Anyone who has ever sat in the stands at an international sporting occasion cannot fail to be moved by the rendition of the National Anthem and admire the fervour of the teams stretched out below them.
For all that ours is a royalist dirge, the crowd still seem to be able to inject huge amounts of patriotism into it. When you see the medal ceremonies at the Olympics and watch sportsmen tearfully celebrate the hoisting of their country’s flag to the accompaniment of their anthem, it is impossible not to share their emotion.
Of course, part of me has the joy of being Welsh. No, I don’t know the words but the passionate nationalism of the crowd in its execution sweeps you up and along with them. Whatever your sporting allegiance, I defy you to watch the singing prior to the match against Ireland tomorrow, the last match of the Championship, without feeling the enormity of the flag-waving ardor… especially as this is such a crunch match, with either victorious team coming away with the Triple Crown for having beaten the other home nations and, for Ireland, the possibility of the Grand Slam.
Then there’s Le Marseillaise, a feisty left-over from the Revolution, sung with such gusto by our Gallic cousins.
And the Italian song, enthusiastic, spritely and uplifting.
The Flower of Scotland – who chose that instead of Scotland the Brave – but the crowds do seem to love it… and they know all the words so can be trusted to sing the second verse a capelo.
But the King of the anthems has to be the New Zealand Haka, guaranteed to instill fear into the hearts of the opposition – except when they played the French and Sebastien Chabal wasn’t having a bean of it. Instead of remaining a respectful distance away from the performance, he and his team took up a position that moved ever closer to the challenging Kiwis. Their body language showing the contempt with which they viewed this peacock behaviour.
Awesome.
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