The Dew Drop Inn Virtual Rugby Pub, Edinburgh

The Boss wrote:Cheers Notch. Looking forward to it but looks like I might have to go abroad in search of work. Very few physio jobs about! Serious situation with jobs at the minute!

Gibson wrote:Story Hound mate? Im backing Wasps to make that Final in Dublin, at de Orrr-Dee-Ess. When and if they make it, Im going with you.

Congrats on the retirement btw. Happy for you bud.

Best to get back and do some work, before I feic off for the day.

The Boss wrote:Morning all.
Congratulations Notch. In the same boat myself. Graduating next Wednesday in Jordanstown so looking forward to it but no news on the job front myself. Hope it works out for ya!

Luckless Pedestrian wrote:That's a good read, Notch, but it's not as simple as just adopting a 'no one likes us, we don't care' attitude, you have to be a half-decent outfit, too. The Dragons are the poor relations of the Welsh regions, written off in the Welsh media (if they're written about at all), and I'd be surprised if that kind of thing isn't being used as a motivational tool behind the scenes; but the only time is has ever seemed to pay dividends is during (some) home derby games.

LeinsterLion wrote:The lights dimmed, the crowds roar was naught but a low rumble of anticipation. The opposing fans were cowed, some were openly sobbing and tearing to remove their replica shirts.
The echoes of “Supermans” pre match speech still reverberated in the rafters of the spiritual like fortress Thomand. He would not be there in person as he was grievously wounded in a previous battle, but he would be there in spirit.
The red army, arms linked in unison, hair standing on end, roared en masse, foaming at the lips as their heroes entered the field.
Evoking memories of Cú Chullain and legends of yore. O’Callaghan steamed out of the tunnel, arms windmilling furiously, giant gusts of wind swept forth knocking over small children causing the Saracens players already on the pitch to squat down eyes rolling in fear.
O’Callaghans tanned muscular ripped torso, rippling from the efforts of his furious windmilling, was steaming in the freezing sleet. He stood beside the faithful, allowing his warmth to exude over the stand, warming whiskeys as well as the red enrobed faithful.
Suddenly the low rumble of the crowd turned into a roar as the leader of the red warriors stepped out into the freezing sleet, as if he was walking out onto a beach in San Francisco. What was rain to this leader of men? a general for the ages, a man tales are written in stone for.
ROG started kicking balls into the crowd. Women dropped in their children in an effort to get a hold of the piece of rubber that had been blessed by their hero. Women and children were afaint at the sight of his majestic touchfinders, and the odd ball he kicked into the baying mass. What would happen when the match actually kicked off?
Young Farrell, his father high up in the rafters, had never felt more alone, he couldnt concentrate, couldnt hear his captain or his general on the touchline.He tried to kick in the now pounding sleet, but the ball slithered off his boot barely going ten meters. He watched in fear and awe the the giant figure of ROG boomed his kicks INTO the wind.He briefly felt his frozen thighs warm as he realised he’d involuntarily wet himself.
The Saracens team were beaten in spirit by the baying crowd and the sight of the mythical red robed warriors. Still they lined for the Heineken cup anthem determined to go out in glory or die trying. But what was this? It wasnt the Heineken cup anthem It was a druidic song, passed down from generation to generation…..Saracens cosmopolition team began to quiver and drop to the ground eys rolling tongues gagging in fear…The song went..
RUCK……MAUL…KICK FOR THE CORNER!!!….RUCK….MAUL….KICK FOR THE CORNER!!!!..PENALTY…MIRACLE MATCH!!!…..WHO IS THIS JOHNNY SEXTON FELLAH?….. The crowd began then to join in the druidic incantations evoking the spirits of the fallen warriors of yore to inhabit the jerseys of the current players …Clohessy….Galway…….Wood….Quinny …the list went on…….
Suddenly there was an almighty blast of a horn, and a humongous stag came bounding through the mists…Sat on the stags back was the hulking figure of John Hayes. Such was the awe and reverence one could hear a pin drop…John let out a low rumble…”Proceed” he intoned, handing the ref P Gaüzère the ball…..Stuart Barnes let out a low breathless Ooooooooh as the match kicked off, knowing Saracens had already been beaten before they had stepped foot on the pitch and in anticipation of the grinding slaughter he knew was coming.

Glas a du wrote:It's a safety issue by the sounds. I was at the first Serie A match to be abandoned due to rain in 50 years.