By apb
September 13 2005

Apologies to regular readers who expect up-to-date match reports of Tykes games. Good form dictates that these should be posted no later than the day after the match. Had I done this, my report would have been full of bizarre incantations such as "Woo-hoo!", "A HA! HA HA HA!", and "We WON! We WON!"

And so with what little rationality and dignity I had left after Saturday's amazing win, I decided to delay the match report until today.

Tykes defend...

And of course, you have to have been on Mars not to know what went on at Twickenham on Saturday (well, if you're a Tykes follower you'd have to have been on Mars!). So, I'll regale you with the bare facts of the game, and go on to wax more lyrical about my experiences as a Twickenham virgin.

The Game

Balshaw went off after three minutes clutching his quadracep, and took no further part in the game. Once again the accusations of him being too delicate to play modern rugby will no doubt be around, and certainly at the time of writing his place in the British and Irish Lions squad looks somewhat shaky. After 15 minutes Phil Christophers also took a knock to the ribs and had to leave the field. A well taken penalty opened the scoring for Bath, and then two long range efforts in quick succession from Ross put Leeds in a lead they would never relinquish.

Tykes defend again!

A delightful chip over the defence from Ross for Bell to gather and touch down, followed by a conversion put the score at 13-3, but Bath pressured well and forced two more penalties to draw the score in to 13-9. Then, with the Bath back line mounting another attack within the Leeds 22, malone ballooned the ball out wide, only to see Andre Snyman gather and sprint 70 yards up the pitch to score under the posts, and with the conversion and the half time whistle, it was 20-9.

The second half was all about magnificent defence from the Leeds players, and they only gave away a single penalty in the whole half, although they played it all in their own half of the pitch.

Throughout the second half, there was none of the feeling of inevitability of a Bath score, as there was back in November at Headingley. If anything, there was a feeling that we might just get another score of our own from another Snyman-like interception. All the team - every man jack of them - should be heartily congratulated for such a stunning victory.

The Experience Of It All

But what of my experience then? Anyone interested? If not, stop here!

I was travelling with the numourous official coaches for the day, and, with Junior waving his newly aquired "Twickenham 2005" flag from the club shop on a chilly Saturday morning, we got ourselves in the queue to board the bus. Once on, we made good time until we got as far as the M25, and then we seemed to come to something of a halt. The time was ticking on, and after having expected to be at the ground by 12.30, we spent an eternity in the massive traffic queue that snaked its way up the road towards Richmond and Twickenham.

Magnificent Stadium!

We caught our first sight of the stadium at 13.30, and therefore assumed we'd have at least a little time for a short slurp of something refreshing before the game. However we were not reckoning with the driver, who - dispite all the occupants' obvious frustration, refused to let us off the bus until it was over the other side of the dual carriageway in its parking place. So, directly outside the ground at 14.00, we watched helplessly as we continued crawling along until we reached a roundabout that the police hadn't inexplicably cordoned off, and then agonisingly crawled back down the other side of the road to the parking area.

Grabbing the drum from the storage area, I looked at my watch, and was dismayed at the sight: 14.25, and a ten minute dash to the stadium. Junior and I ran, and arrived at the ticket barrier just at 14.30. The National Anthem echoed around the place while our bags were checked, and we waited - trying not to look shifty. (What is it about when you're in a bag check situation, you instantly assume they're going to "discover" three pounds of gelignite, or an AK47 or something?).

Now of course, we were in, and our tickets had been checked, but - guess what? We were on entirely the wrong side of the ground. So we charged around from the west side to the east, and desparately searched for the appropriate stairwell to get us up to Block 133. With a final walk that seemed to take a lifetime, we finally made it, and after a brief fracas with the stewards about seating arrangements for me, Junior and the Drum, we sat down.

Lone drummer in the crowd (not me!)

"Balshaw's gone off" the guy sat next to me said. And then I looked up. And then I looked around. And saw a wall of Leeds scarves, flags (offical and otherwise), free flat-caps comically worn back to front, and also heard cheers, and shouts, and hooters, and drums, and calls of "Yorkshire, Yorkshire", and I was engulfed by the whole sheer occasion of it all, and thus totally forgot to attempt the drumming for 20 minutes. Junior had other ideas, and enjoyed it immensely, hacking away at the drum with little rhythm but vast enthusiasm.

Junior admires the view

I still find it hard to believe exactly how quickly the game went. I was certainly vocal, and concentrating on every move, and critical of the referee (well, it wouldn't be a rugby match, would it?!), but it seemed a blink of an eye when the scoreboard read "39 Leeds 20 - 12 Bath". A minute to go? How can this be possible?

And then Gordon Ross kicked the ball far into the East Stand, and the game was over. Shiny Cup! Shiny, shiny cup! Oh Yes! A Ha! A Ha Ha Ha Ha! We WON! We WON!!!!

Hmm. Maybe I should have waited another day or two....

What it's all about!

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