By PerryGo
October 14 2002

For the second successive week, the whole ground seemed to be filled with Quins’ supporters.  “Where are our opponents’ fans” we said to ourselves?  Was it too far for them to travel?  Did the coach break down on the way?  But, wait a minute… this isn't the Stoop! Quins are playing away...!  

With a reported attendance of 1,000 at each of their two previous home matches (and one kind of gets the feeling that might have been ‘rounded up’ to the nearest thousand) this might have been the only occasion in living memory when there were more of ‘us’ at an away match than there were of ‘them’.  We certainly made more noise. 

However, one has to sympathise a bit with the home supporters.  Both of them.  Chanting ‘Caerphilly’ sounds a lot like ‘Carefully’ when pronounced correctly…

I should have realised that things were a bit different down in Caerphilly when I first tried to get match tickets.  To start with, the ticket hotline number wasn’t even lukewarm – no-one was picking up the phone.  In due course, thanks to an e-mail exchange with the Supporters’ Club Chairman, I learned that it was staffed by a volunteer (let’s call her Gladys) two mornings a week, but the poor lady had been unwell of late, so that might be the reason I wasn’t getting an answer.  Hmmm... 

Anyhow, salvation beckoned in a Harlequins programme, when I read that Caerphilly was offering ‘a limited number of Corporate Hospitality Packages’ to Harlequins’ supporters, including a meal and a decent seat for the match.  More importantly, it appeared one could sidestep Gladys’ health problems completely and book one’s place by phoning another number.

In the meantime, though, my assistant had doggedly persevered with her original brief to contact Gladys and finally made contact.  The dear woman seemed genuinely shocked that we wanted not only to buy tickets in advance but also discuss minutia like where they were situated in the ground and so on.  “Can’t you just turn up on the day like other people do?” she said, “We don’t usually have any trouble fitting people in”.  

Devotion to Duty

Anyway, by this time a better offer was in sight, so, purely in order that your intrepid reporter would be able to write up the experience for ComeAllWithin (and nothing at all to do with PerryGo’s penchant for home comforts) the necessary corporate package cheque was dispatched and before you could say ‘second class stamp’ two tickets had arrived.  Not the NEC-computer printed stuff The Office churns out, mind – these tickets were more John Bull than NEC, if you know what I mean.   

Anyhow, I was encouraged – nay, impressed - that someone had at least written on the ticket ‘Corporate Stand’.  I also had a pleasant letter to accompany the tickets, thanking me for my order and telling me to arrive “at the main (only) gate” where the steward would direct me. 

Last but not least, the letter was signed by a ‘Kim Morgan’, whom I imagined as a younger, prettier version of Gladys (not that I had any information to suggest Gladys was not also young and pretty, but you know how these things are…) since the lovely Kim was clearly involved at the glamorous end of the business, wooing VIPs like me, making sure our ‘Caerphilly Corporate Experience’ was a memorable one, etc. etc..

Well, the journey from suburbia to the border was swift and uneventful, but the first shock of the day was being asked to pay to cross into Wales.  I was even more surprised that getting back into England again on the way home seemed to be free; how are we ever going to get a grip on this asylum seekers problem if we don’t charge anything to get in?  Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

The cost of following Quins had risen unexpectedly…

Alien Encounter

Soon, though, we were rolling up to the main gate and I looked expectantly towards the steward who was - exactly as predicted - stationed at the main (only) gate.  Unfortunately,  rather than welcoming these aliens in funny shirts with the kind of respect-bordering-on- hero-worship we were anticipating, he waved his arms and shook his head in a sort of “You can’t come in here, boyo” way.  Not that he said that, mind, but I’m trying to Welsh-up the story a bit. 

Thankfully, someone who clearly knew how important we were came rushing up and intervened.  We were directed to our reserved parking area, just round the back, thence to the bar, and from then on it was all plain sailing.

12.00 lunch turned out to be a bit optimistic – it was less a case of ‘What time’s lunch?’ and more a case of ‘What time can you get there?’  Some thoughtless fellow-VIPs had dilly dallied on their journey, meaning those of us who had turned up on the dot so as not to miss a second of our corporate molly-coddling had to drink more Guinness and wait.  Good thing we are patient forgiving types.

Rugby Tradition at its Finest

It bothers me a bit that, these days, waxing on about the ‘traditions of rugby’ or the ‘spirit of rugby’, one almost feels a bit guilty.  It’s not so much guilt, actually, as fear of sounding soft in the head or senile. 

Today’s professional game sometimes seems to sneer behind its hand at how things were in the old amateur days – which happens to be how they still are most of the time, in the junior clubs that just play for fun and fellowship.

All of which makes me just a bit apprehensive to say that the good folks of Caerphilly did us proud on Saturday, in welcoming us warmly in the finest traditions of rugby union.  But I’m still going to say it, because that’s what happened.  They were marvelous.

Actually, all this ‘corporate’ stuff was a complete misnomer.  I guess they thought that if it was just advertised as ‘Would you like to come and have lunch with some chaps from the club, chat about the game and get to know us a bit?’ it might not have been so popular.  It felt more like being on tour! 

I hadn’t realised that Caerphilly RFC is ‘semi-professional’.  Struggling a bit, not surprisingly, to keep up and compete with the big boys.  I guess we were a chance to add some much-needed funds – albeit the price was very reasonable - to the coffers.

From the first ‘welcome’ speech onwards, it was great fun.  It seemed like the whole Committee – well, certainly the President, Keith Hodge, and the Chairman, Phil Williams, plus a number of others - had turned out for us.  They could not have been friendlier and they could not have tried harder.  The food was generous, the wine flowed like… well, wine… they gave everybody a programme signed by the players and Mark Ring came and joined us for a while and made a few remarks.  Marvellous!

Someone asked us why Jason Leonard wasn’t playing.  Word has it he’s being rested to give him more time to get over his hangover…

Meanwhile, we learned two main things from the Head Coach’s speech. 

Firstly, Wales has its very own version of our Steve Lander – his name is Gareth Simmonds.  I had a funny feeling about this earlier on, when one of us asked innocently “Who’s the referee today” only to be told “Anyone except Gareth Simmonds, I hope”.  Yep, Harlequins can relate to that!  Apparently, a few ill-chosen remarks from Ring after Simmonds’ handling of the game against Ebbw Vale cost the poor guy a £500 fine.  Mark was keen everyone should know he was very sorry indeed.

Secondly, and talking of hangovers, Paul Turner and John Kingston had apparently taken Ring out the night before.  He looked happy, but distinctly the worse for wear.  Gleaning some last-minute intelligence on the opposition must be a tough job, but I suppose someone’s got to do it.  No-one was saying if Jason drove them back to the hotel afterwards.

Disappointment

Inevitably, things were going so well, there just had to be a disappointment looming.  And it duly arrived.  The lovely, adorable Kim Morgan turned out to be a bloke…

Meanwhile, after we’d floated to our seats in the Corporate Stand (which was the one across the other side where all the blokes-in-funny-trousers were) on a tidal wave of rugby bonhomie and red wine – not necessarily in that order – we sat down to watch the Mighty Quins take on the Green Army.  Or is it the Cheesemakers?  Is the cheese green or something? 

What PerryGo saw: The view from the Corporate Stand    (pic Simon Jones)

Scanning the programme, I was impressed to see that our opponents had only narrowly lost in their last Celtic League match against Ulster, by the close margin of 27-8.  Obviously Gareth Simmonds wasn’t the ref that day, then?   This raised my expectations of a tight match, especially with the number of players we’d rested – it was only when I was back home I realised that the red wine haze must have obscured my vision.  27-8 was the half time score; the match finished 67-15.  Oh well.

What can you say about the match?  R. Le Quin has already said it all, probably.  One small item I think he missed – this is the first time Caerphilly has ever played Harlequins.  Things being as they are, it may be a while before they play again, next week’s return fixture aside.  I will be one of what might be a hardy few in attendance at the Stoop on Saturday.

My apologies to anyone who has trawled through this monologue looking for the odd pearl of rugby wisdom.  Not a lot to say this week, really.  With the greatest of respect to our fine hosts, it was not the most representative match of the season so far.  More later…    

I would, however, like to wish Caerphilly all the very best for their future and thank everyone concerned for giving us a great afternoon’s entertainment.