Back after a weekend of over indulgence in rural Worcestershire. Available local entertainment consisted of a choice between a Motown disco and ferret racing. Sitting in with much wine won the day.
Obsessions are strange things; we raced back to get to Rochdale in time for Rochdale Hornets v Swinton and after a dire first half it seemed as if the ferret racing would have been a better choice. Then the teams decided to serve up a second-half thriller. A four-try blitz gave Swinton a seemingly comfortable lead. Rochdale came back and, with only a few minutes remaining, went in at the corner to go ahead by two points. It looked like yet another disappointment for the Lions. Then, with the last play of the game, Hawkyard lifted a high kick to the corner, Saywell got there just before the opposing winger, agonisingly juggled with the ball twice, before finally gathering it in and plunging over the line for the winning try.
This is the magic of sport. Utterly irrational I know, but what else could get a middle aged fat man leaping about like a lunatic in a sparsely populated stand on a cold Sunday afternoon in Rochdale? And I am still smiling on a Monday morning.