The State Of Two Unions And The Only Things Greater Than The Gods

Two Unions - rugby football and the United States to be precise. These are just two of my favourite things. My weekend put me in collision course with both.

First, rugby union. Well, you all know by now that I love the game in all its dangerous, poetic daftness. League rugby and professionalism have visited hard times on some of us and Aston Old Edwardians have copped it worse than many. Hey ho, one is master of one's own destiny I suppose. I have knocked refereeing on the head (those bastard calf muscles I'm afraid) but am doing some referee advising (we used to be called assessors but I guess the modernists find that too judgemental) and Saturday took me to Aston to advise a newish referee. Signs of the times (good ones at that): the referee was a woman and Aston's opponents were Birmingham Bulls - I quote from their website: "Birmingham's gay and inclusive rugby club". 25-15 to the visitors and the afternoon passed by without any crassness, at least that made its way to my attention. Some nice skills, rather less fitness but a good thing for all to have been involved in. In the bar I enjoyed the company of friends old and new and bathed in that atmosphere of familial comfort that is the true distinction of our silly old game. It may have been better in  my high days, but will anyone ever truly know?

To America (televisually) and the moral poverty of the second debate between the presidential candidates. Trump hovered menacingly over Clinton like the vulgar bullying sleaze he is. So damaged is she  politically that she could not put him away. A pitiful spectacle that lowered Monday morning.

But lo! By bush telegraph comes the news that Daughter Number Two has successfully scaled Kilimanjaro. Both girls have now accomplished this - if any more family members get there, we will have to open an office. Once again I offer up the girls to the gods and proclaim: "Behold, the only things greater than yourselves." A very proud Dad.

A Glaring Omission

How very remiss of me - I've been so busy proudly telling everybody about it that I forgot to announce to the blogosphere that Daughter Number 1 made it to the top of Kilimanjaro last month. Brilliant. The only person injured in the whole process was your correspondent when he fell over descending Snowdon on a training jaunt. Prat. Or is that pratt? I think either is acceptable these days.

That's Our Hellie waving

Another week gone in the Six Nations and evidence, as if it were needed, that Ireland are a hyper-competent, beautifully coached team. Their mastery of the kicking game undid England thoroughly. Very impressive but England need not despair provided they learn from defeat, not least: 1- that in any serious game of rugby you take penalty points when they are on offer; 2 - that you must be precise in line-out calling and action; 3 - that kick-offs are a crucial source of possession whether you are kicking or receiving.

As for the other weekend action, Wales didn't have to bring out Plan B against a dreadfully disappointing France - which is just as well because the Overgraduate has been firm in his opinion that no such plan exists. A couple of years ago I posited that Saint Andre would bring intellectual ballast to the French operation. I would seem to have been wrong - well go figure. France will sooner or later demolish someone but have no notion how they did it. Their situation is hopeless but not serious. Which puts them in a better place than poor old Scotland who contrived to lose to spirited but limited Italy. Mind you if God is auditioning for an understudy, Sergio Parisse must be in the frame. Some player.