Sundays are not serious days. Once they had been wrested from the moral disapproval of the religious they became days of pleasure, or at least days for watching Swinton.
So this Sunday marked my first visit to the splendidly set and poorly signposted new Doncaster ground for a lunchtime kick off in the Northern Rail Cup. Arriving late after getting lost and walking a fair distance to the stadium, the turnstiles would not let us in as they could not take cash. I had to dash round to the ticket office on the other side of the ground to buy tickets and then return to the entrance - all for a crowd of less than 700. We missed the first try and it was actually scored by Swinton as they rushed into an early lead before going down to another encouraging defeat to a higher division team. It was a smashing match with some sparkling rugby and some less than sparkling errors that cost Swinton dear.
Then it was back to watch a recording of the Carling Cup final only to find the recording had finished just before the end of extra time. This left me avoiding contact with the outside world so that I did not know the result of the penalties before the highlights were shown late at night. (Any of you old enough to remember that classic Likely Lads episode?)
At least the World Club Championship between the British and Australian Rugby League champions recorded properly. Previous games have been marred as contests because the Australians have not tried. This time it was spoilt because they did. The gulf between Australia and Britain was manifest and the game was over just after half-time, only late consolation Leeds tries gave the score an aura of respectability.
A good day none the less and one when the first signs of spring were in the air. No, Sundays are not meant for sombre self-denial.