I had a couple of beers in a bar in the town square. By chance the TV was showing the final of the Women’s Rugby World Cup, broadcast from Belfast, between England and New Zealand. The event failed to engage any of the locals in the bar, who seemed more interested in the price of fish. I don’t much care for rugby, so hadn’t followed England’s progress in the competition. But, from the moment the whistle went, I was gripped.
England women bossed the first half, and took what I thought was a winning lead. In the second half, the New Zealand women upped their game and clawed back the points one by one. With 15 minutes to go, the points were level, and New Zealand had the extra energy to go for the win.
It was a bruising contest. I saw no one duck out of a tackle, and the England team kept going for a ferocious 80 minutes. It was the first time I’d seen women’s rugby; I was impressed by the level of skill, and the ambition to play open, running rugby. I’m not sure how mobile these women will be, after a few years of playing tough, high-octane, international rugby, but I’ll be happy to watch another game some time…
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