Partisan Welshmen

It was my Granddad’s 90th birthday at the weekend and my family, my brother’s family and my parents all went back to Swansea, our collective birthplace to see the old boy, who’s a Dunkirk vet.

Happily, Leicester Tigers were playing the Ospreys in the Heineken Cup and my Dad had the foresight to book a box, which was ideal for the various children running around. Unhappily I spent the entire match being abused by the Ospreys fans in the next box.

Usually, I’m not particularly shy on that score, having been the sole Tigers fan amidst a sea of Bath fans at the Rec once a few years back and given as good as I got. However, the boys next door laid into us from the first moment until the last, which wore a bit thin by half time. I declined to gloat too much when their winning margin wasn’t enough to guarantee them qualification for the quarter finals (although they did subsequently qualify) as I had a fairly strong feeling that any smugness may have landed me a whack.

I’ve been to a few club games as a Tigers fan in Wales before, but always playing other English teams. This was the first time in Wales against one of the Welsh provinces and it’s not an experience I’m keen to repeat in a hurry.