A rush of blood

Regular readers of these marginalia will be all too familiar with my love of Bath.

I do not – it should be clear – refer here to my predilection for long soaks in a hot steamy tub, though my reputation for being something of a water-baby is well founded. No – I am alluding here to that most beautiful and splendid of Georgian spa cities to which the Kickass Canada Girl and I are in the habit of repairing whenever we are in dire need of a little R & R, or indeed feel inclined to celebrate some significant event in our existence… such as it being the weekend, for example.

I am – in particular – a keen follower of the progress of Bath Rugby club. Postings such as this one make very clear my enthusiasm both for the city itself and for its practitioners of the oval-ball game.

Thus it was that Saturday last found the Girl and I ensconced in a rural hostelry some miles from home (TV coverage being sadly limited to a subscription TV channel to which we do not subscribe!) watching the semi-finals of this year’s rugby Premiership.

Bath Rugby has a long and glorious history, winning – for example – the old Courage League six times between 87/88 and 95/95. Since the game turned professional in the mid 90s – however – they have struggled to achieve their former heights and have never won a Premiership final.

Over the last few seasons a great deal of hard work – and a healthy injection of cash – has paid off and Bath are now playing at a level that has not been reached for several decades. Their scintillating, fast-flowing brand of rugby is finally reaping its due reward and this season saw them finish the regular season in second spot, thus ensuring a home semi-final against their old enemies – Leicester Tigers.

Leicester play an uncompromisingly physical (brutal!) brand of muscular rugby based on an impenetrable defence – the complete antithesis of Bath’s more adventurous style. The contrast on Saturday was all too apparent. Leicester had the lion’s share of the possession and spent much time straining fruitlessly against Bath’s stalwart defence. Bath visited the Leicester 22 only eight times during the match – and scored on seven of those occasions! The final score of 47 – 10 may have flattered Bath somewhat, but for sheer exhilaration if nothing else one could not possibly begrudge them such a winning margin.

Watching such a breathtaking display turned out to be too much for our delicate reason and before the second half was half done we were searching online for tickets for next Saturday’s ultimate showdown against Saracens. By the time the final whistle went we had already snapped up a brace thereof – before realising that the match clashes with an pre-existing invitation to lunch with dear friends. They most kindly (if with slightly rictus smiles) agreed to take a rain-check.

Oh dear!

Still – if Bath win the final in our final season in the UK…..