Well, maybe not all Harlequins' fault, but they must share in the culpability for tipping me over the edge and agreeing to sign up for this.
To understand why, it might help to understand a little bit about my family's relationship with this ancient and (intermittently) celebrated rugby club. I haven't always been a Harlequins fan. I grew up watching rugby, but only really internationals. Club rugby didn't really enter into it, until Leah, my wife, pointed out that if we were really rugby fans we should probably support a club. So we set out to go to each of the London clubs in the Premiership and see which one we liked the most.
Quins were first, on the basis that it was easy to get from our house to Twickenham. They were at the time a mid-table sort of side, with a cabinet of silverware that included a couple of wins in the 2nd tier European competition (now called the Amlin Challenge Cup) and not much else. But we went along, and enjoyed ourselves, even though we didn't feel like proper fans and were uncomfortable joining in the shouting and singing. At this point, we should have gone to see the other clubs play, but then we realised just how much harder it was to get to them, and bought Quins season tickets instead.
The season in question began with a loss, and then another, and then another. At one point, it seemed as if they could only win when we didn't go to watch them, to the point where a friend and fellow season ticket holder begged us not to go. We stayed away (out of the country for a birthday party in Budapest [1]) for the final match of the season, where the final action of the whole Premiership season - a missed kick - determined that Quins would be relegated.
We followed them through their season in the lower leagues, in the process earning a spot on the "loyalty wall" of fans who had paid the Premiership price for their season tickets rather than accepting a discount. We celebrated as Dean Richards led them back up to the Premiership, and kept them up. The following season, I was posted to India for a year and watched them beat Stade Francais in the freezing rain over a flaky wifi connection in my hotel room [2]. I was there in person when Leinster won by a single point on their way to winning the Heineken Cup (Europe's biggest club trophy), and Dean Richards, through the strategic deployment of a fake blood capsule, left a stain on the club's history that is yet to fade 3 years later. [3]
All of which is a long-winded way of saying that we have supported Harlequins through the lowest and darkest period of their history since the First World War claimed many of their brightest talents.
But if we've seen the low points, we've also seen the highs. 2012 has been a remarkable year for British sport. This year, as Jesse off the Fast Show might have put it, we have been mostly winning things. Wiggins, Murray, McIlroy [4], Ennis, Farah, Hoy, Storey, Weir, Simmonds... the list goes on. But if I could only keep one sporting day, it would be the 26th May. The culmination of the Premiership rugby season. A day that was utterly unique in sporting history.
First, a little more context. Last season began pretty well for Quins. Six wins out of six, top of the table. But oh, said most commentators, other teams have more players away at the Rugby World Cup; they'll soon get overtaken. Six from six became fourteen from fourteen. The first loss, to mighty Toulouse at home, was swiftly avenged with a win in Toulouse a week later. Quins stayed top throughout the regular season, and for the first time made the playoff final. But their opponents were Leicester, who'd finished the season with an equally remarkable winning streak, were the form team and had only ever lost once to Quins in a Premiership game.
The result - Quins streaking to a lead and hanging on to win despite a ferocious Leicester onslaught - was a delight, but there's more. Harlequins' home stadium - The Stoop - is literally a stone's throw from Twickenham Stadium. I'm not aware of any other sporting team who play so close to their national stadium. So Quins did something that, as far as I know, has never been done before. They walked, through an honour guard of cheering fans, from their home ground to Twickers before the game, and afterwards they walked back, as English champions for the first time in their long history, to celebrate with those same fans at the Stoop.
Is it any wonder that euphoria got the better of me?
I was there. Leah was there. Crucially, Jeremy was also there Jeremy is a fellow rugby fan and friend from an earlier trek where we went to Everest Base Camp. Since we got back from that he's spoken on and off about wanting to climb Aconcagua. Earlier this year, he started planning a trip in earnest. 26th May, sat with our beers and reflected glory on the pitch at the Stoop, he and Leah persuaded me that I should go.
So here I am. Jeremy and Leah are at least partly to blame, But mostly I blame Harlequins.
[1] Note: I do not actually have the glamorous jet-set lifestyle that this implies. It's just that one of our friends is actually from a small town near Budapest.
[2] Having found a bar in Beijing that was showing the Aussie Rules Grand Final, I'd assumed that it would be easy to find somewhere to watch rugby in India. Before I flew out, I asked my hotel about it. Two weeks later, they wrote back to me to explain that this was not possible in India. On arrival I discovered why. India has about 11 sports channels, of which at any time 6 will be showing live cricket, 4 will be showing historic cricket, and one will be showing Man United. Fortunately, there's a gadget called a Slingbox that will send pictures from your home tv to a laptop on the other side of the world.
[3] I'm not going to pick over the bones here. Google "Bloodgate" if you don't know what I'm on about, but search Brian Moore's columns in the Telegraph if you want a clear-eyed assessment of the ins and outs of it.
[4] Who doesn't seem sure whether he's British but we will give him the benefit of the doubt.
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