where we were headed. Despite their West Country accents, they were telling everyone they were natives of the Cook Islands and were proudly quizzing fellow passengers about their flag, which they themselves had never seen before, until they bought it in the city centre earlier in the day.

They dived off the bus a bit earlier than we wanted to, headed for the Welly for a few beers first. We were keen to get to the ground, and a charming young lady pointed out our stop, walked us to the ground, and directed us to the bar. A few minutes later we made our way inside, and ordered a couple of beers only to be greeted by the same lass, miraculously transformed from tour guide to barmaid.

They clearly had the same heating system in the bar as they had on my train to Bristol. As the rain came down outside, the windows steamed up on the inside, and coats were dispensed with. It was clear that this wasn’t going to be your usual crowd. There weren’t that many league shirts on show. Most people were local, and either rugby union or soccer fans. Whilst there were plenty of newbies, there were also some hard core league fans, and sure enough Phil from breakfast in Workington had now popped up in the bar in Bristol.

Fresh from an interview with the local radio, he was clearly nervous about how the evening would go. Would there be a decent crowd? There was talk of 5,000, but Phil wasn’t counting chickens. What about the game itself? We were surely due a blow out score in the World Cup. Would it come tonight? The bookies had the Tomahawks as 5/1 outsiders.

As it happened, by the time we had taken our place on the eastern terrace, next to the Cook Islands’ band the ground had filled up quite nicely.

As we have come to expect in the World Cup, the players on field performances matched the excellent off-field efforts of the organising teams. It was compelling stuff, as we headed in to the last ten minutes at 20-20. It was eventually the Americans who won the game, with try of the tournament (so far) from Craig Priestly, as he flew through the air to catch a huge bomb and touch down in one move.

Phil was relieved. It had been another gripping game and when the attendance was given as 7247, his smile really lit up. That crowd exceeded even the most optimistic of predictions. Wow. This tournament is really capturing people’s imagination.

I made my exit as the final hooter sounded. I’d not got long for Leg 5 of my journey. The Memorial Ground to Temple Meads train station. The train to Paddington left at 10:35. I’m sure it was 10:45 when I booked it! It was going to be tight. I caught the bus on Gloucester Road without trouble, but it was taking ages to load. Come on. I’m up against the clock here. I’d only got 42 minutes from the final hooter, to the train whistle.

We eventually edged our way toward the city centre, seemingly stopping at every stop to let a single passenger disembark. The bus was full of chatter about the game. The locals seemed to have enjoyed the fare on offer, even if the talk from one local of Wales “going all the way” sounded a touch optimistic. When I needed to ask the advice of a local about the best bus stop to exit for the train station, I though I’d steer clear of that fellow. Although when I did ask another chap, he pointed out where I needed to be. When you get off, go left and follow the road round. It’s about a 20 minute walk.

Twenty minutes! I’d got about ten. This is where preparation comes in. I’d done a bit at altitude in the lead up to the World Cup. Mrs Davies had insisted I tidy the loft before I set off on my travels. It was paying dividends now, as I pushed through the pain barrier, huffed and puffed my way to the train station and dropped to my knees on the platform with a minute to spare. Naturally the train was five minutes late, and already on the platform were several others from the match, with more strolling up after me. None of them looked out of breath!

Oh well, I was there now, and ready for Leg 6. The train to Paddington. That went surprisingly smoothly, and I even managed to grab a quick nap en route. Leg 7 was the night bus across the capital to St Pancras where I currently sit with the living dead in Costa waiting for the Eurostar terminal to open in a few hours.

Then it’ll be the 5.40 train to Paris and onwards to Avignon. Now where did I put that passport. I’m sure it’s in this bag somewhere.

To Workington and beyond

“If you ever get picked to play Fiji son, pull up injured in the warm-up. Might be best to give that one a miss.” Those were the wise words of one dad to his young lad on the way home from Spotland on Monday night, after we had just seen Fiji play Ireland with a ferocity that made all of us glad we were merely spectators, rather than participants in this fantastic World Cup.

Now I was off to Workington, to watch Tonga and Scotland face each other. It also marked the start of my big travel. This was what I’d really been looking forward to from the World Cup. Workington tonight, then down to Bristol tomorrow to watch the USA and Cook Islands play at the Memorial Ground. Straight after that, I’m on the night train to London Paddington, to get the first train out Thursday morning from St Pancras to Avignon, changing in Paris.

A couple of days in the South of France for the France v New Zealand match, before I drive up to Lyon, to get the express train to Paris, for my flight Saturday morning to Leeds-Bradford airport. Mrs Davies will be there to greet me and drive to Huddersfield ahead of the England v Ireland clash. Straight after that match ends, we’ll be back in the car and off to St Helens to watch the Fijians dish it out to the Aussies that night.

We’re stopping in Widnes after the Kangaroos’ match, before heading down to Wrexham to see Wales take on the Tomahawks of America. After that, we’ll be back on the road to get home, so we can watch the Scotland v Italy match from Workington on Premier Sports. That’ll be the second of the four games I’m having to miss in the World Cup, as it is simply impossible to get to more than 24 of the 28 games without the aid of a time machine.

Bag packed, but with a constant nagging in the back of my mind that I’d forgotten something, I sat down to watch the Fiji v Ireland game again on the TV. Just as bone crunching second time round!

I’d been ready for hours and eventually it wasn’t ridiculous for me to set off. I’d only have an hour to wait at Leeds train station for my connection to Carlisle, rather than the three hours I’d have had, if I’d set off when I wanted to.

I like travelling by train, especially if it’s for pleasure and I’m not in a rush. No traffic, no hassle and a chance for a good read, all add to the experience. It has to be said though, that the journey between Leeds and Carlisle is simply stunning. With the sun shining across the Dales, it is a real pleasure to be whisked through Yorkshire and up to Cumbria.

In 2008, we took a ferry down the Parramatta river to watch Ireland play Samoa in the World Cup. As exciting as that was, I think the train ride today to watch Tonga play Scotland in Workington tops it. Though, granted, it wasn’t quite as warm.

The Carlisle to Workington journey takes 50 minutes. The train was packed, but I got chatting to an old Whitehaven fan, who’d been following the World Cup on the BBC. He’s got Sky Sports, but wasn’t paying for Premier Sports too. You don’t know what you’re missing mate.

I was booked into the Cumberland Hotel opposite the station. “Everywhere’s full because of the rugby”, I overheard the barman explain. But I was sorted, and decided on a more leisurely approach to the game tonight, opting for a beer in the bar before setting off. Not only did it give me a chance to catch the local news, where a reporter was outside the Scotland team hotel, surrounded by children, who shouted “Scotland” on queue, whilst the Leader of the Council declared that the World Cup was worth a million pounds to the town, but I also got chatting to a couple of local lads up from Wath Brow for the big match. The World Cup certainly seemed to have made the locals take notice.

There was a real buzz about the town, as I headed off for my pre-match ‘home made’ curry and chips, and the local newspaper captured the mood perfectly.

As I made my way to the ground, the rotary club, had got a couple of fellows at the train station directing visitors to the stadium, where the queues were like something from a bygone age. The Popular Stand was packed, and it was clear that the home fans were leaning toward the Scots, although their appreciation of the Tongans was in keeping with what you’d expect from league fans.

Scotland got a good lead and were 20-4 up at half-time. Perhaps this was the first big margin of the World Cup. But from the kick-off in the second half, Tonga piled the pressure on Scotland and started to close the gap. It was gripping stuff, that came down to a video referee decision as the hooter sounded and saw Scotland clinch a memorable 26-24 victory.

It was yet another great night for this World Cup that just keeps giving. The Scottish players celebrated as I often dream I will celebrate if England ever lift the cup. The joy on the faces of the players as they came to acknowledge the fans was something to behold. No big bucks, no chance of winning the cup itself, but here in Workington on a rainy Tuesday, this group of players were back where it all started, having a great time playing footy with their mates.

Fiji Bati – a song, a smile and a smack

It must be at least 20 years since I last went to Rochdale, and that was as an away fan to watch my team beat the local soccer club. We went straight to the ground, and all I remember was a pub called the Cemetery, just outside the ground where we had a few beers, and then a wall inside the ground, which you stood behind to let the beer out again. It was a bit of a dump, but it’s a tidy ground now and the toilets have improved since then too.

On today’s visit, I parked up near the Town Hall and had a bit of a wander round the town centre. It’s not too bad. I’ve no plans to move, unless Sydney or Brisbane is on offer, but I reckon I’d quite like living in Rochdale, if circumstances took me there. The Town Hall is quite something, although it’s a shame it was covered in sheeting and scaffolding whilst renovation is underway.

That’s a theme you get from walking through the town. The new building down by the canal, contrasts with the old car park opposite, and the tram, presumably linking in to Manchester is on the way. There are some really nice bits of industrial heritage too, Champness Hall and the old headstones to Rochdale Technical School, indicate the place that Rochdale had in the industrial revolution.

I headed for the Flying Horse once I’d had my tour of Rochdale. It was promising Fijian curry and a special brew of Ireland’s Gone Bati. I sampled both, and have got to say, I was well pleased. If every other town I visit in this World Cup does as well, I’ll be very happy. At £2.70 a pint and £2 for a bowl of curry, I was beginning to be less concerned about the £15 I’d spent on coffee and salad in Starbucks earlier with our youngest.

There has been much talk about Rochdale’s Fijian connections and I must admit I was a bit sceptical. There wasn’t much sign of anything too exotic in the high street. Once I’d got in the pub though, there they were. Genuine people of Fijian descent. And lots of them.

Throughout the town, there was plenty of sign of the match. It seemed as though almost every other advertising board around the town centre was promoting the game. No wonder it was a sell out.

After my refreshments, I took a pleasant walk to the ground and it was really good to be there in plenty of time to see the two teams arrive on their coaches, and to see the Fijian fans starting to gather. Inside the stadium, the soldiers selected to carry the flags on to the pitch as part of the pre-match build up were Fijians too, from the Mercian Regiment based at Catterick, where the Fijian squad had been until they moved on to Rochdale.

Chatting to one of the young lads serving in the army, it was fascinating hearing his story about joining the British Army back in Fiji. It wasn’t even he, who signed up, it was an uncle who put the papers in for him. Jeez, I bet he got a shock when he rocked up in North Yorkshire, though he seemed pretty happy with his lot. Apparently there are about 2000 Fijians in the British Army.

The game was absolutely brutal. The hits from the Fijians and the Irish too, to be fair, were flying in. It was almost suicidal tackling and straight running. There will be some sore bodies after that one. It finished 12-4 to Fiji at half-time, and the sheer ferocity of the contest took its toll on Ireland who were dominated in the second half before Fiji ran out 32-14 winners.

There were certainly plenty of Fijian fans in the crowd, with the flags flying high each time they scored, and chants of “Go Fiji Go” ringing out from the back of the Pearl Street Stand.

Naturally, with it being the World Cup in England, the rain came down, and there was a downpour throughout much of the second half, with another load a few minutes before the final hooter. In my mind, that was just reward for those who had left the match a few minutes before the end. Never understood that. They would have been nice and exposed to the elements when that lot came down!

I set off back along the motorway in the dark and rain (again). That M62 isn’t a bad road, in the middle of the night and I was back home for twenty past eleven, which wasn’t bad, since the first half didn’t finish until just before 9pm. A 55 minute half? Back in the comfort of my home, I had a little bit of time to watch the first part of the match again on catch-up TV, before hitting the sack.

Tomorrow is a big day, as I set off for six days of travel from Workington to Wrexham via Bristol and Avignon. Bring it on!

Sonny Bill is human after all

Two games, but only possible to attend one. That was the dilemma on day two of the World Cup. I’d got my ticket for Papua New Guinea and France at Craven Park in Hull. It was a 4pm kick-off, with the Samoa v New Zealand match over in Warrington kicking off two hours later. I’d programmed Premier Sports to record that one, to watch as soon as I got home.

I set off later for Hull than I’d intended. Partly to accommodate my youngest, for whom I’d bought tickets, but who I could sense was flagging after the trip to Wales and partly because I was spending the morning catching up with yesterday’s matches. Thank goodness for that extra hour, with the clocks going back.

I was pretty pleased with the BBC’s coverage of the opening day, although there was little of the opening ceremony, but the two games were treated well, and Dave Woods is a great commentator of rugby league. Mark Chapman is also establishing himself as a really good anchor for the Beeb’s rugby league coverage. The team on the BBC is established, and I guess like everyone else I’ve got those I like and those I don’t, and the less said about Jonathan Davies, the better.

I was more keen to see how Premier Sports had done. They are the principal broadcaster for the World Cup. Their NRL coverage is taken straight from Australia, and the Championship programmes are fairly cheap and cheerful, so I wasn’t too sure how they would deal with the World Cup. Their coverage started earlier than on the BBC, so they did capture much more of the opening ceremony that set the tone for the day. Andrew Voss was the man that Premier Sports had flown over to host their coverage of the World Cup and he was a revelation. Clearly very knowledgeable of the players from the NRL, he has a great style and I’ll enjoy listening to his commentary on catch-up.

In the afternoon, we made our way to Hull and parked up without any difficulty in my usual spot. There wasn’t much sign of life, and the ease of parking had me a little worried. I even did a mental check to convince myself that I’d got the kick-off time correct. As we got to the ground, the crowd came into view and it was obvious that we would have a decent turn-out after all.

As it happened a crowd of 7451, about what Hull KR get for a Super League fixture were in attendance. The wind was up, and the rain came down, but France and crowd favourites Papua New Guinea didn’t let us down. I’d got a side bet on with my youngest, who had decided that France would win. I think this had more to do with the good looks of Theo Fages than any studying of the form book, but my daughter had decided that her Theo would bring Les Bleus home.

The fact everyone else in the crowd was supporting PNG was a touch unfortunate, especially when the Kumuls were awarded a penalty in front of the sticks, two minutes from time and a point behind. The wind was blowing down the pitch (when isn’t it at Craven Park), but when David Mead put his kick wide, the crowd held their heads in their hands, whilst Theo’s newest fan, thrust her hands in the air in celebration. France had beaten the Papuans 9-8.

We shot back across the M62 to Wakey and I was able to start watching the match from the Halliwell Jones stadium whilst the second half was still underway. Never used to be able to do that when we relied on a video recorder and had to keep busy until the end of the match, trying to avoid knowing the score.

The bold statistics show that New Zealand beat Samoa 42-24, but that barley touches upon the story. In front of a packed stadium, Samoa came from 22-0 down to give the Kiwis a real test. The crowd got behind the underdogs and Samoa responded. It was a cracking atmosphere, Andrew Voss’ commentary was excellent and we had another memorable moment that will be on the highlight DVD. With the David Mead miss in Hull, we had the Sonny Bill Williams slip in Warrington. SBW showed great class to break the Samoan defence and stroll in for a try after the Samoan fightback, but amazingly Sonny slipped before touching down and put a foot in touch. SBW makes mistakes? Surely not.

The game was ferocious, with big hits and superb skill, all played out in front of a noisy Warrington crowd. It will be one of those matches that is  talked about in years to come by all those who either played in it or who had the fortune to watch it. This is what the World Cup is all about.

So day two was even better than day one. We had a good crowd in Hull and a great crowd in Warrington. With both matches providing a talking point we’ll be discussing for a long time. In a week’s time, Samoa will play PNG at Craven Park, in a match that may well determine who qualifies for the quarter-finals. Wow. That should be some game.

Cardiff – and we’re off

Despite Premier Inn’s Good Night Guarantee, I didn’t sleep long on Saturday morning. To be fair though, I think it had more to do with the forthcoming double header in Cardiff, than any lack of comfort in the mattress. This was it. The big day had arrived. Years in the planning, 14 teams, 28 matches over 21 venues. No stone had been left unturned in the preparation, every detail carefully considered, and finally I was ready. World Cup 2013, here we come.

Queuing for breakfast in the nearby Sainsbury’s I got talking to a native of Bradford who was now living in South Wales. After a short while he posed the question “Why do they persist with that idiot?” Wow, there was a question. Not wanting to offend my fellow leaguie, I wasn’t quite sure where to go with this one. He could have been referring to any number of people. Sinfield, Chase, McNamara or Hock? Could even have been talking about Nigel Wood or Stevo. The list in league is almost unlimited.

I played safe. “What McNamara?”, I enquired. Personally, I think he’s done a pretty decent job in changing the culture of the England set up. It is clearly something that most English players want to be part of, and something that they see as a step up from their club environment. Previously, the lads from the big clubs, probably saw the international set-up as a step down. Less organised, less professional and done on the cheap. Plus there aren’t many other obvious, willing candidates.

Whichever way you slice it though, you’d struggle to find anyone, except the man himself, who ever went to bed and dreamt of the day that Steve McNamara was announced as coach of the England squad. Wayne Bennett, yeah, Steve Mac? Probably not.

“No, not him. That Hock fella”, replied my new mate. Oh, that’s fine. We were on safe ground here. I was quite happy to engage in a full rugby league moan about Gaz. The phrases, last chance, waste of talent and such an idiot were exchanged as we established common ground over Gareth “It wasn’t only me” Hock.

Brekkie sorted, we headed off to Cardiff. I knew where to park. Sophia Gardens had always done the job in the past. Nice and handy for the stadium and whilst I’m not one for paying to park the car, I didn’t mind five or six quid today. “A tenner? We’re not stopping here”.

My quite reasonable response was met with barely audible moans from the back of the car and the passenger seat. Everyone knew what this meant. A fruitless search round the back streets of Cardiff for a free parking space, five miles from the ground.

As frustration grew “It’s not the money. It’s the principle”, I advised my fellow passengers. “I’m not paying them a tenner to leave my car there for a couple of hours”. Half an hour and £5 worth of petrol later, we pulled up at Cardiff University. “Event Parking £6 – for Charity”, the sign read. Now we’re talking.

Buoyed by my sense of knowing I’d won that particular battle with the charlatans at Sophia Gardens, we set of for the city centre. What was very noticeable, was the lack of promotion of the World Cup. If we’d been here on Thursday, before any of the league fans arrived, I’d bet you could have wandered through the city centre, oblivious to the fact that the “biggest major international sporting event in this country since London 2012” was opening in Cardiff on the weekend.

Undeterred we headed for the stadium, bought a couple of programmes and waited to take our seats. The atmosphere was building nicely.

“Be in your seat by 1.30pm” we were told, and we were certainly going to do so. Inside the stadium, Jon Wilkin was wandering around behind the scenes, like he’d lost his way to the BBC studios, and looking as if his suit fitted as well as mine did, last time I had to dig it out of the cupboard for a funeral. “I’ll be ok, I thought. So long as I don’t have to sit down for long, and can take the jacket off”.

Inside the bowl, the lights were down, and it really felt like we were in for something special. “Oh wow. This feels like going to a concert”, was the reaction of my youngest. High praise indeed.

As part of the build up to the opening ceremony, Gethin Jones was interviewing Stevo on the pitch. Nothing unusual about that, but not quite the spectacular show I had been promised. To top it off, two stewards on the pitch had realised they were in camera shot, and were acting like a couple of pillocks behind Stevo and “photo bombed” his interview on the big screen, before one of them grabbed Stevo’s microphone and began woo-hooing to his mates in the crowd.

Jeez. Only in rugby league, could we have such a cock-up. Gethin is pointing at the idiot, only to have his own mic stolen, before the two “stewards” begin to belt out a rendition of Tom Jones’ “Delilah”. It’s all part of the show! I bet Nigel Wood was as relieved as me. I’m sure he’d already pictured the letter pages calling for his head over such a “farce”.

The crowd that was still building, responded enthusiastically to “Delilah” as you would expect, but there was something different today. People were looking for fun. They were out to enjoy themselves. This wasn’t going to be a moan fest.

As the opening ceremony unfolded before my eyes, I oohed and aahhed with the best of them but reflected with pride that this fantastic spectacular, was put on by my sport. I love rugby league. Not everybody’s cup of tea. Many people won’t even give it a go, but I love it, and this was an opening ceremony worthy of the magnificent athletes who will grace this tournament.

So finally on to the matches. England took a ten point lead against the Aussies, but in the end lost 28-20. This was no shambles, or blow out score. The Aussies edged it, but there was plenty of optimism that England could perform better. Cut out the penalties, some of the handling mistakes, and focus better at some of the set pieces, and on our day, you never know.

The turnaround between the matches was always going to be important for the crowd that stopped for the second match. I think the encouraging performance of the England team, plus the quick changeover meant that Wales and Italy started their match with most of the crowd still in place. There was a gradual drift away during the game, peaking at half-time, but by and large, both Wales and Italy played out their game in front of the biggest crowd they are likely to have ever had for an international. It was a nip and tuck match, but in the end, the Azzurri had too much class, and it told in the final 20 minutes, as Wales struggled to exert any pressure. Italy triumphed 32-16.

So back to the car we walked. Surprisingly upbeat. Both England and Wales had lost, but this wasn’t a time to sulk. Both had played well. So too, had both the opposition. We’d just had a great day out and secured memories that will stay with us for a long-time. The World Cup had got off to a great start. An England win would have topped it off, but let’s not be greedy. I’ll take comfort in the words of Tony Rea talking to Andy Wilson on the Guardian podcast. “I think, whoever loses the England Australia opener, will win the World Cup”, said Tony.

I ignored the fact that the performance of the London Broncos this year, raises considerable question marks over Tony’s judgement, and set off back up the motorways in the dark and the rain, comforted by the fact that losing today was actually good for England’s chances of winning the World Cup after all.

We’re in Wales, it’s raining and the press are looking for a Mac

Safely arrived in our swanky hotel in Cardiff City centre (well the Premier Inn at J36 of the M4).

It seems a lifetime ago that we set off from Wakey to pick the eldest up from college and headed off on our travels. A Starbucks stop, followed a few miles later by a toilet stop, plenty of traffic, but surprisingly only one league car (Rhinos) and a mini bus (town of origin, unknown).

Hour after hour of Tarmac, I remember now why I hate motorway driving so much. Thank heavens, most of the lengthy journeys in this World Cup will be by public transport. But five and a bit hours later, we’re here.

Half hourly updates on 5live informed me that Steve Mac walked out of the press conference today, after repeated questions about why James Graham was left out. The press are loving it of course. Danny Lockwood even thinks he should resign on the back of it, and Martyn Sadler is frothing at the mouth about a lack of media training. Calm down chaps, you’ll do yourself an injury. Many journalists seem to think they are God’s gift, and that the rest of the world should fawn all over them and comply with their every demand. They’re just blokes doing a job, same as Steve Mac is.

If he’s getting fed up fending off stupid questions, then hey ho, fine. We’re constantly told by the rugby league journalists that they aren’t paid cheerleaders for the sport, but they seem to think that Steve Mac should do whatever they want, to make their lives easier. Don’t quite stack up to me.

I’d have liked the England camp to come out right from the off and say that Hock was sacked for going on the sauce and whatever else he did, and that Graham, McIlorum and whoever else was dropped for being on the pop with him. However, I don’t know how the players would have reacted to that. Steve Mac has to make that call. What counts is trying to get England to win the World Cup, not to give the journos a nice easy run through the next five weeks.

People are complex, react differently, and I know from people I’ve managed over the years, that you’ve got to tailor your feedback to them on areas of improvement in different ways. Then you get people like Hock, where it doesn’t really matter what you do, it’s a lost cause. Maybe James Graham is feeling pretty miffed at himself, and will rip into Fiji and the rest for the next few weeks to make up for his stupidity. Maybe raking over those coals now, would have hacked him off even further?

We’re assuming that there will be 17 players in the England squad who have not broken camp rules, and who should be chomping at the bit to put one over the Aussies. This is a six game tournament, and all that matters is that we win the last game.

So far it is certain players, who have let the coach down. They had a poor attitude against Italy and then a bunch went on the drink on Saturday. There will be 17 players out there tomorrow for England, and it’s down to them to take their opportunity. For many of those players, this will be their only opportunity to become World Champions. If they can’t focus and bring out their best performance with that incentive, then they really don’t deserve to be out there anyway.

Really annoying that those Aussies are such great blokes

This evening I spent an hour listening to Rugby League Extra on BBC Radio Manchester and the fascinating story of Mike Ratu and the Fijians in Rochdale. That’s normal fare from Aunty Beeb for a Thursday night, but tonight after that we were promised a Rugby League Forum on the Red Button on the telly, simulcast on Radio 5 Live and on the website from 7.30pm.

So down stairs I headed to my favourite chair. “I can’t tape this and I can’t pause it” was my explanation to Mrs Davies and the girls who left the room to allow me the silence and solitude in the front room, I so craved.

There were a few nervous moments at the end of EastEnders awaiting the Red Button show, always seems a bit hit or miss to me, but they were waiting for the 7.30pm news on 5Live to finish, so it was about 7.35 when the holding message on the telly ended and the World Cup came into focus. We were underway.

I’m always edgy about rugby league debates on the BBC. Often the panelists feel the need to play up to the stereotypes of the sport and have a moan, but Brian Noble, the league panelist of choice on the BBC really seems to understand how influential he can be and so takes a positive stance. Not sickly sweet, but telling a pretty balanced tale. Unfortunately Jonathan Davies not so.

Jiffy was before my time. As a non-league fan, I recall his move to rugby league. It was big time news that even penetrated my teenage years far from league land, but I don’t have the emotional attachment to the BBC’s rugby correspondent that other league fans have. To me, he is the middle aged rugby union bloke who the Beeb rely on to give comment on rugby league, because he played a couple of seasons in the early 90’s in my sport, and the BBC are too tight to have a specialist league correspondent.

I’ve read the history books, and seen the videos, so I know what a great player he was, but I wasn’t there, I didn’t live that try at Wembley, so I don’t have that connection with Jonathan Davies. I saw an episode of Super League Supermen this year, which was focussed on Jiffy. I admit it, I did warm to him and his love for league really did shine through. As well as being a great player, he must have been quite a lad too, but that was 20 years ago and that always clouds my view of him. Out of touch and relying on his memory of how things were a long time ago.

Tonight, he came over as dull and I’ll-informed, compared to the others who are all active in rugby league today. Jiffy was only too eager to take the well-worn path of denigrating the game. Nothing major, but is the format of the World Cup really that tricky? There are 14 teams, you can’t split them into even groups, unless you go for two sevens! It’s a format that gives everyone a chance, and should provide for some really even games, whether you are one of the big three, the next tier, or the new boys. Surely Jonathan could have worked that out for himself?

Fortunately there wan’t too much Jiffy. But there was Rob Burrow, Sean O’Loughlin, Tim Sheens, Cameron Smith and Iestyn Harris in the studio, with Steve McCormack and Stephen Kearney on the phone, although the line to the Kiwi boss in Leeds wasn’t much of an advert for the telecommunications sector. There was even a brief word with USA winger Michael Garvey, a born and bred American.

Overall it was a great show. Good, honest talk about rugby league. We didn’t need to compare ourselves to union, a trap league folk can’t resist falling into and we also had an interview with Saint Sally of Bolton, the doyenne of rugby league.

There was a real, upbeat, celebratory feel to the whole programme. It celebrated league for what it is, not focussing on what it isn’t. Emails and tweets were read out, including one from a great chap I met in Lens last year at the France v Wales match. Good on you Mark. There was also an excellent tweet from some bloke called Brian, who begrudgingly had to admit that the Aussies came over as a couple of terrific fellas.

My favourite bit of the Rugby League Forum comes at 59:44!!

How I’d love to be able to hate them, but you’ve got to admire people like Tim Sheens and Cameron Smith. Like Darren Lockyer before them, they’ve broken my heart more times than lasses when I was growing up, but I’m man enough now to recognise quality people when I see them, even if they do wear Green and Gold.

In just over 12 hours, we’ll be in the car, on our way to Cardiff. If I could set off now, I would, but I guess a good night’s sleep would be sensible first. Then it will be the big showdown. Probably more heartache awaits, and I may be spitting feathers, but whatever happens, I’ll be watching some real quality on Saturday, and banking memories, so I can bore my grandchildren (assuming the girls do the necessary in due course) with tales of how I saw Billy Slater and Greg Inglis and Cameron Smith and Jonathan Thrurston and….

Be nice if I can also say …and Sam Tomkins and Sam Burgess, for them to reply “What THE Sam Tomkins and Sam Burgess? You mean the ones who won the World Cup?….”

Even at my age, I can still dream.

I’ll #bethere even if Gaz Hock won’t

In less than 48 hours time I’ll be in Cardiff ready for the start of the World Cup. It’ll be me, Mrs Davies and the girls. One person who won’t #bethere is Gareth Hock.

The news hit the Twitter feeds last night and was then confirmed by the England camp. The story was on the sports news at half past six this morning on Radio 4, and even my non-leaguie mate from Tunbridge Wells mentioned it when I spoke to him on the phone today. No such thing as bad publicity they say.

I guessed that it was to do with drinking. “Probably had a few beers after the Italy game”, I advised my mate Mike. I was right. Trouble is Gaz has got form. They say you can’t have it all, and Gaz Hock is living proof. Huge talent, but he’s clearly got issues and is prone to brain explosions. I remember shaking my head watching him play for England against France last year in Hull. He won man of the match, but gave away needless penalties.

He gave an interview to the BBC today and you can see from the video of the interview that he just doesn’t see that ignoring the coach’s instructions, going out drinking, over sleeping, and then missing a training session is a big deal.

England have now been beaten by Italy, had to sack one of their senior players, and have another five or six (according to Gaz) who ignored the coach and went out drinking as well, still in the camp. Apparently some of the players aren’t happy with the way Gaz has been treated. It doesn’t sound crash hot, but I’m not sure that I’m too bothered. This was always an accident waiting to happen, and Hock was a bit of a surprise inclusion to begin with. Mrs Davies’ reaction was “I told you! Nothing but trouble that one”. She did, and he is.

So where I’d normally be getting ready to slash my wrists and predict doom and gloom ahead of the big show down with the Aussies on the back of such news, I’m more relaxed this time. We don’t have to beat the Kangaroos on Saturday, it’d be great if we do, but the tournament isn’t going to come crashing down if we lose. We’ve already sold out England’s next match, and as soon as England’s game in Cardiff is over, Wales and Italy will be taking to the field. They will either take our mind off a loss, or give us another couple of hours to bask in the warmth of a famous victory.

We need two big wins in this tournament. Against the Aussies on Saturday, or against the Kiwis in the semi, and then against either the Aussies or the Kiwis in the final. I’m not bothered which way they come, so long as we win our last game in this tournament!

It’s also got to be said that I’m in a pretty good mood today as those nice people at ISC have taken pity on me and swapped my logo free shirt for the real McCoy, which came in the post this morning, alongside my last outstanding tickets for Sunday’s game between Papua New Guinea and France. Thank you chaps.

So I’ve got the tickets, and now I’ve got the shirt and at lunchtime on Friday I’ll be on my way, determined to make the most of the next five weeks, whilst Gareth Hock will be left back in Wigan to reflect on the opportunity he has just blown. Silly boy.

A refreshing change – people are talking about rugby league

There is a steady rhythm to the news that provides the backdrop to my life as a rugby league fan. Monday mornings brings the trade papers, League Express and League Weekly. Tuesdays is Super League BackChat on Sky, Wednesdays Boots ‘n’ All, on Thursdays I seek out Rugby League Extra on Radio Manchester and then there is West Yorkshire Sport on a Sunday afternoon on Radio Leeds.

On the 13th of each month, the latest 40-20 magazine is downloaded to my i-pad and Rugby League World follows at the month end. The Super League Show on the BBC which I record, usually has a few minutes of debate each week.

And then there’s…. No, there isn’t. That’s about it. There is plenty of live action of course, with Championship, Super League and NRL, there are 11 full games on the TV each weekend to watch, plus the Wakey match that I take in live. But as for debate, dicusssion and opinion on the game, get off the internet forums and there’s diddly-squat.

We’ve got a small band of journalists who earn a crust from rugby league and they beaver away in their own little world and I, the customer, take what I’m given. There’s not much quality or variety and I tend to read, watch or hear the same old stuff over and over again. We operate in our own little rugby league bubble for much of the time and it’s rare to get a different perspective on things. The outside world doesn’t bother us, and we don’t bother them.

Then along comes the World Cup!

All of a sudden there are stories in the national press, by writers and journalists I’ve never heard of. Features in men’s magazines (not that sort) about Sam Tomkins’ fitness regime and a report on the launch of the World Cup on the main BBC News at 6pm by Dan Roan, their Chief Sports Correspondent, where was Tanya Arnold? She does all the Beeb’s league coverage! All this followed a great media turnout at Old Trafford earlier in the day, where Tony Hannan reported seeing several lesser spotted faces in the media pack.

There is a thread on one of the internet forums on media coverage of the World Cup and it currently runs to 24 pages. What’s even more unusual, for a rugby league discussion amongst fans, is that it’s almost all positive. League fans are lapping it up. There are articles on the players, on the history of the game and how tough the sport is. We normally only look at an international tournament through a single lens. How many empty seats will there be in the stadium as England inevitably lose to the Aussies again and prove how weak Super League is?

This time, yep, the Aussies are big favourites. Only three nations have ever won the cup, but hey, aren’t those Fijian blokes a big friendly bunch.

There is a superb ten reasons why you should watch the World Cup piece on the BBC’s website  as well as some really interesting stories on the history of the sport, including an article on how the Vichy Government in wartime France banned rugby league.

All of this is getting people talking about rugby league. At work the other day, I was leading a small team-building event where the people present were getting to know each other. To kick things off, I introduced myself and said my big passion away from work was rugby league. A lass from Worcester then piped up that she was going to the opening ceremony in Cardiff. Her husband apparently plays union, and had given league a go with the Gloucestershire Warriors in the Summer Conference one year and loved it. They’re off to the Millennium Stadium. “Well it’s on the doorstep”, she said.

Then on the way to the Italy fiasco on Saturday, a rather scary looking chap sitting opposite me on the train (how do they get those studs in the top of their head?) said “Is it next week the World Cup starts?” and even today, in town, as I politely declined the advances of a chugger, he called out after me “It’ll be tough against those Aussies next week”.

If they didn’t already sponsor rugby union, Heineken would have been a great partner for this World Cup, because it’s certainly reaching the parts that other tournaments don’t reach.

Normal service resumed as Kiwis and Cooks serve up a treat

Saturday’s double header at Salford which culminated in Italy beating England left me really flat. Things had been coming along quite nicely with the World Cup build up; the media coverage, the ticket sales, the squads flying in and England returning from South Africa. Then the talking stopped and the action started. It wasn’t so much that the players popped that balloon, it was more like one of those helium filled ones you buy the kids that slowly sinks to the floor.

Boy was I down this morning. Reading the Internet forums only made it worse, as fans laid into Steve McNamara and Kevin Sinfield. Most comments came from people who hadn’t seen the game, but hey, let’s not allow the facts to get in the way of our prejudices.

I was in two minds whether to still go to Doncaster for the New Zealand v Cook Islands match this afternoon. My mood wasn’t the best, it was live on Premier Sports and it was £20. As the morning passed, the dark clouds lifted and I was up for another game.

Doncaster’s only a short drive from Wakey. The roads were clear and with REM, The Jam and Dolly Parton on shuffle on the CD player, a very pleasant 35 minutes it was too.

There were 1412 at Featherstone yesterday to watch Papua New Guinea beat Scotland and I was expecting something similar today, but it was soon clear that a bigger crowd than that was in attendance. The figure was given as 4638 which was bigger than the crowd that bothered to turn up in Salford yesterday for the England fiasco and the biggest crowd for a rugby league match in Doncaster for some time.

Both the Kiwis and the Cooks have done great work in Doncaster this week, with the haka by the children at Norton school, one of the highlights of the week.

Pre game, there were groups from both the Cook Islands and New Zealand doing traditional dancing in front of the stand which the fans were filling. It wasn’t the coldest day, but I’d got my England jacket and World Cup beanie on, whilst the dancers were wearing less than I do, when I’m topping up my tan on the beach at Scarborough.

The match went to form. The Kiwis were too strong, running out 50-0 winners, but the mood in the ground was of fun. We were seeing something different. The youngsters in the crowd were shouting for the team that had visited their school, with as many shouting for New Zealand as were wearing green Cook Island t-shirts. In general, the speccies were very appreciative of what the Kiwis had to offer, but were all willing the Cooks to score. Phil Bentham getting a round of boos, when the video ref ruled out a Cook Island ‘try’, but it was all good natured.

After the game it was good to see both sides come over to thank the fans and to receive a generous round of applause for a good afternoon’s rugby.

It was then back home to watch it all again on Premier Sports. Good, solid coverage from the World Cup broadcasters. The signal was lost for a short while, early in the first half, and so TV viewers missed the first two Kiwi tries. I like Premier Sports’ coverage of rugby league. It’s good, honest coverage of the game, with intelligent commentary, rather than the knockabout bluster we get from Eddie and Stevo on Sky.

The fact I won’t have to suffer those two spoiling the World Cup coverage is a plus in my book, but I do worry about Premier Sports’ capability to broadcast all 28 matches live. The technology always seems a bit iffy. It’s like Premier Sports are still on dial-up, whilst Sky are on SuperFast broadband, but I’m quite happy with cheap and cheerful. We’ve got the BBC for the glamour matches anyway, though I expect I’ll tape them both to compare and contrast when I get back from the game.

So thank you New Zealand and Cook Islands, as my daughters would say, you’ve turned my frown upside down. My glass is half-full again and no matter what happens, we’re going to see some sights and have some fun over the next few weeks.