Love is.. the six nations


Laughter, booze, and men’s thighs are some of the pleasant memories that spring to mind of the past few weeks. I have to admit, that for not the first time, my loyal following of the Irish team through the Six Nations rugby, has not been entirely innocent. Yes, I do enjoy rugby. I love the ritual of going to the pub to watch it, pushing to the bar to get my pint and then screaming at Brian O’ Driscoll or Peter Stringer to get that ball over the line. But it’s more then that. I am a sucker for rugby eye candy.

Am I the only girl who likes to watch sport for this reason? Who knows. When I was sixteen I had a poster of Michael Owen on my wall, and I didn’t even support Liverpool. Then it was Beckham, followed by Ronaldo and I think it goes without saying: Ljungberg. But now it’s definitely O’Gara. The Irish fly half, is so modestly cool under pressure, it’s like his shorts are made of ice packs. Granted, the scrum looks painful, put it’s probably the sight of men grabbing one another’s, ahem, rear ends that makes my mind stray from the actual game.

This Saturday I can’t wait to have another eighty minutes of glorious viewing time.

I will be sad when it is over though. I will miss shouting at Sebastien Chabal to get a haircut, and overall, yes – you guessed it, I will miss all of the thighs.

Watching O’Gara hold that Six Nations cup over his head will be the highlight of my week. Then I can finally breath a thigh of relief until next year…