I may have brandished my soap box on the last post but the reason why is here. I came to love rugby, not just as a sport, but as something meaningful whilst climbing mountains, asking endless questions of my dad in front of the TV, and sitting curled on sidelines watching my grandad whistle commands.

There was no way I could leave him out of an exploration of rugby (if that’s what you want to call this). Foundations may never be seen but they are always there, solid and dependable.

I have no idea if he embellished the story for me as we sat reminiscing with him before the autumn internationals in 2008 but this is how he told it, lamenting on the differences between the sport now and then. Lamenting yes, but you can still find him sat in his seat watching every game!

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