Points mean prizes at the Pirates'

I must admit to arriving to the St Piran’s Day celebrations at the Cornish Pirates Camborne ground a little late in the day.

You see it had been raining. Not the famous Cornish drizzle my easily-frizzed hair has grown accustom to hate, but big plops of cold rain driving sideways on a gale force wind.
But apparently the Cornish aren’t easily deterred by bad weather.
In fact there was the undeniable feeling that we were all going to enjoy our Sunday (day of rest) simply to spite the weather, flicking our communal Cornish bird at the raging elements.
An hour before kick-off and the jollities were still swinging, largely in the form of a defiantly upbeat brass band keeping the beer tent warm, who then proceeded to the pitch to entertain the vocal, and by now, decidedly swaying crowd.
Huddled like penguins keeping off the worst of the wind, the crowd were entertained to a first quarter of powerful rugby by the Pirates, dominating in the Bedford half, gaining ground which wasn’t retreated upon until the second half.
But points mean prizes and the boys in their decidedly Cornish black and gold away strip just weren’t converting their clean line-outs and strong scrums onto the scoreboard. Bedford had apparently built an invisible wall around the try-line.
As mellow periods of winter sun were overtaken by driving rain, overtaken by mellow sun again, the brass band imploringly churned out the famous riff in Rockey over and over, to gee the Pirates on.
The wind was getting the better of the fly half’s kicking until the third quarter, when a fresh-legged looking Bedford finally put 3 points on the scoreboard.
Never did the Pirates look like they wanted the match more, as defiantly the lads pushed back into the Bedford half and Rhys Jones ran the ball over the try line – much to the delight of the ear-busting cheers in the crowd. This would be the game’s first and last big-pointed period as 5 wasn’t converted to 7 - the conversion flying wide, impeded once again by the wind.
The final quarter saw Bedford sail another 3 points through the posts, and no matter how strong the Pirates looked, their final downfall and loss by a single point can only be put down to bad luck.
I think. The second half of the match was largely dictated to me, as by then my eyes had frozen over and frostbite set in. A thoroughly enjoyable day out none-the-less, and many congratulations to the Pirates for a great show.

For the match report click here

A case of confused identity

After Saturday's storm, I was convinced the sun would never shine again. Sun-dance after sun-dance performed in my room, I was desperate for gale force winds not to scupper my second attempt to see the Cornish Pirates play.

The first attempt failed, rather oddly, because I had a notion the boys still played in Penzance. After a failed trip to Alexandra Road (accompanied by my long-suffering mother, somewhat used to my blonde moments by now), followed by being heartily laughed at by our ever-sympathetic Sports desk the following Monday, this time at least I knew where I was going.

Unbelievably at the last moment the wind dropped off and the clouds rolled away. The sun had put its hat on, and we were in for a sporting treat.

Not only that, but the storm had apparently kept a few supporters at home on the sofa, allowing us terrace-dwellers to sit amongst the God's with the injured players on the East Grandstand. So the first half an hour was spent thanking god Sam Betty is currently injured and sitting only a few feet away. Amen.

That done, I turned my attention to my Dilemma of the Day. Pirates vs Southend. Southend. Just a few miles from home. Whatever 'home' means.

After catching a few lazy tones of South London drawl murmur out from the throng of supporters, I began to feel traitorous. The previous week I had practically come to fisticuffs with a (Cornish) friend who had told me, in no uncertain terms, that I shouldn't even be allowed to support the Pirates, as I'm not 'Cornish'.

Not Cornish, no, but living here - trying so very hard to make a life for myself here. Embracing with open arms all things local and meaningful to those kind enough to let me live among them. And here I was in my stubborn defiance, now having doubts.

It's hard also, to not support the underdogs - in this case the away team, who were so very far from home that only a handful of die-hard relatives had made the 250 mile pilgrimage across country, only to be met by an impressively resilient and somewhat intimidating Cornish side, and vocal fan base.

My resolve was to sit in silence, and simply enjoy the experience…

As if that worked. Rugby was never a game I could watch particularly silently, and as the game finally got going (20 minutes from the start and about 10 minutes before the heavens opened), I found the odd combination of desperate shouts of encouragement for a Cornish team yelped in a my London twang oddly amusing. And most confusing for my co-watchers.

A Cornishwoman, not quite. An emmit, yes. A proud Pirate supporter, apparently so.
Although I must admit to already having quite a worry over what I'll do when they play London Welsh in April…

To read the match report, click here